Chapter 4

"My throat hurts," I finally managed to say, my voice a dry rasp. It was true. The night of crying in the rain had left it raw.

"I... I went for a walk to clear my head and got lost," I lied, avoiding his eyes. "My phone died."

Gavin' s frantic expression softened into relief. "Oh, baby. You scared me so much." He pulled me into a hug, his grip tight and possessive. His touch felt like a cage. "Don't ever do that again."

He led me inside, fussing over me like a mother hen. He ran a hot bath for me and laid out a set of his clothes, since mine were cheap and soaked through.

He then went into the kitchen and started cooking, the clatter of pots and pans echoing in the small apartment. He made my favorite soup, the one he always made when I was sick. The aroma that once brought me comfort now made me nauseous.

I sat at the small table, watching him. He moved with an easy grace, completely at home in this squalid little kitchen, playing the part of a poor, devoted husband. The performance was flawless.

"You're not eating," he said, pushing the bowl closer to me.

I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat, Ainsley." His voice was gentle, but there was an underlying command. "I'll take you out. Anywhere you want to go. My treat."

"I don't want to go anywhere," I said, my voice flat.

He ignored me. He grabbed my coat, pulled me to my feet, and forced me out the door. His grip on my arm was like steel. It was not a request; it was an order.

He drove us to the most expensive restaurant in the city, a place with crystal glasses and waiters in tuxedos. The kind of place I hadn't even known existed in my fabricated life.

"I booked the entire top floor for us," he said, leading me to a private elevator. "Just for you."

The room was stunning, with a panoramic view of the city skyline. A single table was set for two with a bouquet of my favorite flowers, stargazer lilies.

"Order anything you want, baby," he said, his smile full of false generosity. "Don't worry about the price."

"I told you, I'm not hungry," I repeated, my stomach twisting into knots.

His smile faltered. "Are you still upset about last night? I told you, I had to work."

"I don't feel well," I lied, looking away from him.

His expression immediately shifted to one of deep concern. "What's wrong? Are you cold?" He took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. He even went to the thermostat and turned up the heat.

It was all an act. A beautiful, cruel performance.

"You just rest here," he said, his voice soft. "I'll go get you some medicine from the pharmacy downstairs. I'll be right back."

He kissed my forehead and left.

The moment he was gone, I collapsed onto the plush sofa, my body trembling with exhaustion and rage.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door to the private room.

"You can't go in there, ma'am! It's reserved!" a waiter was saying.

"Get out of my way!" a sharp voice snapped.

The door burst open, and Heidi Daniel stormed in, her face a mask of fury. She was flanked by two large men in black suits.

She stopped short when she saw me, her eyes widening in disbelief before narrowing into slits of pure hatred.

"You," she hissed. "What are you doing here?"

She strode toward me, her heels clicking aggressively on the marble floor. "Gavin told me he sent you abroad. He said you were gone for good."

My throat was too tight to speak. I just stared at her, the woman who had run me off the road.

She let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Let me guess. You're still clinging to him, aren't you? Pathetic." She moved closer, looking down at me with contempt. "Let me make this very clear. I am going to be his wife. We are getting married next month. You are nothing."

"I am his wife," I managed to choke out, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. It was a lie built on a lie, but it was the only weapon I had.

Heidi' s face contorted. "What did you say?"

"Gavin and I... we are married," I said, a bit stronger this time.

Her eyes darted around the room, at the romantic setup. For a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed her face. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion.

"You're an impostor," she sneered. "Ainsley Lara is dead. She died in a car crash years ago. You're just some look-alike trying to cash in."

The absurdity of it all was almost funny. She thought I was pretending to be the woman she had tried to kill.

Heidi screamed at her bodyguards. "Grab her!"

The two men hesitated, but at her sharp command, they moved forward and seized my arms, their grips bruising.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yelled, struggling against them.

Heidi walked over to the dining table and sat down in the chair meant for Gavin, crossing her legs elegantly. She picked up a fork and examined her nails.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson about messing with what's mine," she said coolly. "Beat her. And when you're done, break her hands. I don't want her to be able to touch my husband ever again."

"This is illegal!" I shouted, panic rising in my chest. "You'll go to jail!"

She laughed, a sound like shattering glass. "Laws are for little people. My family owns half the judges in this city."

One of the men punched me hard in the stomach. The air rushed out of my lungs, and black spots danced in my vision. They hit me again and again. Pain exploded through my body. I sagged in their grip, my consciousness fading.

"I'll give you one last chance," Heidi's voice cut through the haze. "Get on your knees and lick my shoes, and I'll let you walk out of here."

"Go to hell," I spat, my voice weak.

Her face twisted in rage. "Break her hands!" she shrieked.

One of the men grabbed my wrist, his fingers like a vise. He started to bend it backwards. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the snap of bone.

"Mr. Hawkins is here!" a waiter shouted from the doorway.