Chapter 6

I came to in a place I knew all too well. It was the soundproofed media room in the mansion's basement. Declan had it built after his accident, a place where he could scream and break things without disturbing anyone. It had become my personal hell.

My limbs felt heavy, my head thick with the after-effects of chloroform. I was tied to a chair.

Declan sat on a sofa across from me, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The room was dark, the only light coming from a small lamp that cast long, menacing shadows on the walls. His face was unreadable.

Fear, cold and sharp, finally pierced through my numbness.

"Declan, what is this?" I asked, my voice trembling.

He didn't answer. He just took a long swallow from the bottle, then set it on the table with a thud. He stood up and walked toward me.

He knelt in front of me, his fingers gently tracing the frown lines on my forehead. His touch was feather-light, a terrifying contrast to the situation.

"Christie was very upset," he said, his voice soft, almost reasonable. "She was so agitated, I was afraid she' d have a breakdown. I can' t let that happen, Emily. My entire recovery depends on her."

I stared at him, the meaning behind his words slowly dawning on me. He was going to punish me. For her. To appease her.

The full, monstrous scope of his betrayal hit me. Tears of rage and disbelief welled in my eyes.

"You' re insane," I whispered, the words choked with tears. "You' re actually insane."

He sighed, a look of pity on his face. He gestured to the two burly bodyguards standing silently in the corner of the room.

"I have to do this, Emily," he said, his voice full of fake regret. "I have to show her that you understand her importance. It' s the only way she' ll stay. It' s the only way I can get better."

Tears streamed down my face. "You promised," I sobbed. "After everything, you promised you would never hurt me again."

I remembered all his tearful apologies, his desperate vows to protect me. They were all lies. Every single one.

"Those promises were a joke, weren' t they, Declan?" I spat, the words dripping with a bitterness that burned my throat.

His face hardened. The mask of regret fell away, revealing the cold, petulant monster underneath. He kicked the coffee table, sending it crashing against the wall.

"Don' t push me, Emily!" he roared. He took a deep, shuddering breath, visibly fighting for control. "It' s not a big deal. Just a little punishment to calm Christie down. It won' t even hurt that much."

He nodded to the bodyguards. They moved toward me.

I struggled against my restraints, my heart pounding with pure animal terror. One of the men held my head, forcing it back. The other pried my jaw open.

The neck of a liquor bottle was shoved between my teeth.

The harsh, burning liquid flooded my throat. I choked, gagged, my body convulsing as the cheap, fiery whiskey burned its way down my esophagus and into my stomach. It felt like I was swallowing fire.

I thrashed wildly, but they held me fast. I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. My vision blurred. Through the haze of pain and tears, I could see Declan.

He was sitting on the sofa again, in the shadows, his face a mask of anguish. But he didn' t move. He didn' t say a word to stop them. He just watched.

He watched as they tortured the woman he claimed to love.

The next time I woke up, I was in our bedroom. I was clean, dressed in a soft silk nightgown. For a moment, I thought it was all a nightmare.

Then a sharp, searing pain shot through my stomach. It was real.

Declan was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, a bowl of congee in his hands.

"You' re awake," he said, his voice gentle. He scooped up a spoonful. "The doctor said your stomach lining is badly damaged. You can only have liquids for a while."

He brought the spoon to my lips. His hand was steady, his expression full of tender concern. It was the ultimate violation. The torturer playing the nurse.

I turned my head away.

His face darkened instantly. The bowl crashed against the nightstand, splashing hot congee everywhere.

"Stop throwing a tantrum, Emily!" he yelled. "Just eat!"

The pain in my stomach was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. It was a cold, dead weight.

I looked him straight in the eye, my own eyes burning.

"Declan," I asked, my voice a raw whisper. "If Christie had been the one tied to that chair, would you have let them do that to her?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Of course not! Christie is fragile."

"And what am I?" I shot back.

"It' s the illness, Emily!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. He was trying to use his TBI as a shield, as he always did. "You know it' s not me!"

"You' re a coward, Declan," I said, my voice cold and clear. "You' re just too afraid to admit what you really are."

His face went white, then purple with rage. His eyes were wild.

"Fine," he spat. "Starve then. I' m leaving. Maybe some time alone will help you think about what you' ve done."

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I knew where he was going. He was going to Christie.