Chapter 1

For five years after an accident stole his memory, my husband Ethan treated me like a ghost. He flaunted his affair with his mistress, Kasey, while I endured their daily cruelty, hoping the man I loved would return.

My escape was planned to the last detail, a contract that would give me back our gallery and my freedom. But they found out.

Kasey framed me for hurting her children, then had them spray acid on my hands.

Ethan, consumed by her lies, dragged me to a museum for his final, brutal act of punishment.

He had my mouth, eyes, and ears sewn shut. Then he hung me upside down for the world to see. He thought he had broken me.

But he didn't know about the hidden cameras. Or the powerful family I had kept secret.

They left me for dead, but they only started a war.

Chapter 1

Addison Anderson POV:

The scent of his cheap cologne, cloying and unfamiliar, clung to Kasey's hair as Ethan stroked it. My breath hitched. Five years. Five years since the accident stole him from me, leaving a cruel stranger in his place. A man who sat across the gallery, openly displaying his affection for another woman, while I, his wife, watched. My heart, a withered thing, still beat with a phantom pain of what we once were.

Ethan' s laugh echoed, a hollow sound that grated against my nerves. Kasey, her eyes gleaming with triumph, leaned into him, a possessive hand on his arm. This scene was a tableau I had grown accustomed to, a daily brutality delivered with careless ease. It felt like watching my own funeral, day after day, year after year.

I adjusted the lapel of my blazer, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight, too constricting. My smile, practiced and brittle, remained fixed as a potential buyer approached. This gallery, once our shared dream, was now my cage. I was Addison Anderson, renowned art gallery owner, and I had a job to do. My reputation, my family' s legacy, depended on it. Resilience, my father used to say, was the Anderson birthright.

"Another piece from the new collection, Mr. Davies?" I asked, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.

I guided him toward a large abstract piece, explaining its nuances, the artist' s vision, the investment potential. My words flowed, professional and confident, a stark contrast to the trembling mess I felt on the inside. This was my sanctuary, my battleground.

A shadow fell over me. Ethan. He stood beside me, not to support, but to dismiss. His eyes, once full of warmth for me, were now pools of cold disdain.

"Still peddling these mediocre talents, Addison?" His voice was a low sneer, meant only for my ears. "I thought you' d have graduated to something with actual merit by now. Or perhaps your taste has devolved alongside your... other qualities."

The words struck me like a physical blow. A cold dread settled deep in my stomach. I felt my face flush, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. Mr. Davies shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension.

Kasey, never one to miss an opportunity, sauntered closer, her smile sickly sweet. "Oh, Ethan, don' t be so harsh. Addison tries her best, I' m sure." Her gaze flickered to me, a flash of malice in her polished eyes. "It' s just hard to keep up with truly innovative artists, isn' t it, darling?"

She glanced at the painting I was presenting, then at a vibrant, chaotic piece of her own hanging prominently. It was strategically placed, of course, a constant reminder of her encroaching presence.

"My latest work, 'Eternal Flame,' has been quite the topic of conversation," Kasey purred, addressing Mr. Davies directly, effectively hijacking my client. "Ethan says it perfectly captures the passion of our newest artistic movement."

My jaw tightened. She was a master of self-promotion, selling hype over substance. Her art was flashy, superficial, devoid of genuine emotion, much like Kasey herself. She valued public adoration above all else.

A discreet buzz vibrated in my pocket. My phone. I excused myself, pretending to check a notification. My fingers trembled slightly as I palmed the device, quickly scanning the encrypted message. Contract confirmed. Ready for signing.

A surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, shot through me. This was it.

I caught Ethan' s eye as I returned. He was watching me, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze. It was quick, gone almost before I registered it, but it was there. He knew me too well, even this broken version of him. Had he seen something in my eyes? A flicker of defiance?

"Ethan, darling," I said, my voice sweet, a veneer of normalcy I barely managed to maintain. "I have some papers for your signature. Just routine acquisition documents for the new quarter. You know, the ones your lawyers usually send over."

He eyed me, then the folder I held out. His lips curled. "More of your administrative busywork? Can't it wait?"

"It's pressing, Ethan," I insisted, maintaining eye contact. "Legal deadlines, you understand. Wouldn't want our joint ventures to suffer, would we?"

