by Dori Lavelle
With a grunt, he withdraws completely, then slams into me again with a force that almost breaks me. Both of us are trembling now.
The bones inside my body melt. I can’t hold my position and fall onto the sheets. He falls right on top of me, his dick hitting a bull’s eye.
“Fuck, Ivy. Fuck.” The way he says my name when he comes almost makes me believe he really loves me, reminding me of what we could have had.
Afterward, I don’t move away from him. I want to, but I can’t seem to make myself. Being close to him gives me some twisted sense of security. I hate myself for it. How sick am I, to yearn for comfort in the arms of the man who’s hurt me so much? Can it be I’m just as sick as he is?
I came into this believing I was in control. I wanted to be the one with the power. Instead I gave him even more control over me. He owns me in every way now, just as he said he would.
Chapter Seventeen
When the impact of what I’ve done hits me full force, I extricate myself from Damien’s hold and run to the bathroom. I wish for the hundredth time that he weren’t able to see me through the glass.
My body itches for a shower, to be scrubbed of the scent of him. Sobs grip me before I can turn on the water.
I crumple against one marble wall and slide to the cool floor. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, trickling down my cheeks and neck.
After he fucked me, I felt strangely whole. Now all I feel is a deep, empty abyss in the center of my heart.
For a long time, Damien keeps his distance, though his eyes are on me. When he finally enters the bathroom, I’ve wept for a long time and I’m lying on the dry shower floor, my damp cheek pressed against the tiles. His muted footsteps move across the room toward me. I sit up and wipe the tears away. I don’t look at him.
“I thought you wanted this.” He inhales sharply. “You specifically made it clear that you wanted me to fuck you.”
I swallow the rest of the tears lingering in my throat as sudden confidence fills my body. I lift my chin and meet his hardened gaze. “Answer me one thing.”
He folds his arms across his hard chest. I try not to look below his naked waist. “Anything.”
“Why me? Why did you pick me? What made you decide I was the one you wanted to torture? Did moving into that dorm room put me in the wrong place at the wrong time?” My tongue rolls over my dry lips and I taste the salt of my tears. “If not me, would it have been Jennifer? Or someone else?”
“No.” He slides his gaze from me and takes a few steps back until his calves meet the edge of the bathtub. “Let’s not taint our new life with the past. You are right for me. Leave it at that.”
“Do you really expect me to feel fortunate?” I wrap my arms around my body. I’m too angry to stop bombarding him with questions. “Am I supposed to feel lucky that I’m the one who had the privilege to be kidnapped by you?”
“No.” The word is as hard as marble. “Again, you have it all wrong. Kidnapping is the wrong word.” He perches on the lip of the bath. “I brought you into my life because I love you. You belong to me.”
“You’ve got such a messed-up definition of love. This is not love. Whatever you feel for me is a sickness, an obsession. You have to be broken somewhere to believe it’s anything else.”
He shoots up from the tub. The next thing I know, he’s holding me up by the nape of my neck, yanking me out of the shower cubicle. He pulls my face to his. “Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t disrespect my love for you. Ever.”
“Or what?” I stand on tiptoes so I’m as close to his face as possible, ignoring the pain in my neck. “What will you do to me that you haven’t already done? Kill me?”
“If you push me too far, I just might. Don’t test me.” He lets go of me so suddenly I stumble back. “Do what you have to do in here and come back to bed.”
He strides back into the room, leaving me shaken and vibrating with anger. I remain in the bathroom for a long time, huddled in a corner, afraid to return to his side.
I shrink back when he reenters the bathroom. For a moment he stands in the doorway, watching me. Then he stretches out a hand.
Ignoring the gesture, I rise to my feet and push myself past him. He follows without a word.
I climb under the sheets and move as far away from him as possible without falling off the bed. Instead of reaching for me, he simply turns off the lights.
Ten minutes later, he’s asleep, and as usual, I’m wide awake, hearing the memories, the sounds of our earlier lovemaking. I want to say I’ll refuse to give myself to him again, but it’s a lie.
As much as I hate him, as much as I hate the way I feel after he’s fucked me, there’s no denying that my body wants him. It belongs to him without my consent.
In the days and nights that follow, I fall right back into bed with Damien. No amount of anger is strong enough to quench my desire for him. Every time I sleep with him, I hate myself, but I can’t seem to stop. The mind-numbing orgasms he gives me at night make being locked up all day more bearable. They’re something to look forward to.
I don’t push him away, even though letting him fuck me isn’t getting me any closer to my freedom. He still struggles to trust me. The only time I leave the stifling room is for dinner in the dining room.
As the days pass, Damien seems happier than ever, pretending we’re in wedded bliss.
Perhaps I should give in and accept my fate, but the faint stubborn streak inside of me refuses to let go completely. There has to be a way out.
The next time Damien is away, I spend some time roaming the room. It’s not that I want to acquaint myself with my surroundings, necessarily. But this is the room Damien sleeps in, which means he could’ve left pieces of himself lying around—snapshots of his life that would help me better understand him. Something I could use to destroy him.
