Her eyes met his. "Thank you so much," she said sweetly. "I am quite relieved." Her lips quirked into a mocking smile. "If you're done, you can find your way out. The door is still exactly where you left it."
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, slipping back into the mask of control that had served him all his life. "Syl…" he began. She wasn't listening anymore.
Tom watched her in silence, eyes darkening. For all the strength she was showing off now, he knew Sylvia's weak spots better than anyone. He had built her, after all. And there was still one addiction she hadn't quite killed.
Alcohol.
Sober Sylvia was too sharp, too steady, too immune to his manipulation. He needed the other one—the wild one, the laughing, slurring, pliable version of her who could be convinced, cornered, coerced.
His mind began to churn. He didn't care how hard she'd fought to stay sober. All he cared about was getting her back on his side.