He snorted, a sound of pure arrogance. "Fine. Get it over with." He snatched the pen from my hand, his movements impatient, dismissive. He didn't even glance at the document before scribbling his name, his signature bold and sprawling. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was signing away his future, not mine. He thought it was just another piece of paper, another inconsequential detail handled by his inconvenient wife.

A secret, exhilarating thrill coursed through me. It was done. The gallery, our gallery, was mine. He had signed over his controlling interest, disguised as a mundane art acquisition contract. The legal team had been meticulous.

He tossed the pen back onto the table, a clatter that jarred my already frayed nerves. "Happy now, Addison? Always something, isn't it? Running this place into the ground with your 'vision'." He gestured around the elegant space, his eyes filled with contempt. "This place is a relic. A museum, not a gallery. Kasey's work breathes life into dead spaces."

Kasey, emboldened, sidled up to Ethan, pressing her body against his. She kissed his cheek, her eyes fixed on me, a taunt in their depths. "Don't worry, Ethan. We'll soon revitalize everything. Won't we, darling?"

A wave of nausea hit me, hot and sickening. My head swam. The air felt thick, heavy with their blatant disrespect, their sickening affection. My stomach churned, a knot of revulsion tightening in my gut. I gripped the signed document, the crisp paper a tangible symbol of my imminent freedom, and the cost.

As I turned to leave, Ethan reached out, grabbing my wrist. His touch, once gentle, was now a vice. It sent a shiver of dread through me.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you have something to say? Some gratitude for my... generosity?"

His grip tightened, his fingernails digging into my skin. I winced, a sharp pain shooting up my arm.

"Let go, Ethan," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His eyes flared, a dark, primal rage erupting. "Let go? After everything? After you've manipulated and schemed your way through my life?"

He shoved me then, hard. My head snapped back, hitting the edge of a nearby display pedestal with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and a searing pain erupted at the base of my skull. I cried out, a guttural sound of shock and agony, clutching my head. My vision blurred.

He towered over me, his face contorted with fury, utterly devoid of remorse. "Don't make a sound, you pathetic creature," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You think a few tears will make me forget your deceit?" His eyes, once so tender, now held nothing but cold contempt.

This wasn't the first time. The bruises, the whispered threats, the emotional lacerations – they were a tapestry woven into the fabric of my life these past five years. I had endured it all, clinging to the ghost of the man he once was, hoping, praying, for his memory to return. But that man was gone. Replaced by this monster.

I pushed myself up, my head throbbing, a metallic taste in my mouth. My vision cleared just enough to see Kasey watching, a smirk playing on her lips. She didn't flinch. She probably enjoyed the show.

"I need to go," I managed, clutching the signed contract like a lifeline. I had to get out. Before I broke completely.

Ethan' s eyes narrowed. He probably noticed the frantic urgency in my voice, the way my hands trembled. "So eager to run away, are we?" he challenged, his voice dripping with malice. "Trying to escape the consequences of your own actions, Addison?"

"I am merely fulfilling my duties here," I said, forcing a professional tone, pushing down the rising panic. "The gallery requires my attention. Unlike some, I still have responsibilities."

He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Responsibilities? You mean obligations, don't you, Addy?" His use of the old nickname, the one he used in our happiest moments, was a cruel twist of the knife. Each syllable scraped against my raw nerves, ripping open old wounds. My breath caught in my throat. I felt a tremor run through my body, a desperate urge to clamp my hands over my ears, to block out the searing pain of that name on his lips.

I turned to leave, needing to escape, needing air. Needing to breathe without the suffocating weight of his presence.

But Kasey, sensing my desperation, stepped into my path. Her eyes, filled with a predatory glee, sparkled. "Oh, Addison, don't rush off just yet. There's something I need your expert opinion on." She held up a small, exquisitely carved wooden bird, a delicate piece of art. "This is for Ethan's office. Do you think it fits his minimalist aesthetic, or is it too... sentimental?"

The bird was a replica of one Ethan had carved for me on our first anniversary. My stomach clenched, bile rising in my throat. This was a deliberate, calculated torment.

Humiliation burned through me, hotter than anger. I felt my face flush, my hands clenching into fists. The urge to scream, to lash out, was almost unbearable. But I couldn't. Not yet.

Ethan watched me, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Well, Addison? The expert opinion, please. Kasey values your... insights." His tone was a whip, lashing out, demanding my compliance, my utter capitulation.

