There was something about him. Something that pulled at a thread buried so deep inside me I didn’t know it still existed. It wasn’t attraction exactly, though the way he filled out his suit should be criminal. This was something else. As if something about him spoke to the person I used to be. The girl I was before I mistook the devil for Prince Charming.
When we spoke, it had been easy. It didn’t feel like a game or a test. He didn’t look at me like I was a trophy or a possession to be polished and displayed.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to be human.
But for those few minutes, that was how I felt. Like a person. Like what I had to say mattered.
LikeImattered.
The car slowed before pulling up to the gate leading to the sprawling estate on Star Island. Elegant, luxurious, and as cold as the man beside me.
Victor stepped out first, his silence continuing like a storm building on the horizon. When he offered his hand, it wasn’t out of chivalry. It was a command. Dominance masquerading as grace.
I slipped my hand into his, and he helped me out as though we were a happy couple returning home after a night of culture and conversation.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Inside, the warmth of the house was suffocating. The chandeliers above us cast fractured reflections across the marble floor, a kaleidoscope of light that somehow felt more threatening than beautiful. Every detail was curated. Impeccable. Controlled.
This wasn’t a home. This was a prison shrouded in luxury.
Victor remained silent as we crossed the foyer and climbed the grand staircase. With each step, the silence grew heavier, thick and cloying, like smoke before fire.
Once inside the bedroom, the air shifted.
And then he turned.
His eyes, usually so icy and detached, were alight with something feral. His jaw ticked. His nostrils flared.
“You disappeared,” he hissed, stepping closer. “With another man.”
I didn’t respond. I knew better. I’d learned that silence was safer, even if I spoke the truth. Words were weapons in his hands and he was only too eager to use them against me.
“You think I’m stupid?” His voice rose, sharp and wild. “That I don’t know what you’re doing?”
Before I could utter a single syllable in response, he wrapped his large hand around my throat and squeezed. My lungs screamed as I struggled for a breath, my eyes flying wide as his fingers clamped down.
“I own you, Ariana.” His statement was low and lethal, like the blade of a knife against my skin. “You don’t get to wander off. You don’t get to smile at strange men. You don’t get to breathe without me saying so.”
With every word, the pressure on my throat increased. I clawed at his hand, nails digging, scratching, trying to pry him off. But I was powerless against him. He loved to watch me struggle. A predator toying with its prey.
“You leave me, and you die,” he seethed, his breathing becoming ragged. Unhinged. “Do you understand me? The only way you’re getting out of this marriage is in a fucking body bag.”
I didn’t answer. I could only gasp. Kick. Claw.
“Do you understand?” he barked again, flecks of spittle flying.
I nodded to the best of my ability, the edges of my vision curling inward like burnt paper. My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts a blur.
And still, he didn’t let go.
He watched my face in fascination as I struggled to breathe. A part of me wondered if this was it. If he was finally going to kill me. At this point, I welcomed it. Then I’d finally be free.
But Victor wouldn’t let me go this easily.
When he released his hold, I crumpled at his feet like a discarded rag doll, gasping for air through the burn in my throat. I coughed, trying to push oxygen back into my lungs. For a moment, the world was still. Peaceful. Serene.
Victor didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, towering above me like a god deciding whether to destroy me.
