Captive Bride: Escaping The Masked Monster

"Two hundred thousand dollars, Dr. Hayes. If the balance isn't cleared by three o'clock this afternoon, the hospital administration will legally halt the life-support medication."

The blonde nurse behind the billing counter tapped her pen against the reinforced glass.

Chloe Hayes stared at the itemized bill in her hands. Her fingers gripped the edges of the crisp white paper so tightly her knuckles turned a translucent white. The printed numbers blurred together. Her chest tightened, the air trapping itself in her throat. She could hear the frantic, irregular thumping of her own heart in her ears.

She was a doctor. She knew exactly what halting that medication meant for her mother. It meant death.

Chloe forced air into her burning lungs. She reached into her scrub pocket with trembling fingers, pulling out her phone. She needed to call the predatory loan companies again. She needed to beg.

Before her thumb could hit the screen, a hand slammed down over her phone.

Long, acrylic nails painted a glossy blood-red clicked against the glass screen.

Chloe's head snapped up.

Vivian Sinclair stood there-her aunt by marriage, the wife of Chloe's late father's younger brother. Vivian's Chanel tweed jacket was immaculate, the heavy scent of synthetic roses and expensive leather rolling off her. She reached into her Birkin bag and pulled out a cashier's check. She pinched it between two red nails and waved it inches from Chloe's face.

The number on the check was exactly two hundred thousand dollars.

Chloe took a sharp step back. The soles of her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor. Her stomach plummeted.

"What kind of sick game are you playing now, Vivian?" Chloe's voice shook, raspy and dry.

Vivian offered a cold, razor-thin smile. "Your father's company is filing under the Bankruptcy Code by Friday, Chloe. We are liquidating everything. This piece of paper is the only thing standing between your mother and a body bag."

Chloe's teeth sank into her lower lip. She bit down hard, welcoming the sharp sting of pain to keep herself grounded. "What do you want?"

Vivian lowered her voice, leaning in close. "Joy-your cousin, my daughter-was supposed to marry Julian Montgomery IV today. The Montgomery heir. He's handsome, wealthy, a great catch. Every family on the Gold Coast wanted that match. But Joy fell ill last night. High fever, couldn't even stand. She's in no condition to go through with the ceremony. The Montgomerys won't accept another postponement. You are going to put on the veil, sign the proxy papers, and take her place."

The blood drained from Chloe's face. Her fingertips went ice-cold. "You want me to marry a stranger to cover for Joy's sickness? You're insane. I won't do it."

Vivian didn't blink. She simply raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

Down the hallway, two massive men in tailored black suits stepped out from the shadows. They didn't look at Chloe. They turned their broad shoulders and began walking directly toward the Intensive Care Unit. Toward Sarah Price's room.

Chloe's heart skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out across her spine. Vivian had bought off the hospital administration. They were going to pull the plug right now.

"Stop!" Chloe gasped, her voice cracking.

Vivian shoved a thick stack of legal papers and a silver Montblanc pen into Chloe's chest.

From the end of the hall, the muffled, high-pitched alarm of an ICU monitor began to blare. The sound pierced straight through Chloe's eardrums, vibrating in her teeth. Her psychological defenses shattered into dust.

She tasted copper. She had bitten through her lip.

A drop of blood swelled on her mouth as she snatched the pen. Her hand shook violently, the silver metal slipping against her sweaty palm. Her eyes scanned the bold header-PROXY MARRIAGE AGREEMENT-and the rest of the text blurred into an incomprehensible wall of legalese. The only words that mattered were the ones Vivian had spoken. Sign, or your mother dies. She pressed the nib to the paper, tearing the page slightly as she signed her name.

Vivian snatched the papers back with a triumphant smirk.

Instantly, the two men in black suits pivoted. They flanked Chloe, their massive hands clamping down on her biceps like iron vices.

"Let me see her!" Chloe thrashed, her sneakers kicking out. "Let me see my mother!"

The guards ignored her screams. They dragged her backward, her shoes skidding across the polished floor, hauling her straight out the hospital's rear exit.

