He chose violence and locked me in the cellar — I reached out to the only person he feared

I’m not proud of the slap.
That afternoon, I walked into La Mesa Grill with takeout menus in my bag and a goofy grin plastered on my face. Evan had texted me about a “client meeting,” and I thought it would be nice to surprise him with lunch. Instead, I found him sitting in the corner across from a woman in a red blazer, her fingers curled around his wrist as if they’d been practicing the pose.

When I mentioned his name, he didn’t flinch. He seemed irritated, as if I’d interrupted a negotiation.

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The woman’s smile was refined and unruffled. “You must be Claire,” she said lightly. “Evan told me about you.”