My hands trembled as I took the bird from Kasey. The small, familiar carving felt impossibly heavy in my palm. My fingers brushed against the smooth wood, a ghost of memory, a whisper of a time when love was real. A tear, hot and traitorous, pricked at the corner of my eye. I fought it back.

"It's... exquisite," I choked out, the word tasting like ashes. My voice was hoarse, strained. I hated the sound of my own surrender. I felt exposed, vulnerable, a puppet on their strings.

Ethan's eyes, dark and knowing, lingered on me. He saw my pain, my humiliation. And he reveled in it. A flicker of something predatory, almost satisfied, crossed his face. He leaned closer to Kasey, whispering something in her ear, his gaze still fixed on me, a silent threat.

A sudden, sharp twist of agony bloomed in my stomach. Was he laughing at me? Or worse, was he still trying to read me? A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I felt a tremor run through my body. The signed papers in my hand felt like a dangerous secret, a fragile shield.

"Addison," Kasey' s voice cut through my thoughts, sickly sweet. "Since you're so good with details, perhaps you could re-arrange the display for my new collection? The lighting could be... more dramatic, don't you think?" It was an order, disguised as a request, a demand for me to serve her.

My eyes snapped to hers, a silent battle raging within me. My hands, still clutching the small wooden bird, tightened. The urge to smash it, to scream, was almost overwhelming.

Ethan cleared his throat. "Good idea, Kasey. Addison certainly has an eye for presentation, even if her own art sense is lacking. Get to it, Addison." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet laced with an undeniable command. The dismissal in his tone was absolute.

My mind raced. How much more could I take? My stomach churned violently, and my head pounded. I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I wanted to collapse, to disappear.

But then, a cold resolve settled over me. No. Not yet. I had come too far. I had sacrificed too much.

I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing the nausea down. "Of course, Kasey," I said, my voice thin but steady. "Anything to ensure the collection receives the attention it deserves." I placed the carved bird back gently on the table, my fingers lingering for a moment, a silent farewell to a past that was truly gone.

Ethan watched me, a new flicker in his eyes. It wasn't suspicion now. It was something darker, something almost... disturbed. He seemed to sense a shift in me, a dangerous calm.

"Addison," he said, his voice hard. "You're... quiet today. Did you finally accept your place?"

I met his gaze, my own eyes, I hoped, devoid of any visible emotion. "I accept the reality of my situation, Ethan," I replied, the words carefully chosen. "And I understand my role."

He scoffed, but there was a hint of uneasiness in his expression. It was fleeting, though. He quickly dismissed it. He turned to Kasey, his arm wrapping around her waist. "Come, Kasey. Let's leave Addison to her... 'duties'." He emphasized the word with a mocking sneer, as if my work, my passion, was a paltry, insignificant thing.

He then gestured expansively around the gallery, a dismissive flick of his wrist. "And try not to make this place look any more like a mausoleum than it already does."

He and Kasey started to walk away, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. Kasey leaned her head on Ethan' s shoulder, her eyes darting back to me, a triumphant glint in them. She thought she had won. They both did.

My stomach twisted again, a sharp, cramping pain. My head throbbed. The air felt heavy, suffocating. I felt the familiar burn of humiliation, the slow, agonizing erosion of my spirit. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip down every single one of Kasey' s gaudy paintings.

Ethan paused at the gallery exit, his hand still on Kasey' s back. He turned his head slightly, his gaze hooking mine. His eyes, cold and hard, locked onto mine. "Oh, and Addison," he called out, his voice carrying just loud enough to cut through the elegant silence. "Don't forget to clean up the mess you made. You always were so clumsy."

He was referring to the fallen pedestal, the tiny chip in its marble top where my head had hit. A fresh wave of indignation, cold and bitter, washed over me.

Then, just before he walked out completely, he added, his voice laced with venom, "And know this, Addison. You are nothing without me. Nothing. I own you."

His words hit me like a physical punch to the gut, stealing my breath. My entire body stiffened, a cold dread washing over me. He owned me. He truly believed it. And he had just proven how far he would go to enforce that belief.

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. My head swam. My hands, still clutching the signed document, started to tremble uncontrollably. He had signed it. He had signed away his claim. But his words, his absolute conviction, still held me captive. Still twisted the knife. He still wielded his power like a weapon.

My eyes fell on the pristine white walls of the gallery. For five years, this place, once a testament to our shared love for art, had been a cage. And I, like some exotic bird, had been left to wither inside it.