The humid New York air hit her face. A black Cadillac SUV sat idling by the loading dock, its engine emitting a low, predatory growl. The guards shoved her into the backseat.

The heavy door slammed shut. The locks engaged with a heavy, mechanical thud.

The SUV shot forward, throwing Chloe against the leather seats. She scrambled to the window, pressing her palms against the tinted glass as the hospital disappeared behind them.

The cabin was dead silent. The partition separating her from the driver was raised. Chloe pulled her knees to her chest, her stomach twisting into violent knots. The vehicle sped away from the city, merging onto the highway toward the Gold Coast of Long Island.

Night fell quickly, bringing a torrential downpour. Rain lashed against the windows.

The SUV slowed, turning off the main road and passing through a pair of towering, wrought-iron gates. The gates groaned shut behind them, sealing her inside a sprawling, gothic estate. The stone mansion loomed in the darkness, its sharp spires cutting into the stormy sky.

The car jerked to a halt.

The door swung open. An older man in a pristine butler's uniform stood in the pouring rain, holding a massive black umbrella.

"Dr. Hayes. I am Arthur Abernathy," the butler said, his face entirely devoid of emotion. "Step out."

Chloe stepped onto the wet cobblestones. The freezing rain splashed against her ankles. Arthur did not wait for her. He turned and marched toward the main entrance. Chloe followed, her wet clothes clinging to her shivering body.

Arthur led her through a cavernous foyer, up a grand sweeping staircase, and straight to the third floor. The hallway was dimly lit by antique sconces. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door.

He pushed it open and stepped aside.

Chloe hesitated, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. She stepped over the threshold.

The moment her feet hit the carpet, Arthur pulled the door shut behind her. The lock clicked into place from the outside.

Chloe was plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

The wind howled against the windowpanes. She reached out, her hands blindly sweeping the wall for a light switch. Her fingertips brushed against something cold. Something textured.

It was the fabric of a suit jacket.

A jagged crack of lightning illuminated the room for a fraction of a second.

In that blinding flash, Chloe saw the towering, broad-shouldered silhouette of a man standing mere inches from her.

Julian Montgomery IV lunged.

Before Chloe could scream, a massive, rough hand clamped around her throat.

The force of his grip lifted her off the floor. Her back slammed against the solid oak door. The breath was violently crushed from her lungs.

Another flash of lightning tore across the sky.

The harsh white light illuminated his face. Thick, twisted scars crawled up his jawline, mangling the skin over his cheekbone and pulling at the corner of his eye. It was the face of a demon dragged straight from hell.

Chloe's eyes bulged. Absolute, paralyzing terror seized her brain. Her legs kicked wildly in the empty air.

The pressure around Chloe's throat intensified. Julian's thumb pressed brutally into her windpipe. Dark spots exploded at the edges of her vision. Her lungs burned, screaming for oxygen that couldn't pass the iron grip of his hand.

She brought both her hands up, her fingernails clawing desperately at the thick, corded muscles of his forearm. She dug her nails in, feeling the skin yield, leaving angry red crescents in his flesh. He didn't even flinch.

Her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The survival instinct in her brain overrode the paralyzing terror. She forced her jaw open, her vocal cords straining against the crushing weight.

"Husband," she gasped out, the word breaking into a pathetic, wet wheeze.

Julian's deep gray eyes snapped wide. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his scarred features. The thick veins on the back of his hand twitched.

He froze, his mind calculating at lightning speed. If this were Joy Hayes-the vain, cowardly socialite he had investigated-she would have fainted the moment the lightning revealed his face. She would have screamed for her father. She would never have the sheer, desperate grit to call the monster choking her to death her husband.

Julian's lip curled into a cold, cruel sneer. This woman was a fake.

He opened his hand.

Chloe dropped like a stone. Her knees slammed into the thick Persian rug. She collapsed forward, her hands clutching her bruised throat as she hacked and coughed, sucking in massive, greedy lungfuls of air. Tears of pain streamed down her cheeks.

