“What happened?” I asked in a shaky voice.
I could have written it off as some injury from his military days, but I knew deep in my marrow it wasn’t. That the reason behind all those marks had a lot to do with why he was the way he was.
“Don’t pretend to care,” he bit out before turning from me once more and rummaging through his duffel bag.
“I wasn’t pretending. I do?—”
“Not everyone lives a charmed life,Mrs. Kane.” He grabbed his clothes and started toward the bathroom, limping slightly.
Rage boiled in my chest. I was so sick of him thinking I lived the perfect life. That I had everything I could ever want. That because I lived on Star Island in a house that cost millions of dollars, had a closet full of designer dresses, and a staff that was always at my beck and call, everything about my life was idyllic.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Storming toward him, I wrapped my hand around his arm, stopping him before he could disappear. Close the door.
Shut me out.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at him. If I did this, there was no going back.
I wasn’t sure what scared me more.
That he’d learn the truth and pity me.
Or that he wouldn’t believe me at all.
But I was done keeping Victor’s secrets for fear of what he’d do to me.
Victor wasn’t here.
I needed to do this.
For me.
“You think I live a charmed life?” I snapped. “Because I’m draped in diamonds and gowns and live in a mansion, you think my life is a goddamn fairy tale?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared.
“Well, it’s not. It’s anything but.” I released my hold on him. “I meant what I said at the gala. I haven’t been living. I’ve beensurviving. Every fucking minute of every fucking day. That’s all I’ve done.”
Not allowing myself a chance to change my mind, I yanked my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor with a thump, the chill of the air causing goosebumps to prickle my skin.
It wasn’t the fact I was standing in front of him in only a bra and panties that made me feel exposed.
It was because I was allowing him to see therealme. The mottled skin along my waist. The bruises that hadn’t faded from my ribs. The angry scar where Victor had recently carved into me, reminding me I was nothing more than property.
Hisproperty.
Or, according to the word carved into my skin, his whore.
Henry sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes traced over every single mark on my body.
“Who did this to you?” His question was low, but it cut through the room like a blade.
“You know who,” I whispered, tears burning at my eyelids, but I refused to let them fall.
“A name, Ariana.” His voice was steel, but his entire body trembled with barely restrained fury. “I need a fucking name.”
I parted my lips, my words caught in my throat with the weight of what I was about to say. What Ineededto say.
