Chapter 4

Elliot helped me off the MRI table. My legs were weak, shaking uncontrollably. I was still gasping for air, my body trembling from the residual terror.

He led me out of the imaging room and into the hallway. The two orderlies who had put me in the machine were nowhere to be seen.

Then I saw her.

Katharina was leaning against the far wall, a smug, satisfied smirk on her face. She was flanked by two of Brayden' s security guards.

"Look what the cat dragged in," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "Having a little panic attack, Amelia? You always were so fragile."

The public humiliation was a slap in the face. A few nurses and hospital staff had stopped to stare, their faces a mixture of pity and curiosity.

"You did this," I said, my voice hoarse. My fear was being rapidly replaced by a cold, hard rage.

Katharina laughed, a high, brittle sound. "Did what? Ask the doctors to be thorough? Brayden was just worried about you. And the baby, of course."

She knew. She knew about my claustrophobia. She and Brayden had planned this together. They wanted to break me.

I turned to the nearest nurse. "I want to report an assault. I was held in that machine against my will. I want security. I want the police."

Katharina' s smirk faltered for a second. A flicker of panic crossed her face.

But before the nurse could respond, a commanding voice cut through the air.

"That won' t be necessary."

Brayden strode down the hallway, his presence sucking all the air out of the space. He dismissed the onlookers with a single, imperious glare. They scattered like mice.

He stopped in front of me, his eyes cold. "It was a routine medical procedure, Amelia. Your concussion needed to be checked. Don' t be hysterical."

He was gaslighting me, dismissing my terror as female hysterics. The sheer audacity of it left me speechless.

I looked from his cold face to Katharina' s triumphant one. They were a team. A partnership built on cruelty.

The last remnants of the woman who had loved him died in that moment.

"I know what you did," I said, my voice low and shaking with fury. "I know what both of you did."

Brayden' s expression didn' t change. He simply raised an eyebrow. "You know nothing."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper so only I could hear. "Don' t push me, Amelia. You have no idea who you' re dealing with."

"I' m dealing with a murderer," I shot back, the words escaping before I could stop them.

His eyes narrowed. For a split second, I saw something truly dangerous in them. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual arrogant calm.

"You are my wife. And you are the mother of my child. Your place is with me. You will do as I say. Is that understood?"

"No," I said, the word a declaration of war. "I will not be your prisoner. I will not be your incubator. It' s over."

He smiled, a slow, chilling smile that didn' t reach his eyes. "It' s never over."

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. He opened it and tipped the contents into his palm.

It was my father' s wedding ring. The one he was buried with. After my mother died, I' d had him moved to a private mausoleum Brayden had purchased. A grand gesture I now understood was just another form of control.

"I had your father' s casket opened for a... cleaning," Brayden said, his voice casual. "I thought you might want this back. A keepsake."

My blood ran cold. He had desecrated my father' s grave. He was holding my family' s memory hostage, using it as a weapon against me.

"You monster," I whispered, the words choked with horror.

The rage that had been simmering inside me erupted. I lunged at him, my hands balled into fists, striking his chest with all my strength. It was like hitting a brick wall.

"I hate you!" I screamed, tears of fury and grief streaming down my face. "I wish I' d left you to die in that alley!"

He caught my wrists, his grip like steel. He didn' t even flinch. He just watched me, his expression one of cold, clinical observation, as if I were a science experiment.

Then, he leaned in, his lips close to my ear.

"I know," he whispered. "And you will spend the rest of your life making it up to me."

He twisted my arms behind my back, his strength overwhelming. "You are mine, Amelia. Your body, your mind, your grief. It all belongs to me."

He nodded to his security guards. "Take her home. She' s not to leave her room without my permission."

They grabbed my arms, their grips firm and impersonal. I was being frog-marched out of the hospital, a prisoner in my own life.

As they dragged me away, I looked back at Brayden. He was still standing there, watching me, the velvet pouch with my father' s ring still in his hand.

He gave a slight nod to Katharina, a silent acknowledgment of their shared victory.

I was being taken back to the beautiful, empty mansion he called our home. But it wasn' t a home.

It was a prison. And he was the warden.