Chapter 3 3

Maya

The pain in my knee was nothing compared to the agony in my heart as I sat on the cold marble floor. I traced the timeline of our relationship in my mind, searching desperately for warning signs I might have missed.

Six months of dating, gifts and passion, and whispered promises. Three months of marriage, building a home together, planning our future, and discussing when I might cut back my hospital hours to start a family. Not once had Shawn given me reason to doubt his devotion. We both came from wealth, both moved in the same social circles. Our families had celebrated our union as the perfect match. My parents had thrown us an engagement party that made the society pages. His mother had helped me choose my wedding gown.

None of it made sense. Yesterday morning at breakfast, Shawn had kissed me tenderly and reminded me he had plans for our anniversary. Had he been planning this cruel charade all along? Had our entire relationship been a lie?

"He promised never to hurt me," I whispered, touching the custom wedding band he'd designed specifically for me. "He promised to hold my hand through everything. And now here I am, humiliated and discarded without even an explanation."

My phone's sharp ring cut through my thoughts. Lina. My younger sister had been trying to reach me since yesterday, but I'd been too consumed with my own crisis to call her back. I wiped my tears and cleared my throat before answering.

"Lina? What's wrong?" I asked, hearing her frantic breathing through the speaker.

"Maya," she said, her voice strained and urgent. "Something happened to Dad. You need to come..."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone in horror, my finger already hitting redial. No signal. I tried again. Nothing. My heart thundered in my chest as worst-case scenarios flooded my medical mind. Stroke? Heart attack? Car accident?

A sudden realization cut through my fog of grief. I had to leave. I had to get to my family, had to see what was wrong with Dad, had to do something besides sit here on the floor of a home that apparently was never truly mine.

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the shooting pain in my bruised knee, and bolted for the door. As my hand touched the ornate handle, heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?" Shawn's voice was sharp, authoritative.

I turned to face him, my grief and confusion morphing into fresh rage. "My sister just called. Something's happened to my father. The call got cut off, I need to go to them. Not that you care. Not that any of this was real to you."

Something flickered in Shawn's eyes, alarm? Concern? It disappeared so quickly I couldn't be sure. "I don't care what you think you heard. You're not allowed to leave this mansion."

I stared at him, disbelief washing over me in waves. "What are you talking about? My father could be dying, Shawn! My sister needs me! And you ... you don't get to tell me what to do anymore. Not after whatever this sick game is you're playing."

I turned back to the door, but Shawn moved with startling speed. His hand gripped my wrist with painful intensity, jerking me away from my escape.

"Let go of me!" I screamed, fighting against his hold. "What the hell is wrong with you? You bring home another woman, pretend our marriage never happened, and now you're holding me prisoner? Have you lost your mind?"

Shawn didn't answer. Instead, he dragged me through the hallway, his grip unbreakable despite my struggles. He pushed open the door to a small staff bedroom where my luggage had been unceremoniously dumped. Before I could process what was happening, he shoved me inside and slammed the door.

The distinctive click of a lock turning from the outside echoed in the silent room.

I pounded my fists against the door, screaming until my throat was raw. "Shawn! Let me out! Something's happened to my father! Do you hear me? My family needs me! How can you do this to me? SHAWN!"

My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to the floor, my body convulsing with sobs. Three months ago, I had said "I do" to a man I thought would love me forever. Now I was locked in a room like a prisoner, my father possibly fighting for his life, my husband transformed into a monster I didn't recognize.

Through the fog of my despair, one thought crystallized with perfect clarity: nothing in my life had been what it seemed. And I had no idea why.

As night fell, hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I sat huddled on the narrow bed in what had become my prison cell, staring blankly at the wall. My repeated attempts to call Lina had failed, no signal reached the phone in this isolated corner of the mansion.

The soft click of the door unlocking made me spring to my feet, ready to confront Shawn again. Instead, Carla entered carrying a tray of food, her eyes still unable to meet mine.

"Dr. Harrison," she whispered, using my professional title for the first time since my wedding. "I brought you dinner."

I stared at her, this woman who had served me breakfast in bed on countless mornings, who had helped me select Shawn's anniversary gift just days ago. "Carla, please," I begged, my voice raw from crying. "Tell me what's happening. Why is Shawn doing this? Why won't anyone look at me or speak to me?"

Carla set the tray down with trembling hands. For a brief moment, her eyes met mine, filled with something that looked remarkably like fear. "I can't," she whispered. "He has guards posted outside. I could lose more than just my job."

Before I could question her meaning, she hurried out, the lock clicking back into place. I sank onto the bed, more confused than ever. Guards? What did she mean by she could "lose more than just her job"? The implications chilled me to the bone.

I picked at the food halfheartedly, my mind racing. Something was terribly wrong, beyond just Shawn's bizarre behavior and this "fiancée" who had appeared out of nowhere. The sudden silence from my family after Lina's cut-off call. The way Carla had looked at me. The guards Shawn had apparently stationed outside my door.

Was my family in danger? Was I?

As a neurosurgeon, I was trained to solve complex problems by examining all available evidence. I needed to think clearly, to push aside my broken heart and focus on the facts.

Fact one: Yesterday morning, everything had been normal. Shawn had been loving, attentive, excited about our anniversary.

Fact two: By the time I returned home, the staff wouldn't look at me, and my belongings were being moved.

Fact three: Shawn had appeared with another woman he claimed was his fiancée.

Fact four: My sister had called about my father, and the call had been cut off.

Fact five: Shawn was keeping me prisoner, with guards outside my door.

I paced the small room, my medical mind analyzing these facts like symptoms of a disease I needed to diagnose. This wasn't just the behavior of a cheating husband. This was something far more sinister.

A sudden thought struck me. What if someone was forcing Shawn to do this? What if he was trying to protect me in some twisted way?

I remembered the tension in his body when Vivian pushed me. The way his hands had clenched into fists. The momentary flicker in his eyes when I mentioned my father. What if this entire charade had some purpose I couldn't yet see?

I needed to escape. I needed to find out what had happened to my father and sister. But first, I needed a plan.

The room was small but had its own bathroom. The window was too small to climb through, reinforced with decorative but sturdy iron bars, a safety feature in this old wing of the mansion. The door was solid wood, and the lock apparently controlled from the outside. My medical training might help me save lives in the operating room, but it offered little help for picking locks or subduing guards.

Still, I had one advantage they might not expect: I was Dr. Maya Harrison, one of the top neurosurgeons in the country. I had spent thousands of hours performing delicate procedures that required patience, precision, and most importantly, the ability to remain calm under extreme pressure.

I sat on the edge of the bed, formulating a plan. I would watch the staff's routines, look for weaknesses, and wait for my opportunity. Sooner or later, someone would make a mistake.

And when they did, I would be ready.