Knowing I’m being watched, I’m careful not to act too suspicious, and pretend to be tidying up the place. After almost an hour, I find nothing noteworthy. It’s as though Damien moved into the room at the same time he brought me here. Apart from clothes and toiletries, I find no personal items. By the time I’m done snooping around, I’m bored out of my mind. There are no books for me to read or anything else for me to do here.
To occupy myself, I enter the walk-in wardrobe and sit down on one of the cushioned stools. My eyes take in all the clothes he’s bought for me, the clothes he delights in seeing me wear.
Not knowing what else to do, I stand and start pulling clothes off hangers, dropping them to the floor, where they form a sea of expensive fabrics. I take my time hanging them up again, which gives my hands something to do and prevents my wild thoughts from causing chaos in my mind.
It takes me another hour to tidy up the wardrobe again, but my reward is an exhaustion that makes me feel human.
I’m just about to walk out of the wardrobe again, to go lie down on the bed and count the minutes until lunch is served, when I spy a big white box at the top of one of the shelves. It’s too high for me to reach, so I climb on top of the stool I was sitting on earlier. I’m still unable to reach the box, so I fold a few pieces of clothing to pad the stool up some more and give me more height.
As I stretch my body and arms to reach the white box, I wonder if Damien has forgotten, or deliberately chosen, not to install cameras inside the wardrobe. Why else didn’t Adrian intervene when I turned the wardrobe upside down?
At this point I don’t care whether he’s watching or not. A moment later my curiosity has me wrapping my hands around the box and bringing it down with me.
A cloud of tulle and silk meets my gaze as I lift the mother-of-pearl cover. My brows draw together and my hands dig into the fragile fabric. I don’t need a label to tell me it’s a wedding dress. Is it the one I wore to our fake wedding?
The gown is beautiful: pure white, with pearls and crystals scattered over the bust.
Sitting down on the stool, I allow the dress to spill over my knees as I study each intricate
detail. I don’t know what I’m searching for, what I want the dress to tell me, but I’m unable to stop the palms of my hands from sweeping over the fabric, my eyes following as though on a mission to uncover some kind of mystery.
I lift the dress to my nose and inhale deeply. In spite of its crisp new look, there’s a faint old, musty odor attached to it that screams “already been worn.”
“What’s your story?” I whisper, pinching a piece of tulle between my fingers.
A scratching sound outside the door of the suite brings me back to my senses, and I start to fold up the dress as best I can. A small tag in the lining catches my attention, and I brush wisps of tulle out of the way to lift the tag to my eyes. The tiny, cursive words are sewn in gold thread: Damien and Kristi Forever.
Alarm bells shrill inside my head as I quickly fold the dress and return it to its place on top of the shelves.
I return to the bedroom, hands clasped in front of me to stop them from shaking.
The fact that he used to be married isn’t what has my heart pounding. Plenty of people get married multiple times—they divorce, remarry, and move on. But I can’t shake the chill that’s running down my spine, telling me it wasn’t divorce that separated Damien and Kristi. Do I even want to know what happened?
Chapter Eighteen
“I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” Damien reaches under his pillow.
I want to tell him to fuck off. We finished having sex a few minutes ago, but the high has worn off, and pure, undiluted hate now simmers inside my veins. “What is it?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Come on—close those beautiful eyes and give me your left hand.”
I shut my eyes and hand him a limp hand. It feels small in his warm grasp.
I hear a snap, and then feel something cool slide onto my finger. I open my eyes before he gives me permission.
It’s not one ring on my finger, but two. The simple band is silver, or maybe platinum—I never can tell the difference. Next to it is the biggest, most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen in my life, an emerald-cut diamond and platinum ring. I gape at my hand in astonishment.
“Like them?” He sinks back against the pillows.
“I don’t want these.” I attempt to remove them, but he stops me, holding my hand tight.
“Never remove them. They’re a symbol of our union.”
“I thought the ankle bracelet served that purpose.”
“I wanted to give you more things to remind you who you belong to.” He plays with a strand of my hair. “You’ve been such a great wife lately. I wanted to show you my appreciation.”
I leave the damn rings on. The thread of warning in his tone is unmistakable. “You really do love me, don’t you?”
“More than you can even imagine. I’d kill for you.”
A cold chill touches my spine, but I ignore it and the fear that trickles into my bloodstream as I remember Jennifer. He killed for her too.
“But when you love someone, don’t you want them to be happy?” I ask.
“Absolutely. And you should be. I give you everything. What more could you want?”
“Damien.” I touch his naked shoulder. “Being locked up in this room every day is not my idea of happiness.”
“I know. I do agree that you need a change of scenery.” My heart leaps at his words. “That’s about to happen. From now on, I’ll be taking you out to dinner… to a restaurant. You deserve a treat.”
I bite my tongue. I don’t want to say anything that might cause him to change his mind. This is the best news I’ve heard in a long time. It’s taken a while, but it seems agreeing to have sex with him was the right move after all.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Good. I’d love to accompany you to dinner.” Inside my head, the wheels are already spinning as I think of all the possible ways I can escape from a restaurant.
