Chapter 6 6

The bathroom was filled with steam, thick and suffocating. Elena stood before the mirror, her skin scrubbed raw and pink. She had been in there for an hour, trying to scour the feeling of helplessness from her pores.

She wrapped a plush towel around herself and stepped into the bedroom.

Julian was there.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a long, black velvet box. When he saw her, his face softened into a look of practiced contrition.

"Elena," he said, standing up. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was stressed. The merger... it's getting to me."

He walked toward her. Elena backed away until her hips hit the vanity table. "Stay away from me."

"Don't be like that," Julian chided gently. He opened the box. Inside lay a diamond necklace, a river of ice that must have cost half a million dollars. "I bought this for you. For tonight. To say I'm sorry."

Elena looked at the diamonds. They didn't look like jewelry. They looked like a collar. A very expensive dog collar.

"I don't want your gifts," she said, her voice shaking. "I want my life back."

Julian sighed, snapping the box shut. The sound was like a pistol hammer cocking. "You're being difficult. I'm trying to make this work."

He tossed the box onto the duvet. He began to loosen his tie, his eyes raking over her towel-clad form. The look in his eyes changed. It became heavy, dark. He watched her with a predatory calm. She was slipping away, he realized. He could see it in her eyes. He needed something stronger than money to keep her. Something permanent.

"Since you're staying," he said, taking a step closer, "we should work on our marriage. Properly."

Elena clutched the towel tighter. "No."

"You're my wife, Elena. You have duties." He reached for her.

Panic flared. Elena grabbed a heavy silver hairbrush from the vanity. "I said no!"

Julian laughed. "What are you going to do with that? Brush me to death?"

He lunged. He grabbed her arm, twisting it until she dropped the brush. He pushed her backward onto the bed.

Elena kicked out, her heel connecting with his shin. Julian grunted in pain. He backhanded her.

Smack.

It wasn't a closed fist, but it was hard enough to snap her head to the side. Her lip split against her teeth. The taste of copper filled her mouth.

Julian froze. He looked at his hand, then at the blood on her lip.

"Look what you made me do," he hissed. "We have a gala in two hours! You can't have a bruise!"

He stood up, adjusting his suit, annoyed rather than remorseful. "Clean yourself up. Use concealer."

He walked to the door, then stopped. He turned back, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"By the way," he said casually. "I've made an appointment with the fertility specialist next week. The Family Trust stipulates that the full inheritance is only released upon the birth of an heir. A baby will secure our future, Elena. And it will give you a reason to stay."

He walked out.

Elena lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

A baby.

The thought made her bile rise. A child with him? A child to lock her into this hell forever? To be used as a pawn like she was being used?

Never.

She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom. She opened a hidden compartment in her makeup bag. Inside was a bottle of Vitamin C gummies. But mixed in with the orange bears were small, round white pills. Birth control.

She dry-swallowed one. Then another, just to be sure.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her lip was swelling. Her eyes were hollow.

She picked up a color-correcting green primer to neutralize the red. She applied a layer of high-coverage theatrical foundation, dabbed it with a sponge, and set it with powder. It wasn't perfect, but it was a mask.

She picked up the red lipstick-Russian Red. She applied it like war paint.

When she stepped back, the victim was gone. In the mirror stood Mrs. Julian Sterling. Perfect. Cold. Dangerous.