Now the shoulder of the gown was torn almost completely away. The delicate lace around the neckline was spotted with blood. Her lower lip had split open, one side of her face was swollen, and purple marks circled both of her upper arms.
Her hair, which had taken a stylist almost two hours to arrange, hung in tangled strands around her face.
One shoe was missing.
But it was her eyes that frightened me most.
They were not the eyes of a twenty-seven-year-old bride.
They were the eyes of someone who had escaped something she still believed was chasing her.
“Sophie.”
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the floor.
She clung to me with both hands.
“Lock it.”
“What happened?”
“Please lock it.”
I dragged her inside and slammed the door, turning every bolt.
When I turned back, she was standing exactly where I had left her, trembling uncontrollably.