“Look at me.” He places a hand on my cheek and turns me to face him. “I will take you out on one condition. You will not betray me. If you even think of doing something stupid, there will be consequences.”
I blink in response.
“You’re wondering what those consequences might be, aren’t you?” He moves his hand from my cheek to my neck. “If you ever try to leave me, I’ll have to kill you. I’ve been good to you up to this point. But things could change like that.” He snaps his thumb and forefinger. “Do you understand?”
“I do.” The hell I do. As soon as I step out of the gates of his mansion, there’s no way I’ll be coming back. Being threatened with death has further strengthened my resolve.
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t seem excited.”
“Trust me, I am.” I force a smile. “When’s our first date?”
“Maybe sometime next week. I’ll let you know.”
My heart deflates a little. Knowing how many days I have to plan would help. No matter; I’ll just have to start weaving my escape plan right away.
He places a hand on my naked waist, turning me to face him fully. “You do understand that the reason I keep you in the house is because I don’t want to lose you, right? Maybe I’m a selfish son of a bitch, but I love you so much that I want to have you all to myself. I never want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” Lying has never come easily to me, but when you’re in a life-or-death situation, you find yourself doing things that are out of character.
“That’s what I want to hear.” He kisses me on the forehead, releasing a flutter inside my belly. “Hey, don’t look so sad.” He takes my hand into his and weaves his fingers through mine.
“I’m not.” I force another smile that doesn’t come close to reaching my heart.
“There’s no need to be. We are married, with a wonderful future waiting for us.”
“Have you ever been married… before?” I ask without thinking, but now that the words are out, I find I actually want to hear him say it. I can’t get that wedding dress out of my mind.
The silence between us is taut, like a rubber band about to snap. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “I’m just curious.”
“What if I was? Would that be a problem?”
“No. I just... I was wondering, that’s all. I want to know you better.”
He turns away from me and gazes up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. “In that case, yes. I was married once, several years ago.”
I force myself not to analyze anything, to listen what he has to say without judgment. Still, I have a sinking feeling that his first marriage is what made him the man he is today.
“What happened to her?”
Shit. I swallow hard and rephrase my question before he reads between the lines. “I mean, why did you get divorced?”
“We didn’t. I don’t do divorce. I take marriage vows seriously.” He clears his throat. “Only death has the power to end a marriage.”
An involuntary shudder races through me, but I do my best to remain calm. Did he kill her?
He turns his head to look at me. “How about you? What’s your opinion on divorce?”
“Hmmm...” I decide to be honest. “The reality is, some marriages don’t work out. If two people decide they’re happier apart than together, then I don’t see a problem with that.”
“I see.” He grinds the words between his teeth. “Well, at least you never have to worry about going through one. You and I are never getting divorced.”
Chapter Nineteen
I’ve been holding my breath the past few days, worried that Damien will change his mind about taking me out for dinner. But this morning he looked like a little boy on Christmas when he informed me we’d be having our first date tonight.
My heart almost leapt out of my chest, but I harnessed my emotions to prevent them from spilling over and showing on my face.
In the evening, he surprises me by telling me I get to choose what to wear. Up until now, he’s always picked out what I wear both to dinner and to bed.
/> Hanna, who has been instructed to help me get dressed, tries to talk me into wearing a gray, see-through floral print dress.
“Very sexy and elegant.” She’s so excited, it’s like she’s the one going on the date.
I shake my head and continue looking through the clothes. “It’s beautiful, but I want to wear something different tonight.” I pull a pair of black straight-leg dress pants from a hanger. “Pants would be great for a change.” I push my hand into one of the pockets at the back of the pants. Perfect.
Hanna’s face has fallen. She doesn’t know that the clothes I’m choosing tonight will make or break my escape plans.
“Help me pick a top,” I say, trying to lighten her mood.
In the end, I choose the pants, a café au lait silk blouse with cap sleeves, a shawl, and a pair of suede ballerinas. Comfortable, yet elegant. I’m ready half an hour before Damien says we have to leave the house. My fiery hair is tied into a sleek ponytail, and despite looking a little gaunt, my face is fresh without makeup, except for a sweep of red lipstick.
While I wait for Damien to come and get me, I manage to pick up one of the Photoshopped photographs of me and him scattered on the dresser. Surely he won’t notice that one out of six is missing. Even if he does, I’ll be long gone. In case the camera is on and Adrian is watching me, I make a show of pretending I’m interested in the photo. Eventually, I manage to slip it into my back pocket discreetly.
When Damien unlocks the door, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Ready?” he asks. He’s already dressed in a custom-tailored suit, cream shirt, and burnt orange tie.
“I am.” I rise to my feet, waiting for him to appraise my attire.
He rubs his clean-shaven chin as his gaze travels from the top of my head to the tips of my ballerinas.
Please don’t tell me to change into something else.
“Simple elegance.” He surveys me with appreciation. “I like it. Except, I prefer you in heels. A pair of stilettos would be perfect with that outfit.”