Chapter 3

The liquid burned a fiery trail down my throat, settling like a hot coal in my stomach. The heat of the summer day outside felt like a cruel joke compared to the inferno raging inside me. This was Courtland's final solution. He wouldn't just punish my present; he would erase my future. The kind, devout man the world saw was a monster, and my love for him had been the architect of my own destruction.

But I had to live. For Aspen. The memory of my grandmother's dying wish was a mantra in the chaos of my pain. I had to protect him.

My knees buckled. A wave of agonizing cramps seized my abdomen, so intense it stole my breath. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming, tasting the coppery tang of blood. The pain was a living thing, twisting and tearing at me from the inside.

I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the white marble.

Across the room, Courtland flinched. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something-unease, perhaps-crossed his perfect features. It was the first crack I had seen in his icy facade in five years.

"Get a doctor," he snapped at a nearby maid, his voice tight.

"No," I gasped, forcing the word out through the pain. "No doctor. Aspen. You promised."

He stared at me, his face a mask of cold fury once more. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving me writhing on the floor in a pool of my own blood.

The hours that followed were a blur of excruciating pain. A doctor came, a stomach pump was used, and the world faded in and out in waves of agony and unconsciousness. I woke up not in a hospital, but in a small, damp room in the servants' quarters. It was a cell.

My body was a symphony of aches. I felt hollowed out, a fragile shell that could shatter at any moment.

The door flew open with a bang, making me jump. A maid I didn't recognize stood there, her face a sneer of contempt. She threw a bundle of fabric at me. It landed on the thin blanket covering my legs.

It was a dress. A ridiculously short, flimsy piece of black lace that looked like it belonged in a strip club. The fabric was cheap and scratchy against my fingers.

"The master's orders," the maid said, her voice laced with mockery. "You are to wear this tonight."

"No," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I pushed the dress away as if it were a venomous snake.

The maid's sneer widened. She strode forward and slapped me hard across the face. "You don't have a choice." She ripped the blanket off me and, with the help of another servant, forced my protesting limbs into the humiliating garment. "Mr. Johnson is entertaining a guest. He wants you to serve them."

They dragged me out of the room, my body trembling uncontrollably. In the polished surface of a hallway mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself. I was a scarecrow dressed in a prostitute's rags, my face pale and bruised, my eyes wide with terror. It was hard to breathe.

They pushed me into the private dining room. The table was set for three, with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. Courtland sat at the head of the table, looking as serene and untouchable as a god. He didn't even glance at me.

He was going to parade me in front of someone like this. He was going to sell my last shred of dignity for his own sick satisfaction.

A large, greasy-looking man in his fifties sat opposite Courtland. His eyes roamed over my body, a lecherous grin spreading across his face.

"So, this is the little treat you promised me, Courtland," the man boomed, licking his lips. "She's a feisty one, I hear."

Courtland finally looked at me, his eyes cold. "Mr. Harrison, Anastasia is here to ensure you have a pleasant evening."

He was giving me to this pig. As punishment.

My mind went blank with horror. I stumbled backward, trying to flee, but the maids held me fast.

"Courtland, no," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Please, don't do this to me."

Mr. Harrison laughed, a horrible, wet sound. He got up and lumbered toward me. "Don't worry, darling. Your husband just wants me to teach you a lesson. He told me to be thorough."

He reached for me, his fat fingers grabbing my arm. The world spun, and my last conscious thought was a scream that never left my lips.