The Secret

by Stella Gray

  Back in the master bedroom, I gathered more of my things. Toiletries, underwear, my comfy T-shirts and leggings that I liked to wear to school so I could fit in with all the other co-eds. That load, too, got deposited on the bed in the guest room, along with my laptop.

  “Stop,” he finally said, blocking me in the hallway.

  I looked up, almost daring him to touch me, directing all my fury toward him with my gaze. “Don’t treat me like I’m a prisoner here,” I said, even though it felt dangerous.

  I was surprised when he backed down, stepping aside to let me pass.

  “Fine,” he said from behind me. “You obviously need some time to come to terms with our arrangement. I understand that.”

  Ignoring him, I walked back into the master to fill my arms with the rest of my nice clothes: the designer jeans, the flashy dresses I’d bought in Vienna during our honeymoon, the blue party dress I’d worn the first night we’d met. But even though my things were moving, I knew that the memories attached to them weren’t going anywhere. As if they were woven into the fabric of every single dress I’d worn in his presence.

  Turning toward the doorway, I caught him watching me, and for a split second I could’ve sworn I saw something in his face—regret. But it was gone so fast I doubted it had been real.

  “Just do yourself a favor, Tori, and realize that I’m allowing you to do this as a kindness.” He strode over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “And when I require my wife to behave as such, you will obey me.”

  His size overpowered me, reminding me how small I was compared to him.

  My pulse kicked, and my cheeks went hot. Part of me wanted nothing more than to leave this nightmare behind, drop everything and get on my hands and knees, let him fuck me right there on the floor. Forget about our fight and the sordid truth behind KZM’s business dealings—and my father’s role in keeping them out of the public eye. But I couldn’t forget any of it. If I performed my “wifely duties” going forward, they’d be exactly that—duties.

  “Tell me you’ll obey,” Stefan repeated.

  There was no room to argue. I nodded my consent.

  After I dropped the rest of my things onto the guest room bed, I shut the door behind me. Then I set about hanging everything up in the empty closet and formally claiming the space as my own. But every item I picked up reminded me vividly and irrevocably of Stefan.

  The simple black sheath dress I’d changed into after our wedding. All I could think about was how nervous I’d been unzipping it in the bathroom before changing into the white lace wedding night lingerie he’d done his best to resist. The sexy black cocktail dress I’d bought in Vienna, that even the shop girl had called vavoom, with all its complicated straps across the back. I’d worn it right out of the store in an effort to make Stefan jealous, to make him notice me. And here was the gorgeous gown I’d worn the night we had gone to the opera, with its daring neckline that plunged almost to my ass in the back. I’d worn it without a bra, to tempt him. The slinky, ice-blue silk gown I’d worn the night he stood me up, when we had fought and he’d finally kissed me the way I’d wanted him to. Hard and rough, his tongue fucking my mouth, my pussy instantly wet for him. It had been hot. So fucking hot.

  And then there was the beautiful designer dress with its petal-scattered skirt that I’d worn for my eighteenth birthday party—the first time Stefan and I had met. A night where I had felt like a princess. Where he had called me Cinderella.

  Where we’d shared our first kiss.

  Blinking back tears, I abandoned the dresses and tried to focus on putting my underwear away in the top drawer of the dresser. It was hard to hold those beautiful, silky, sexy things and not think about how good it had felt when Stefan ripped them off of me.

  I’d noticed that there was no lock on the guest room door. Which meant that if he wanted to, he could come into this room, into my bed, and take what he wanted. Take me however he wanted. Whenever he felt like it.

  Standing there, a hot ache growing low in my belly, my hands tangled in lacy lingerie, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like; Stefan’s intense, authoritative way of handling me playing out in an intensely sexual way. I couldn’t deny that it made me hot. I knew it was wrong, knew he was a monster, but I couldn’t erase the memories of him dominating my body. Just the way I liked it, the way he’d always been toward me. Controlled, confident, commanding.

