Chapter 2

Clara was thrown violently onto a soft King-size bed. She bounced against the mattress. Before she could push herself up, a massive, heavy shadow crashed down on her, pinning her completely.

She opened her mouth to scream. Boiling hot lips, carrying heavy, ragged breaths, crashed into hers, swallowing her cry.

She thrashed wildly. Her hands flailed in the dark. Her nails dug deep into the man's broad back. Her fingers met a sticky, wet warmth. He was bleeding.

The man let out a low, hoarse grunt. The pain only made him more feral. He grabbed both of her wrists with one hand and pinned them above her head. His strength was terrifying. He was acting on pure, mindless instinct.

Clara realized with horror that his body temperature was unnaturally high. His skin felt like it was on fire. He had been heavily drugged.

He ripped the belt of her trench coat open. His burning mouth trailed down her neck. Clara twisted her body in absolute despair. Tears slid down her temples into her hair.

"Let me go... please..." she sobbed against his skin when he paused to breathe.

But the drug had completely destroyed his rationality.

The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the dark room. Her last line of defense was destroyed. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her body. She arched her back and sank her teeth hard into his shoulder.

The man's muscles locked. His Adam's apple rolled against her skin. He let out a deep growl and took her with even more brutal force.

Time stretched into an endless nightmare. Clara drowned in pain and despair. The scent of cedarwood and blood burned permanently into her brain.

Eventually, the violent movements stopped. The heavy body collapsed on top of her. His breathing evened out. He had passed out.

Clara ignored the agonizing pain radiating through her bones. She carefully slid out from under his crushing weight, terrified of making a single sound.

She crawled on the floor, searching for her torn clothes. Her fingers brushed against a sharp piece of debris on the carpet, slicing her fingertip open.

In her panic, the custom platinum bracelet on her wrist-engraved with her initials-caught on the metal carving of the bed frame. She yanked her arm. The clasp snapped. The bracelet vanished into the thick carpet.

Faint voices echoed from the hallway. Hotel security was checking the circuit breakers. The power was about to return.

Clara grabbed her trench coat, wrapped it tightly around her naked, bruised body, and ran out of the room barefoot.

She sprinted down the hallway. The moment she crashed through the fire escape door, the hotel lights flickered and blazed back to life. The sudden brightness blinded her.

She leaned against the stairwell wall. She looked down at her arms covered in bruises and the dark hickeys scattered across her neck. Hot tears of humiliation spilled over her cheeks.

She forced herself to stand. Dragging her heavy legs, she climbed back up to the presidential suite. Every step was a brutal reminder of the double hell she had survived tonight.

The suite was still empty. Julian wasn't back yet. A small breath escaped her lips.

She ran into the bathroom, turned the shower to the hottest setting, and stood under the scalding water. She scrubbed her skin violently, trying to wash away the scent of the stranger.

The mirror fogged up. Clara wiped the condensation away. She stared at her pathetic reflection. The despair in her eyes slowly hardened into cold, sharp ice.

She grabbed the first aid kit, bandaged her bleeding finger, and applied thick layers of heavy concealer over her neck and collarbones.

She changed into a long-sleeved, high-necked silk pajama set. She stuffed the ruined trench coat and her torn wedding dress into a garbage bag and hid it at the bottom of her suitcase.

Just as she zipped the suitcase, the front door clicked open. Julian walked in, humming a cheerful tune.

Clara instantly dove into bed, turned her back to the door, and squeezed her eyes shut. Under the blanket, her hands curled into tight fists.

Julian walked to the edge of the bed. The overwhelming smell of fresh body wash radiated off him. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Honey, are you asleep? Sorry, I ran into some old friends and lost track of time," Julian whispered. His gentle voice made her stomach heave.

Clara pretended to wake up. She rolled over slightly, avoiding his touch. "I'm exhausted. My head is killing me," she said, her voice raspy.

Julian didn't push. A flash of relief crossed his face. He turned and walked into the bathroom.

In the dark, Clara opened her eyes. Her gaze was as sharp as a razor. The innocent, devoted Clara who had walked down the aisle yesterday had died on that hotel bed, shattered by Julian's betrayal and the brutal violation in the dark. As the agonizing pain radiated through her bruised body, her grief had completely burned out, leaving nothing behind but an endless, freezing wasteland of hatred. From this moment on, she would be their worst nightmare.