Julian stood over her, a towering monolith of dark energy. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and meticulously wiped the hand that had just been around her neck. He rubbed the fabric against his skin aggressively, as if trying to wipe away a sudden, burning sensation he couldn't control, rather than mere disgust.

He turned his back on her, his heavy military boots thudding against the floorboards. He walked to a crystal decanter on a mahogany wet bar. The sharp clink of ice hitting a glass cut through the sound of Chloe's ragged breathing.

Chloe forced herself up onto her hands and knees. Her throat throbbed with every heartbeat. She glared at his broad back, her body trembling violently, but she refused to lower her eyes.

Julian took a slow sip of his whiskey. He didn't turn around.

"You actually had the nerve to take her place and come here to die," his voice was a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the center of Chloe's chest.

Chloe's breath hitched. A fresh wave of cold washed over her. He knew. He knew on the very first night.

She pushed herself up, leaning heavily against the door frame. Her legs felt like jelly. "If you know I'm not Joy, then this whole sick farce is void. The proxy is invalid. Let me out of here."

She slid her hand behind her back, her fingers desperately twisting the brass doorknob. It wouldn't budge.

Julian let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound bounced off the high ceilings, raising the hairs on Chloe's arms.

He set the crystal glass down on the bar. He walked over to a massive mahogany desk, pulled open the top drawer, and pulled out a thick, heavy manila envelope.

He turned and tossed it casually across the room.

The envelope hit the rug at Chloe's feet with a heavy, definitive thud. Several crisp, white pages spilled out onto the floor.

Chloe frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. She slowly crouched down, her fingers brushing the top page. She felt the raised, embossed seal of New York State.

Her eyes scanned the bold black text at the top of the page. Finalized Proxy Marriage Contract, Notarized and Filed. Her gaze dropped to the spouse section. There, printed in undeniable, permanent ink, were two names: Julian Montgomery IV and Chloe Hayes, acting as proxy for Joy Hayes.

"No," Chloe whispered, the word barely escaping her lips. Her eyes widened in horror. She flipped to the next document. It was a prenuptial agreement, dozens of pages thick, dense with legal jargon.

She read the penalty clause. If the female party initiated divorce proceedings, she would be liable for a breach of contract penalty amounting to fifty million dollars.

Her hands began to shake so violently the paper rattled. She crumpled the edge of the document, her mind spinning into a vortex of panic.

Julian closed the distance between them. The steel toe of his military boot stopped inches from her trembling fingers.

He leaned down. The scent of whiskey, cedarwood, and cold rain washed over her. His breath brushed the crown of her head.

"In this estate, Dr. Hayes," Julian whispered, his voice laced with absolute authority, "there is no voiding. There is only obedience."

Chloe snapped her head up. She looked at the jagged, terrifying scars crisscrossing his cheek, the cold emptiness in his eyes. The sheer, suffocating weight of her reality crashed down on her.

She shoved the papers hard against his chest. "This is illegal! You can't do this! This is false imprisonment!" she screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria.

Julian didn't even blink. His hand shot out, catching her wrists in mid-air. With a single, fluid motion, he twisted her arms behind her back and forced her face-down into the carpet.

The heavy weight of his knee pressed into the small of her back, pinning her completely.

Chloe thrashed against the floor, her cheek burning against the rough fibers of the Persian rug. Her lungs heaved, but Julian's knee in her lower back was an immovable anchor. Hot tears of absolute frustration leaked from the corners of her eyes, soaking into the carpet.

Julian stared down at the back of her head. He watched the desperate, futile fight leave her body. Slowly, he lifted his knee and released her wrists.

He stood up, adjusting the cuffs of his bespoke shirt with chilling calm. Without a single word, he turned and walked toward the master bathroom. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, followed by the sound of running water.

Chloe lay on the floor for three seconds.

Then, she scrambled to her feet. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She snatched her damp coat from the floor. She didn't bother with her shoes. Barefoot, she grabbed the brass handle of the bedroom door.

It turned. He hadn't locked it.