The pain of his words, of his casual cruelty, was almost unbearable. It felt like my soul was being flayed, layer by agonizing layer. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of him leaving with Kasey, the sound of his dismissive words. But they were etched into my mind, a constant replay of my humiliation.

I stood there, trembling, the signed contract a crumpled mess in my hand. He thought I was broken. He thought I was defeated. He had no idea what he had just done. Or what I was about to do.

This was just the beginning.

Addison Anderson POV:

The scent of his cheap cologne, cloying and unfamiliar, clung to Kasey's hair as Ethan stroked it. My breath hitched. Five years. Five years since the accident stole him from me, leaving a cruel stranger in his place. A man who sat across the gallery, openly displaying his affection for another woman, while I, his wife, watched. My heart, a withered thing, still beat with a phantom pain of what we once were.

Ethan' s laugh echoed, a hollow sound that grated against my nerves. Kasey, her eyes gleaming with triumph, leaned into him, a possessive hand on his arm. This scene was a tableau I had grown accustomed to, a daily brutality delivered with careless ease. It felt like watching my own funeral, day after day, year after year.

I adjusted the lapel of my blazer, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight, too constricting. My smile, practiced and brittle, remained fixed as a potential buyer approached. This gallery, once our shared dream, was now my cage. I was Addison Anderson, renowned art gallery owner, and I had a job to do. My reputation, my family' s legacy, depended on it. Resilience, my father used to say, was the Anderson birthright.

"Another piece from the new collection, Mr. Davies?" I asked, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.

I guided him toward a large abstract piece, explaining its nuances, the artist' s vision, the investment potential. My words flowed, professional and confident, a stark contrast to the trembling mess I felt on the inside. This was my sanctuary, my battleground.

A shadow fell over me. Ethan. He stood beside me, not to support, but to dismiss. His eyes, once full of warmth for me, were now pools of cold disdain.

"Still peddling these mediocre talents, Addison?" His voice was a low sneer, meant only for my ears. "I thought you' d have graduated to something with actual merit by now. Or perhaps your taste has devolved alongside your... other qualities."

The words struck me like a physical blow. A cold dread settled deep in my stomach. I felt my face flush, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. Mr. Davies shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension.

Kasey, never one to miss an opportunity, sauntered closer, her smile sickly sweet. "Oh, Ethan, don' t be so harsh. Addison tries her best, I' m sure." Her gaze flickered to me, a flash of malice in her polished eyes. "It' s just hard to keep up with truly innovative artists, isn' t it, darling?"

She glanced at the painting I was presenting, then at a vibrant, chaotic piece of her own hanging prominently. It was strategically placed, of course, a constant reminder of her encroaching presence.

"My latest work, 'Eternal Flame,' has been quite the topic of conversation," Kasey purred, addressing Mr. Davies directly, effectively hijacking my client. "Ethan says it perfectly captures the passion of our newest artistic movement."

My jaw tightened. She was a master of self-promotion, selling hype over substance. Her art was flashy, superficial, devoid of genuine emotion, much like Kasey herself. She valued public adoration above all else.

A discreet buzz vibrated in my pocket. My phone. I excused myself, pretending to check a notification. My fingers trembled slightly as I palmed the device, quickly scanning the encrypted message. Contract confirmed. Ready for signing.

A surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, shot through me. This was it.

I caught Ethan' s eye as I returned. He was watching me, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze. It was quick, gone almost before I registered it, but it was there. He knew me too well, even this broken version of him. Had he seen something in my eyes? A flicker of defiance?

"Ethan, darling," I said, my voice sweet, a veneer of normalcy I barely managed to maintain. "I have some papers for your signature. Just routine acquisition documents for the new quarter. You know, the ones your lawyers usually send over."

He eyed me, then the folder I held out. His lips curled. "More of your administrative busywork? Can't it wait?"

"It's pressing, Ethan," I insisted, maintaining eye contact. "Legal deadlines, you understand. Wouldn't want our joint ventures to suffer, would we?"

He snorted, a sound of pure arrogance. "Fine. Get it over with." He snatched the pen from my hand, his movements impatient, dismissive. He didn't even glance at the document before scribbling his name, his signature bold and sprawling. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was signing away his future, not mine. He thought it was just another piece of paper, another inconsequential detail handled by his inconvenient wife.

A secret, exhilarating thrill coursed through me. It was done. The gallery, our gallery, was mine. He had signed over his controlling interest, disguised as a mundane art acquisition contract. The legal team had been meticulous.