  But that part of our relationship, that intimacy, that intensity…it was all done and gone. Things were different now. If and when I fucked him, it wouldn’t be the same.

  I hadn’t been trapped before. Back then, I had been a willing partner in a marriage—one of convenience, but one that I thought I understood. Now, I was trapped. Trapped in this life, this marriage, and now in this guest room. At Stefan’s mercy and command. Because he was my captor.

  And my enemy.

  There was nothing I could do to change the situation yet, but it wouldn’t always be this way. My husband had been right about one thing: I did need some time to come to terms with our arrangement. He just didn’t know that I would be using that time to figure out my next move.

  So I would play the good girl, the good wife, and I’d bide my time. Meanwhile, I’d find a way out, gather evidence, come up with a plan to save myself and all the other hurting women involved in this.

  I felt powerful to have separated myself from Stefan already, even in this small way. To be drawing battle lines, fighting back, no matter how small the gesture was. It made me feel strong. Like I would survive.

  Because this war was far from over.

  Tori

  Chapter 3

  My strongest memory of Harper Memorial Library on the UChicago campus wouldn’t be that first sight of the building’s gorgeous, medieval castle-like exterior with its walls covered in ivy and two crenelated turrets, like someplace out of Harry Potter or a King Arthur tale. It wouldn’t be the gothic chandeliers overhead, the geometric patterns of the buttressed ceiling, nor even the tall, narrow windows with their protective grates that filtered the sunlight pouring in.

  It would be the instant, all-encompassing peace of the space.

  My first day of linguistics classes had been overwhelming and I’d been full of stress about whether I’d be able to keep up with the work, and whether I’d be able to measure up to my professors’ expectations (and my own). But when I walked into that library, the silence wrapped me up like a soft blanket and all the weight on my shoulders just floated away.

  I could still remember the way my shoes made the tiniest echo as I tiptoed across the gleaming parquet floors toward one of the empty study tables. It was a quiet like I had never known.

  Finding out the place was open 24 hours a day was a godsend. It quickly became my favorite haunt on campus, and I spent many hours between and after classes doing my homework at the long tables or catching up on my recommended reading on the third floor. You couldn’t actually borrow any books there, but it didn’t matter to me; I brought plenty of my own.

  I sat in my favorite corner spot with my ASL homework spread out before me, practicing the careful signing of the alphabet as I faced a bookshelf. But my hands were clumsy, and my brain felt fuzzy. I’d thought this class would be fun, would help me communicate with the Deaf community if given the chance, but halfway through the semester I could still barely manage my ABCs. No, that wasn’t true. I knew basic words, phrases like thank you, hello, my name is…but lately everything had just gotten harder. Thanks to my home life with Stefan, I was a distracted mess. I was lucky to have school as a sanctuary, but I needed to get back into my studies.

  Someone pulled out the chair across from me and I glanced up with annoyance, knowing there were plenty of other empty seats at this hour. But my classmate Gavin slid into the seat, and I felt a smile immediately pull up the corners of my mouth. He’d been a late enrollment, transferring to our school from a great program at UC Berkeley. I still wasn’t sure why he’d left UCB—every tim
e we brought it up, he’d just make a joke about the hippies or the Silicon Valley crowd getting to be too much for him, or how the weather in California was too horribly perfect.

  Hello, he signed.

  Hello, G, I signed back. This was one way around the library’s no-talking policy.

  He raised his hands again to say, How are you?

  I shrugged. It hadn’t escaped his notice that I’d been sulking around ever since the huge fight with my dad and Stefan. Despite my mood, though, I’d spent even more time at group study sessions with Gavin and my best girlfriends Lila, Diane, and Audrey. Anything to keep me from having to go back home. Gavin especially had been a balm to my frayed nerves, grabbing coffee with me between classes and talking with me for ages in the commons.

  Evening meal now, he told me. It was dinner time.