Chloe threw the door open and bolted into the dimly lit hallway. She sprinted past a startled maid carrying a stack of towels, taking the grand sweeping staircase two steps at a time. Her bare feet slapped against the cold marble.

She shoved her weight against the massive front doors. They gave way, and she spilled out into the freezing, early morning rain.

She ran down the long, winding driveway, her lungs burning with the icy air. By the time she reached the main road, her feet were bleeding from the sharp gravel. A yellow taxi was cruising slowly through the mist. Chloe threw herself into the middle of the road, waving her arms frantically.

The cab screeched to a halt. Chloe yanked the back door open and threw herself inside.

"The Hamptons," she gasped, digging into her coat pocket and pulling out a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. "The Hayes Estate. Please. Drive."

The cab driver took one look at her bruised neck and soaked clothes, took the cash, and hit the gas.

An hour later, the taxi pulled up to the towering wrought-iron gates of a sprawling, modern mansion in the Hamptons. Chloe didn't wait for the driver to speak. She shoved the door open and sprinted past the manicured hedges, ignoring the shouts of the groundskeeper.

She hit the heavy double doors of the villa with her shoulder. They weren't locked.

Classical music drifted through the warm, vanilla-scented air of the foyer. Chloe marched down the hallway, leaving a trail of muddy water on the pristine hardwood floors. She reached the glass doors of the sunroom and shoved them open.

Inside, the room was bathed in soft morning light. Joy Hayes, who was supposed to be hiding in terror, was lounging on a velvet chaise, wearing a silk slip dress. She was laughing, delicately biting into a pink macaron.

Vivian sat across from her, casually flipping through a Vogue magazine, a cup of Earl Grey tea resting on her knee.

Chloe stood in the doorway. Water dripped from her matted hair, splashing onto the imported tiles. Her chest heaved. The contrast between their luxurious comfort and her battered, freezing reality made her stomach churn with violent nausea.

Joy looked up. The macaron slipped from her fingers, tumbling onto the rug. She let out a high-pitched shriek, pulling a cashmere throw over her legs.

Vivian slowly closed her magazine. She didn't look surprised. She looked annoyed.

"Why?" Chloe's voice was a guttural rasp. "Why did you do this to me?"

Vivian sneered, adjusting her silk shawl. "You should be thanking us, Chloe. A hospital doctor marrying into the Montgomery family? It's the luckiest thing that will ever happen to you."

The blood rushed to Chloe's ears. A blinding, white-hot rage consumed her. She lunged forward, raising her hand to slap the smug look off Vivian's face.

Before her hand could connect, a thick, heavy arm caught her wrist mid-air.

Victor Hayes, Chloe's uncle, stepped out from the adjacent study. His face was purple with fury. He violently shoved Chloe backward. She stumbled, her bare feet slipping on the wet floor, and crashed into a glass side table.

"Have you lost your mind?" Victor roared, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "How dare you run away from the Montgomery estate!"

Chloe grabbed the edge of the table, pulling herself up. Her eyes were red and wild. "I'm going to the police! I'm going to tell them about the proxy fraud! I'll expose all of you!"

Victor let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his smartphone. He tapped the screen a few times and shoved the device directly into Chloe's face.

Chloe blinked, trying to focus on the bright screen.

It was a PDF document. A medical authorization form. The header read: Consent for Transfer of Life Support Systems. Sarah Price's name was at the top. Victor's digital signature was at the bottom.

"You make one phone call to the police," Victor hissed, his spit hitting Chloe's cheek, "and I authorize the hospital to unhook your mother and dump her in a state-run hospice to rot."

Chloe felt as if a physical blow had struck her chest. The blood froze in her veins. Her breathing stopped.

Joy giggled from the chaise lounge. "Father paid a private investigator for a leaked medical photo, Chloe. It was horrifying. Honestly, that ugly freak is perfect for a broke doctor like you. You're a match made in heaven."

Chloe stared at the PDF on the screen. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her own palms that the skin broke, warm blood pooling in the creases of her hands.