He tossed the pen back onto the table, a clatter that jarred my already frayed nerves. "Happy now, Addison? Always something, isn't it? Running this place into the ground with your 'vision'." He gestured around the elegant space, his eyes filled with contempt. "This place is a relic. A museum, not a gallery. Kasey's work breathes life into dead spaces."

Kasey, emboldened, sidled up to Ethan, pressing her body against his. She kissed his cheek, her eyes fixed on me, a taunt in their depths. "Don't worry, Ethan. We'll soon revitalize everything. Won't we, darling?"

A wave of nausea hit me, hot and sickening. My head swam. The air felt thick, heavy with their blatant disrespect, their sickening affection. My stomach churned, a knot of revulsion tightening in my gut. I gripped the signed document, the crisp paper a tangible symbol of my imminent freedom, and the cost.

As I turned to leave, Ethan reached out, grabbing my wrist. His touch, once gentle, was now a vice. It sent a shiver of dread through me.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you have something to say? Some gratitude for my... generosity?"

His grip tightened, his fingernails digging into my skin. I winced, a sharp pain shooting up my arm.

"Let go, Ethan," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His eyes flared, a dark, primal rage erupting. "Let go? After everything? After you've manipulated and schemed your way through my life?"

He shoved me then, hard. My head snapped back, hitting the edge of a nearby display pedestal with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and a searing pain erupted at the base of my skull. I cried out, a guttural sound of shock and agony, clutching my head. My vision blurred.

He towered over me, his face contorted with fury, utterly devoid of remorse. "Don't make a sound, you pathetic creature," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You think a few tears will make me forget your deceit?" His eyes, once so tender, now held nothing but cold contempt.

This wasn't the first time. The bruises, the whispered threats, the emotional lacerations – they were a tapestry woven into the fabric of my life these past five years. I had endured it all, clinging to the ghost of the man he once was, hoping, praying, for his memory to return. But that man was gone. Replaced by this monster.

I pushed myself up, my head throbbing, a metallic taste in my mouth. My vision cleared just enough to see Kasey watching, a smirk playing on her lips. She didn't flinch. She probably enjoyed the show.

"I need to go," I managed, clutching the signed contract like a lifeline. I had to get out. Before I broke completely.

Ethan' s eyes narrowed. He probably noticed the frantic urgency in my voice, the way my hands trembled. "So eager to run away, are we?" he challenged, his voice dripping with malice. "Trying to escape the consequences of your own actions, Addison?"

"I am merely fulfilling my duties here," I said, forcing a professional tone, pushing down the rising panic. "The gallery requires my attention. Unlike some, I still have responsibilities."

He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Responsibilities? You mean obligations, don't you, Addy?" His use of the old nickname, the one he used in our happiest moments, was a cruel twist of the knife. Each syllable scraped against my raw nerves, ripping open old wounds. My breath caught in my throat. I felt a tremor run through my body, a desperate urge to clamp my hands over my ears, to block out the searing pain of that name on his lips.

I turned to leave, needing to escape, needing air. Needing to breathe without the suffocating weight of his presence.

But Kasey, sensing my desperation, stepped into my path. Her eyes, filled with a predatory glee, sparkling. "Oh, Addison, don't rush off just yet. There's something I need your expert opinion on." She held up a small, exquisitely carved wooden bird, a delicate piece of art. "This is for Ethan's office. Do you think it fits his minimalist aesthetic, or is it too... sentimental?"

The bird was a replica of one Ethan had carved for me on our first anniversary. My stomach clenched, bile rising in my throat. This was a deliberate, calculated torment.

Humiliation burned through me, hotter than anger. I felt my face flush, my hands clenching into fists. The urge to scream, to lash out, was almost unbearable. But I couldn't. Not yet.

Ethan watched me, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Well, Addison? The expert opinion, please. Kasey values your... insights." His tone was a whip, lashing out, demanding my compliance, my utter capitulation.

My hands trembled as I took the bird from Kasey. The small, familiar carving felt impossibly heavy in my palm. My fingers brushed against the smooth wood, a ghost of memory, a whisper of a time when love was real. A tear, hot and traitorous, pricked at the corner of my eye. I fought it back.

"It's... exquisite," I choked out, the word tasting like ashes. My voice was hoarse, strained. I hated the sound of my own surrender. I felt exposed, vulnerable, a puppet on their strings.