  Glancing at my watch, I realized he was right. It was almost seven, and I hadn’t eaten for hours. I nodded and began packing up my things, but as I stood he gently took my arm and signed, Go with me? His warm brown eyes were hopeful.

  To evening meal? I gestured.

  He nodded, flashing that contagious, dimpled grin that my friends couldn’t seem to get enough of. I might have been married, but I had to admit it was a nice smile. Boyish. Charming.

  With friends? I asked.

  Me and you, he answered, pointing first at himself and then at me.

  I hesitated. We’d hung out alone at school plenty of times before, but when it came to going somewhere off campus, it had always been a group activity with at least one other friend. Was this like…a date? But no. Gavin knew I was married. Knew we were just friends.

  I nodded and flashed him a thumbs-up, using my left hand to make sure he got a good look at my wedding rings. Just in case.

  Why should I worry, anyway? It wasn’t as if anyone would be waiting up for me at home, besides maybe Gretna…and by now our personal chef was used to packing up our meals when neither Stefan nor I could make it home in time for dinner—which had been frequently as of late, since school had turned into my place of exile.

  Plus, Gavin was born and raised in Chicago, so he knew all the best spots to hang out in the city. I was sure I’d be in for a treat.

  Wordlessly, I hooked my arm through Gavin’s and let him lead me out of the library.

  “So where are we going?” I asked as we walked across campus.

  “It’s a surprise,” he said. “You cool taking the L? My car’s at home today.”

  “I suppose I could endure a bit of public transportation,” I teased. “But this restaurant better be worth it.”

  “Don’t worry, princess,” he said, using the nickname all my friends threw at me whenever I wore designer heels to class or got picked up by a private car. “It will be.”

  Everything with Gavin felt easy and fun. Why couldn’t it be this way with Stefan?

  We took the subway downtown, which (despite my joking) really was a novelty for me, since I mostly traveled via Stefan’s private car or one of my ride-sharing apps. I hoped Gavin was taking us somewhere exciting and energetic, because my eyelids felt heavy as I stared at the Chicago skyline out the train windows and allowed my thoughts to wander.

  Despite the nightmare my life had become, and how difficult it was to fall asleep by myself in the big, lonely guest room, Stefan and I seemed to have reached an uneasy truce. One where we mostly avoided each other. I spent my days in class, studying at Harper, or hanging out with my school friends. Then I’d return to the condo as late as possible each night, knowing he could track me through my cell phone at any time if he wanted to know where I was. Though I doubted my husband cared enough to bother.

  I was certain he was cheating. His days seemed to go longer and longer, half the time he didn’t even come home at all, and the other half he’d get in after midnight. I told myself I didn’t care, that it didn’t matter who he was slept with. I didn’t want him anyway. Not really.

  When he was home, we didn’t speak unless it was to say there was fresh coffee, or that Gretna had the day off. We were basically just roommates, and for all Stefan’s posturing about how I was still expected to obey him when he “required” me to behave as his wife, he hadn’t tried to put a hand on me.

  Those first few nights, I’d tossed and turned for hours, waiting for him to slip into bed after midnight the way he had always done. I kept stirring at every small noise, thinking that it might be him, coming to claim my body, pound into me with that punishing cock until I came.

  I was ashamed that I had such thoughts. That I got hot and wet thinking about it. That I still wore my same silky, lacy lingerie, just begging to be torn off of me. That part of me was even entertaining the possibility that things could go back to normal—that I could forget the reality of our situation. Of my situation. But old habits die hard.

  My life seemed to float by in a haze. It was almost a dance, the two of us orbiting each other in the same space, but on two separate continents emotionally. It stung, even though I knew I should be happy the monster was staying away from me. I was just lonely, that was all.

  Sure, I missed kissing him and touching him and fucking him, letting him fuck me and own me and make my toes curl—but that was because I’d only recently come to realize how good sex could be, and I’d become accustomed to his touch. Plus, I’d never slept with anyone else. Who else would I even fantasize about when I touched myself in the shower? Gavin Chase?

