Chapter 2 Bargaining chip

I can't move.

I'm staring at Christopher, my mouth open, heart hammering, and he's looking at me as if nothing unusual just happened.

As if he hasn't just agreed to trade me to another man like I'm some lose change.

My mind spins, disbelief and horror mingling as Sebastian's voice breaks through.

"There's no going back if you agree to this, you know," he says to Christopher, his voice edged with dark amusement.

Christopher scoffs, barely glancing at him. "I know that, Sebastian. I know exactly whats at stake."

A nauseous feeling rises in my stomach, and I turn quickly, making my way to the bar as my legs threaten to give out. The man I loved once and trusted completely is now using me as a gambling chip, tossing me around like I'm nothing.

What the hell is wrong with him? How did we come to this?

I reach the bar, my hands shaking as I order whiskey, downing the first shot in one gulp and feeling the burn slide down my throat, a temporary numbness.

I barely hesitate before ordering a second, hoping it will somehow dull the horror that's tightening around my chest.

"Fuck!" Christopher's voice rings out across the room, harsh and guttural. I don't even need to turn around to know what's happened. He's lost.

I hear him walking toward me, each step heavy and angry. I close my eyes, forcing down the panic rising in me. When I open them, he's right in front of me, his eyes blazing.

"You cannot expect me to do this, Chris," I manage to say, my voice trembling but defiant as I meet his gaze. I search his eyes, pleading silently for him to back down, to take it all back, to show me a shred of compassion and dignity. But there's nothing.

Not a hint of empathy.

Not even regret.

"Time for you to hold up your end of the bargain," Sebastian calls out from the table, his tone mocking, sending a shiver through me.

My stomach twists with dread as Christopher's face hardens.

"Christoper, please don't make me do this. I am your fucking wife. Please Chris."

Without another word, he grabs my hand, yanking me roughly and dragging me down the hallway toward the bathroom.

He shoves me inside, locking the door behind him before he slams me against the cold, tiled wall, his hand around my neck, pressing just hard enough to make me gasp.

"You will do this, Lizzy. Do you understand?" His face is inches from mine, his eyes cold and filled with something I can't recognize anymore-contempt, maybe. Disgust.

"No, Chris, you can't make me do this!" I choke out, struggling against his grip. "I'm the mother of your child, for God's sake! I'm your wife!"

He leans in closer, his voice low and venomous. "You're a nag, Lizzy. You've lost every other pregnancy anyway. The least you can do is make yourself useful. That man in there is very important to my company. Now, put on a fucking smile and do as I tell you. Or I swear, you will never see Edward again."

I feel my resolve crumble, the last of my strength fading as his words cut deeper than any physical blow. I cannot afford to lose my Son.

He is all that I have. Tears prick at my eyes, but I hold them back.

I can't let him see me break, not fully.

He lets go of my neck, and I gasp, clutching the wall to steady myself. He straightens, brushing a hand over his suit, a look of cruel satisfaction flickering across his face.

"Now fix yourself up and go," he says, his tone as cold as ever, before he turns and walks out, leaving me alone in the tiny, claustrophobic space.

For a moment, I can't do anything but stand there, breathing hard, my hand trembling as I press it to my bruised neck.

Slowly, I turn toward the mirror, staring at the tear-streaked, hollow-eyed woman staring back. How did it come to this? The man I fell in love with, the man who once promised me the world, the boy I had grown up with is gone. Replaced by this monster who treats me like his property.

I swipe at my face, wiping away the tears, before reapplying the makeup over my smudged cheeks. It feels pointless, but I know it's what he expects.

Another layer of paint to cover up the damage.

When I leave the bathroom, the lounge is empty, a ghostly silence filling the room. The bartender catches my eye. He holds out an envelope.

I don't need to ask; I already know what it is. With numb fingers, I take it from him, feeling the weight of the small key card inside.

The numbers printed on it stare back at me, mocking me: 1111.

I stand there, repeating them over and over in my head, hoping that if I stay here long enough, maybe I'll wake up and this nightmare will end. But it doesn't. I linger outside the room, hoping to see Christopher. Hoping that he sees the madness in his actions, nothing.

Finally, I swipe the card and push open the door to the presidential suite.

The room is lavish, almost overwhelmingly so, with a grand view of the city skyline stretching out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

And there, standing in front of them, is Sebastian, shirtless, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the night.

I walk slowly toward him, every step feeling like a betrayal, like I'm leaving a piece of myself behind. When I stop beside him, he doesn't turn to look at me. He simply says, in a tone as casual as if he's ordering a drink.

"Take your clothes off."

My breath hitches. I hesitate before I obey, my hands moving to the zipper on my dress as I step back to the edge of the bed.

My fingers tremble. My stomach churns, the whiskey threatening to come back up as I try to pull the zipper down.

Suddenly, I feel a strong pair of hands on mine, guiding the zipper the rest of the way. I flinch, a shiver running through me as Sebastian's hands graze my bare skin.

"What is this?" he asks, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing as he studies me. I stare at him, confusion and fear swirling together, unsure of what he means.

His eyes drop to my body, his face darkening as he takes in the faint bruises, the evidence of Christopher's anger. His jaw tightens, and I realize he's seen the truth etched across my skin.

A tear slips down my cheek as I whisper, barely able to meet his eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't know this is how my night would end."

He pauses, his expression unreadable.

"Did Christopher do that to you?"

I don't answer, just stare at him, frozen, feeling the weight of his gaze on me.

Slowly, I reach behind me, fingers fumbling as I try to unhook my bra, determined to get this transaction over with. But Sebastian's voice, suddenly harsh, stops me.

"Stop."

I freeze, looking up at him, confusion clouding my mind. "I... I don't understand," I stammer.

"What don't you understand?" he snaps, his tone hard and unyielding. "I said, put your clothes back on. I don't need a woman crying as I make love to her."

I blink, taken aback, searching his face for any hint of a joke.

But he's deadly serious. The cold indifference in his gaze sends a fresh wave of humiliation through me, and I swallow, my throat tightening as I murmur, "Please... please don't tell him that I didn't... that I couldn't..."

He cocks his head, a glint of something dark flashing in his eyes. "So, Christopher did this to you?"

I nod slowly, feeling utterly defeated. Shame and anger mix as I turn back toward the window, looking out over the city lights, anything to avoid his gaze.

"Why haven't you left?" He asks.

"I wish I could leave," I answer quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "But if I do, he will take my son and I will never see him again."

There's a long pause, and then, in a voice softer than I expected, he says, "I did not know he was violent."

I look over my shoulder, meeting his gaze, my voice bitter as I reply, "Why wouldn't he? Chris has only ever loved three things-drugs, gambling, and women. Those are the only things that matter to him."

Sebastian stares at me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turns away, reaching for a shirt and pulling it on.

"You need a drink," he mutters, walking to the bar, his movements tense, almost angry.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply, willing myself not to break down, not here. But inside, I feel shattered. Each piece of myself lost, like a ghost haunting a life that no longer feels like my own.