His Cruelty, Her Comeback

My husband, Bennet, was my hero.

Three years ago, his stalker, Gianna, crippled my drawing hand, ending my career as an architect. Bennet promised me justice, locking her away in a remote cabin to suffer for her crime.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, I went to the county office to update my records.

The clerk looked at me with pity. "Ma'am, our records show you were divorced three years ago. Your ex-husband, Bennet Crosby, remarried on the same day."

The name she read next shattered my world: Gianna Skinner.

The punishment was a lie.

Their prison was a lover's paradise.

For three years, he lived a double life, celebrating our anniversary with his other wife.

He brought her into our home as a maid, claiming it was for my "healing." He even shoved me to the ground in public to save her from a staged fall.

The final betrayal came when Gianna framed me, convincing Bennet I had hired men to assault her. He dragged me to a dark room, not even recognizing me through a mask. He believed I was a stranger who had hurt his real wife.

"Anyone who lays a hand on my wife," he snarled, "will feel a thousand times the pain."

He personally whipped me ninety-nine times. The man who swore to protect me became my torturer, all while believing he was defending the woman he truly loved.

He left me for dead, ordering his men to finish the job.

But I escaped.

Bleeding and broken, I fled the country with a new identity, my heart set on one thing: entering the Paris architecture competition and taking back the life he tried to destroy.

He thought he had clipped my wings, but he only taught me how to fly from the ashes.

Chapter 1

Today was my fifth wedding anniversary.

I stood in the sterile, beige-walled county office, the air thick with the smell of old paper and stale coffee.

I was here to update my personal information, a final step before I could leave for the prestigious architecture competition in Paris. It was supposed to be a surprise for my husband, Bennet Crosby. A celebration of our love and my return to the world of design.

The clerk, a woman with tired eyes and a name tag that read 'Brenda,' tapped her keyboard.

"Harper Cline," she mumbled, reading from my file. "Everything seems to be in order."

I smiled. "Great. I just need to update my marital status for the application."

A formality. That' s all it was.

Brenda' s fingers stilled. She peered at her screen, then back at me. "Update it to what?"

"It' s our fifth anniversary today," I said, my voice full of the pride I felt. "So, married, five years."

Her brow furrowed. She typed again, the clacking of the keys echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "Ma' am, our records show you are divorced."

The air left my lungs. "What? That' s impossible. There must be a mistake."

She sighed, the sound of someone who dealt with denial all day. "Let me double-check." She typed my name, then Bennet' s. Her eyes widened slightly.

"No mistake, ma' am," she said, her voice softer now, tinged with pity. "You were divorced three years ago. On this exact date."

Three years ago. The date hit me like a physical blow.

"And," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "your ex-husband, Bennet Crosby, remarried on the same day."

The world tilted. My vision tunneled.

"To whom?" The words were a croak.

Brenda hesitated, then read the name off the screen.

"Gianna Skinner."

Gianna. The sound of her name was a ghost, a nightmare I thought Bennet had locked away for me.

My mind flew back three years. Gianna, Bennet' s obsessive admirer, had stalked me for months. Her devotion was a twisted, suffocating thing. It culminated in a dark alley where she screamed that if she couldn' t have Bennet, no one would.

Then came the flash of metal. A searing pain in my right hand. The hand that held my pencils, my dreams, my entire future as an architect.

I remembered the blood, the bone-deep agony, and the sight of my career shattering before my eyes.

Bennet had been my rock. He was furious, a tempest of rage directed at Gianna. He promised me justice. He told me he' d "imprisoned" her in his most secluded lakeside cabin, a place with no connection to the outside world, where she would live out her days paying for what she did to me.

He said he would make her suffer. He had. Or so I believed.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Bennet.

"Happy anniversary, my love. I can' t wait to see you tonight. I have the biggest surprise waiting for you. I love you more than life itself."

The words, once a source of comfort, now felt like poison. The loving husband, the protector, the man who had supposedly punished my attacker... was married to her.

He said her punishment was a charade. A lie.

What else was a lie?

My memories swirled. Bennet' s possessiveness, which I' d mistaken for passion. His need to know where I was at all times, which I' d seen as concern. The way he discouraged my attempts to regain my career, saying he just wanted me to rest and be happy with him. He had cut me off from my dreams, convincing me it was for my own good.

The pieces clicked into place with a horrifying, soul-crushing sound.

I remembered the lakeside cabin. He' d told me he kept her there, locked away. He' d described it as a prison.

An impulse, hot and urgent, seized me. I had to see. I had to know.

I left the county office in a daze, my feet moving on autopilot. I got in my car and drove, the two-hour journey to the lake passing in a blur of green trees and gray asphalt.

The cabin was beautiful, a modern marvel of glass and wood nestled by the water. It didn' t look like a prison. It looked like a retreat.

I parked down the road and walked, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. As I neared the property, I heard noises from the lush, manicured garden.

At first, I thought it was crying. A small, vindictive part of me hoped it was Gianna, finally feeling a fraction of the pain she' d caused.

I crept closer, hiding behind a thicket of flowering bushes.

Through the leaves, I saw them.

Bennet and Gianna.

They weren' t fighting. He wasn' t punishing her. They were on a swinging garden bench, locked in a passionate embrace. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her head thrown back as he kissed her neck. The sounds weren't sobs of pain; they were moans of pleasure.

The so-called torture was a lie. It was their secret game.

My eyes landed on the swing. It was a custom piece, one I had designed myself. Bennet had it built for me, a symbol of our love, he' d said. It was supposed to be our swing.

And Gianna was on it, in his arms, in the life that should have been mine.

My body started to shake uncontrollably. I dug my fingernails into my palm, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the gaping wound in my chest. I drew blood.

Their voices drifted towards me, carried on the gentle breeze.

"Bennet, darling," Gianna purred, her voice dripping with mock concern. "What if Harper finds out? She' s a brilliant architect. What if she wants to go to that competition in Paris?"

Bennet chuckled, a low, possessive sound that made my stomach turn. "Let her go. Without her right hand, she' s nothing. She' ll fail, and she' ll come crawling back to me. She needs me."

The truth was a cold, hard slap. He hadn' t just allowed my injury. He had wanted it. He had used it to clip my wings, to keep me trapped and dependent on him.

"You' re so good to me," Gianna whispered.

"You earned it," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You did what I couldn' t. You kept her here, with me."

He was rewarding her. For destroying my life.

I remembered a time when a business rival had slighted me, and Bennet had ruined the man' s company overnight. He had told me, "Anyone who hurts you will pay a thousand times over."

It was all a lie. A cruel, elaborate performance.

"But what if she comes here?" Gianna pressed, feigning worry.

"She won' t," Bennet said with absolute confidence. "She trusts me completely. She thinks you' re rotting in misery. My sweet, naive Harper."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He opened it, revealing a stunning diamond necklace.

"Happy anniversary, Gianna," he said.

My anniversary. Our anniversary. He was celebrating it with her.

My phone buzzed again. Another message from Bennet.

"Counting down the minutes until I can hold you, my one and only love."

The hypocrisy was suffocating. His love wasn' t a gift; it was a cage. A beautifully gilded cage he' d built with lies and my own broken dreams.

I stared at them, the man I loved and the woman who had ruined me, celebrating their union on the wreckage of my life.

The pain in my chest was sharp, but something else was rising through it. A cold, hard resolve.

He thought he had broken me. He thought I was his dependent little bird with a broken wing.

He was wrong.

This wasn't the end of my story. It was the beginning of my escape. I would enter that competition. I would win. And I would leave Bennet Crosby and his web of lies behind forever.

He would never see me again.