Chapter 3

Cecil drove to the hospital's underground parking garage. Her designated spot was empty, but next to it, in Cleve's private space, his black Maybach sat silently.

He had lied. He wasn't at a late-night deal. He was here.

As she got closer, she heard a sound from inside the car. A muffled cry. Followed by the sharp crack of leather on skin.

A cold dread crept up her spine. She moved slowly, quietly, toward the tinted windows of the Maybach. The glass was dark, but the dome light inside was on, casting a dim, flickering glow.

She peered inside.

The scene was a grotesque tableau. Cleve was in the backseat, his shirt unbuttoned, his face a mask of cold fury. Kneeling on the floor before him was Ivanna, her clothes disheveled.

He held a thin leather belt in his hand. He was punishing her.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Cleve's voice was a low snarl, devoid of any of the affection he usually showed her. "You were careless. You let someone get something on you."

He was hitting her with the belt, and she was wearing a white dress, one of Cecil's favorites, a dress Cecil had worn on their first anniversary.

"You're supposed to be a perfect replacement," he hissed, his voice dripping with contempt. "Flawless. Uncomplicated. Not a liability."

The belt cracked against Ivanna's back. She cried out, a sound of genuine pain.

"I'm sorry, Cleve," she sobbed, her voice no longer practiced and demure, but raw with terror. "I'll be better. I'll do anything. I love you."

"Love?" He laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. "You love my money. You love the life I give you. Don't insult me with that word."

He grabbed her hair, forcing her head up. "You exist because I allow it. You look like her because I paid for it. You are a substitute, Ivanna. Nothing more. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I'm just a substitute for Cecil."

He let go of her hair, his anger seeming to subside, replaced by a dark, predatory desire. He pulled her onto his lap.

"But you are a good substitute," he murmured, his voice changing again, becoming soft and seductive. "Obedient. And always available."

He began to kiss her, a rough, dominating kiss that was more about power than passion. The car began to rock gently, the rhythm a sickening confirmation of what was happening.

Cecil stood frozen, a silent witness to the sordid scene. It was horrifying, but it was also clarifying.

He didn't love Ivanna. He didn't even respect her. He used her. He abused her. He saw her as an object, a stand-in for the wife he couldn't fully control.

And the moans coming from the car were not sounds of pleasure. They were the sounds of submission. Ivanna was paying the price for her ambition.

Cecil finally understood. Cleve hadn't replaced her because he loved someone else. He had replaced her because he wanted a version of her that was completely subservient to him. A doll he could manipulate and punish at will.

Her twenty years of love, their shared history, it all meant nothing in the face of his monstrous ego. The man she thought was her protector was a monster. The man she loved was the one hurting her the most.

She turned away, the sound of the rocking car echoing in the silent garage. She didn't feel anger anymore, just a profound, bone-deep sorrow.

She walked out of the garage and didn't look back. She cried, not for the loss of his love, but for the death of the man she thought he was.

The next day at the hospital, Cecil looked like a ghost. Her eyes were red and swollen.

The hospital director called her into his office, his face beaming. "Congratulations, Dr. Farley! The board has approved your promotion. You are now the head of the entire research department."

It was the position she had worked for her entire career. A few days ago, this news would have been a dream come true. Now, it felt like a consolation prize. A bribe.

Her colleagues insisted on a celebration. They went to a nearby restaurant, a place filled with laughter and cheerful chatter.

Cleve and Ivanna were there. He had arranged the whole thing.

People came up to congratulate her, to praise her talent and dedication. She smiled, she thanked them, she played the part of the successful, happy wife.

Inside, she felt nothing. This promotion wasn't a reward for her hard work. It was blood money. Cleve's way of trying to balance the scales for his betrayal.

Ivanna approached her, holding a beautifully wrapped gift. "Congratulations, Dr. Farley," she said, her smile back in place, the bruises on her back hidden beneath a designer dress. "You deserve this."

Cecil took the gift, her fingers brushing against Ivanna's. The touch made her want to recoil. She forced herself to hold it, to nod, to say thank you.

A few minutes later, Ivanna excused herself to go to the restroom. Cleve followed her a moment later.

Cecil hesitated, then stood up and followed them. She couldn't stop herself. It was like picking at a wound, a self-destructive need to see the full extent of the damage.

She found them in a secluded hallway near the restrooms. The sounds were all too familiar.

"Don't touch other men," Cleve was saying, his voice a low growl as he pressed Ivanna against the wall. "Don't even look at them. You are mine."

"I know, Cleve," Ivanna whispered, her voice breathy. "I only want you."

She kissed him, a desperate, clinging kiss. He responded, his hands tangling in her hair.

He was a different man with her. Not the gentle, loving husband Cecil knew, but a possessive, controlling master. And Ivanna was not the sweet girl, but a willing participant in this dark, twisted game.

The door to the hallway slammed against the wall as their bodies moved against it, the sound a punctuation mark to their sordid passion.

Cecil stood just around the corner, tears streaming down her face, listening to the final, undeniable proof that her marriage was a lie, her husband was a stranger, and her life was a ruin.