Ethan's eyes, dark and knowing, lingered on me. He saw my pain, my humiliation. And he reveled in it. A flicker of something predatory, almost satisfied, crossed his face. He leaned closer to Kasey, whispering something in her ear, his gaze still fixed on me, a silent threat.

A sudden, sharp twist of agony bloomed in my stomach. Was he laughing at me? Or worse, was he still trying to read me? A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I felt a tremor run through my body. The signed papers in my hand felt like a dangerous secret, a fragile shield.

"Addison," Kasey' s voice cut through my thoughts, sickly sweet. "Since you're so good with details, perhaps you could re-arrange the display for my new collection? The lighting could be... more dramatic, don't you think?" It was an order, disguised as a request, a demand for me to serve her.

My eyes snapped to hers, a silent battle raging within me. My hands, still clutching the small wooden bird, tightened. The urge to smash it, to scream, was almost overwhelming.

Ethan cleared his throat. "Good idea, Kasey. Addison certainly has an eye for presentation, even if her own art sense is lacking. Get to it, Addison." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet laced with an undeniable command. The dismissal in his tone was absolute.

My mind raced. How much more could I take? My stomach churned violently, and my head pounded. I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I wanted to collapse, to disappear.

But then, a cold resolve settled over me. No. Not yet. I had come too far. I had sacrificed too much.

I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing the nausea down. "Of course, Kasey," I said, my voice thin but steady. "Anything to ensure the collection receives the attention it deserves." I placed the carved bird back gently on the table, my fingers lingering for a moment, a silent farewell to a past that was truly gone.

Ethan watched me, a new flicker in his eyes. It wasn't suspicion now. It was something darker, something almost... disturbed. He seemed to sense a shift in me, a dangerous calm.

"Addison," he said, his voice hard. "You're... quiet today. Did you finally accept your place?"

I met his gaze, my own eyes, I hoped, devoid of any visible emotion. "I accept the reality of my situation, Ethan," I replied, the words carefully chosen. "And I understand my role."

He scoffed, but there was a hint of uneasiness in his expression. It was fleeting, though. He quickly dismissed it. He turned to Kasey, his arm wrapping around her waist. "Come, Kasey. Let's leave Addison to her... 'duties'." He emphasized the word with a mocking sneer, as if my work, my passion, was a paltry, insignificant thing.

He then gestured expansively around the gallery, a dismissive flick of his wrist. "And try not to make this place look any more like a mausoleum than it already does."

He and Kasey started to walk away, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. Kasey leaned her head on Ethan' s shoulder, her eyes darting back to me, a triumphant glint in them. She thought she had won. They both did.

My stomach twisted again, a sharp, cramping pain. My head throbbed. The air felt heavy, suffocating. I felt the familiar burn of humiliation, the slow, agonizing erosion of my spirit. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip down every single one of Kasey' s gaudy paintings.

Ethan paused at the gallery exit, his hand still on Kasey' s back. He turned his head slightly, his gaze hooking mine. His eyes, cold and hard, locked onto mine. "Oh, and Addison," he called out, his voice carrying just loud enough to cut through the elegant silence. "Don't forget to clean up the mess you made. You always were so clumsy."

He was referring to the fallen pedestal, the tiny chip in its marble top where my head had hit. A fresh wave of indignation, cold and bitter, washed over me.

Then, just before he walked out completely, he added, his voice laced with venom, "And know this, Addison. You are nothing without me. Nothing. I own you."

His words hit me like a physical punch to the gut, stealing my breath. My entire body stiffened, a cold dread washing over me. He owned me. He truly believed it. And he had just proven how far he would go to enforce that belief.

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. My head swam. My hands, still clutching the signed document, started to tremble uncontrollably. He had signed it. He had signed away his claim. But his words, his absolute conviction, still held me captive. Still twisted the knife. He still wielded his power like a weapon.

My eyes fell on the pristine white walls of the gallery. For five years, this place, once a testament to our shared love for art, had been a cage. And I, like some exotic bird, had been left to wither inside it.

The pain of his words, of his casual cruelty, was almost unbearable. It felt like my soul was being flayed, layer by agonizing layer. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of him leaving with Kasey, the sound of his dismissive words. But they were etched into my mind, a constant replay of my humiliation.

I stood there, trembling, the signed contract a crumpled mess in my hand. He thought I was broken. He thought I was defeated. He had no idea what he had just done. Or what I was about to do.

This was just the beginning.