Chapter 8 - Setting the Stage
When the sun came up, I moved through the house like a ghost with a lethal purpose. I followed Grant's instructions to the letter. I opened the makeup box he had thrown at me and spent forty-five minutes carefully applying color-correcting concealer, heavy foundation, and setting powder. I layered it on until the ugly purple and yellow bruising on my cheek was completely invisible. I painted on a soft, compliant smile, staring at the stranger in the mirror.
I went downstairs and began preparing the house. I polished the silverware, set the table with our finest china, and arranged fresh flowers in the center. Then, I began cooking. I prepared the exact same meal I had made the night before, including the delicate vegetable soup that had earned me a strike to the face.
I moved with mechanical precision, my mind laser-focused on the clock ticking toward six. As I stood over the stove, watching the broth simmer, I picked up the salt shaker. I didn't just add a pinch. I unscrewed the metal top and poured a heavy, deliberate mound of salt into the pot, stirring it until it dissolved completely. This time, I added enough salt for him to truly taste what was coming.
