For seven years I’d been his unpaid housekeeper, his punching bag, his trophy. Now, battered and broken by his own hands, I was still expected to perform.

I looked at him, and a slow, serene smile spread across my face.

“You’re absolutely right, Jason,” I murmured, my voice smooth and empty. “It is my duty. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure your party is unforgettable.

I’ll take care of everything.”

He smirked, smug victory settling over his features. “I knew you’d see reason. Now go to bed. You’ve got a lot of cooking to do tomorrow.”

He turned and walked upstairs.