  I glanced over at him, feeling myself blush, hoping there was no way he could read my thoughts.

  “Next stop’s ours,” he said, as the train slowed.

  I looked up at the name of the station. “Navy Pier Terminal? We’re going to Navy Pier?” I thought about the Centennial Wheel there, and my stomach lurched with unbidden memories of the ferris wheel that Stefan had taken me on during our honeymoon in Vienna.

  He shot me that winning, dimpled grin as we walked through the terminal. “I know, I know—it’s got a bad rap. The number one tourist attraction in Chicago, yada yada. But trust me, it’s changed over the past few years. And there’s a restaurant in the botanical gardens with an amazing rooftop bar.”

  I was skeptical. “A rooftop bar? In this weather?” I gestured at the cloudy sky above us as we stepped out onto the street. “It looks like it might snow.”

  “It’s barely November,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

  I was shivering, though, so he wrapped a friendly arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. I let myself lean into his warmth, but kept my arms crossed over my chest as we walked toward the lights of the pier.

  “You don’t need to worry about the weather, honestly. It’s an enclosed rooftop—all glass. You’ll love it,” Gavin promised. “It’s got incredible views of the skyline and you can see all the city lights reflected in the water. Plus, if you really do hate it, we’ll leave. Cool?”

  It was a novelty. Someone asking me where I wanted to go.

  “Cool,” I said, returning his smile. It was hard not to. “But if I hate it, not only are we going somewhere else, but you’re buying me the pinkest, frilliest cocktail they have.”

  “No can do,” he said. “You’re underage.”

  “Who told you that?” I asked, indignant.

  “Lila may have spilled about the “strip club incident” earlier this semester,” he admitted, smiling. “I heard your husband showed up all mad and dragged you home before you saw even a single oiled-up six pack or bow tie.”

  I felt my face go hot. “I can’t believe they told you that!”

  He laughed. “College hijinks. We all get into ‘em. No judgement here.”

  “Then you’ll have to get yourself a drink so we can share it,” I suggested, elbowing him in the side. “You can make it a double. Double pink frill.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, princess. I’m happy to buy you a Shirley Temple, though.”

  “Who do you think you are, my father?” I teased. The second I thought about my dad, though, my good mood dissipat
ed. I took a deep breath and tried to banish my frown.

  Gavin seemed to notice. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling me to the railing and out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. “Talk to me.”

  “Nothing,” I said, staring off into the choppy water.

  “You got all quiet and pensive,” he pointed out. “I know your tells. It’s not nothing.”

  I took a breath. Gavin could read me so well. It was one of the things I really liked about him. He was always so attentive to the people around him.

  “I guess it’s not,” I admitted. “I…had an argument with my dad a few weeks back. Over something he did. Or didn’t do, but should have. We still haven’t fixed things between us, and I don’t feel good about it. It’s been on my mind.” I shrugged. There was more to it, of course, but I didn’t want to bring Stefan into it. Didn’t want to give Gavin any indication that my marriage was in trouble.

  He was quiet as we stared out at the waters of Lake Michigan together, his arm still warm around my shoulders, the icy air drying my tears before they could fall.

  “That’s one of the things about growing up,” Gavin finally said. “You start to realize that your parents are people, too. They’re not perfect. Just people. Even senators like your dad. They have flaws, they make mistakes…”

  “This was a pretty big mistake,” I said. “I don’t know if I can forgive it.”

  He nodded. “Give it some time, then. No rush. Your heart will know what’s right.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. I had no idea if things between me and my father would ever be okay again, but what Gavin had said was exactly what I needed to hear. “Thanks, Gav.”

  “Any time.”

  The rooftop bar and restaurant at the Crystal Gardens was beautiful, and it took my breath away. Panes of glass arched overhead, fountains and twinkling lights and palm trees abounded, and even the flagstones under our feet all made it obvious we were in a huge tropical greenhouse.

  “This place is gorgeous,” I said, my voice hushed in awe.