Contracted to my Ex-husband's Enemy

"Please."

The word left her mouth before she could stop it. It wasn't something the old Zoe would have said without meaning it, yet the one who said it now only realised that people had no limits to how cruel they could be.

The man above her, his penis half-dangling over her face laughed.

There'd been five others like him just that week and Zoe had stopped counting how many there had been in total. Her body had gone somewhere else, somewhere quiet and far away, leaving only the parts that could still register pain behind ... and there was a lot of pain.

The ribs on her left side felt flaming hot, like hot oil was splattered all over it. Her lip had split so many times it no longer bled properly, just a dull, sticky warmth that replicated her bleak morning down her chin.

The room smelled like cheap heavy fragrance struggling to mask the smell of mildew and cigarette smoke the visitors seem to bring in.

She turned her face to the side and looked at the wall. There was a wet crack running from the ceiling to the middle of it, thin and branching like a river seen from above. She traced it with her eyes, followed it from the top where it started narrow, down to where it opened up, where the plaster had given way in a small dry crumble.

No-one would come to save her.

Not her parents; her father had been framed for extortion and tax exclusion and sent to prison. In that same prison he took his life, his pride could not withstand it, and her mother followed him through a staged car accident soon after.

Nathan.

Her son's name moved through her like lightning across her chest causing her body to shake with dry sobs.

Or was it the animal in human form moving like a beast above her?

She couldn't really tell.

She had not let herself think it in days. Thinking it made her chest cave in on itself, made her useless, made her sob in a way that the women here punished her for.

So she had packed it away somewhere deep, the way you pack something precious when you know the house is flooding and you can only carry so much.

But now she let herself think it, not just feel, because it was going to end soon anyway.

Nathan. Baby. I am so sorry.

He had been four years old with his father's ears and her mother's nose, he'd been called a pretty child by everyone who saw him.

But the important thing was that she had not been there.

Excited that her husband finally 'cleared' his busy schedule to spend some father-son time bonding with his son, Zoe had said thankful prayers everyday, even telling the goodnews to her friends as a way to brag even though their own husbands were a constant in their kids lives.

Her trip to Milan was cut short when her sister-in-law called her to retrieve her son's cold body.

According to her, Nathan had gone into surgery and did not come out alive.

She'd fled back home feeling like a failed mother for not noticing her son's health issues, too much in shock to believe it and awaiting the berating of her mother-in-law. So, it was too much of a surprise when her mother-in-law avoided her, refused to see her or even come to her baby's simple and rushed funeral.

It was only later she found out after investigation that, Nathan was taken to donate bone marrow to his 'brother' and the consent form was signed by his father.

Somewhere in another ward, the child of a woman Emery preferred was breathing easier at the expense of her child's life and his own father signed away.

The man in the room with her said something but she did not hear it.

He grabbed her jaw and turned her face back toward him and she looked at him, but still said nothing.

His cracked voice replaced his animalistic grunts, "You think you can ignore me?"

Zoe refused to reply.

And she paid for it.

A rough hand smacked her cheek hard causing her head to snap to the side roughly, her ear ringing with a sharp piercing shrill sound.

She had learned not to make noise. Silence sometimes shortened it.

Apparently not tonight, since silence was costing her more than whatever she had left.

She thought about her husband. She had loved him, how she had fought her parents, her mother's constant yap, her father's cold silence, bullied her friends into acceptance, to marry him. She had believed that he loved her more than anyone else, so she'd paid bloggers to paint him as the perfect husband.

She had been so certain and yet still extremely wrong.

Her choice had cost her parents their lives, her sister her career prospects, heck -- her son his life.

Emery had not come to anyone's funeral, instead he sent handwritten letters which had moved her in her Father's funeral, annoyed her during her mum's funeral and by their son's funeral, she realized the handwritten letters were all AI generated.

Until she investigated the false medical report and discovered it was a completely legal surgery and the hospital had her husbands' real signature choosing which kid to live if it came to it.

Newsflash. It was not Nathan.

She'd stopped eating, sleeping properly, stopped looking for her mother-in-law to apologise.

Instead she began hearing Nathan's voice calling out to her in rooms he would no longer live in, she started answering it.

Her mother-in-law had called her an embarrassment and told her to focus on having another son.

Brooke, her husband's sister was the only person in that family who had ever been kind to her, and she had held her hand, cried with her, then turned to drug and sell her to traffickers.

And like her belatedness in realizing the type of man she married, she realized this too later from a woman who had been trafficked from the same source.

Another blow landed. She winced this time.

She thought about the day she had arrived here, in the back of a van with four other women, all of them quiet with a different kind of fear. How they had taken her clothes and given her something else to wear. How she had fought that she was the great Emery Beckett's wife and her husband would pay any amount for her release and the man at the front had called the madam who took one look at her file and laughed at her.

She had once been Zoe Beckett. Old money with a name that moved banks to their knees and ministers to fake smiles if they hated them.

She was raised to succeed at boardroom dinners and to raise a successful family. Her mother constantly drilled the words, 'conquer inside, conquer outside' and her father had gone as far to donate a building to Harvard university to secure her a spot, now she was a number in a room with a cracked wall.

She was so tired.

She had thought about it over and over again and instead of expected fear, relief filled her heart instead.

It was not surprising. There was no reason to live further.

The man eventually left and the room finally went quiet.

The rib on her left side introduced its pain sharply.

Zoe turned her head and looked at the crack in the wall again.

Then she looked at the window but it opened wide and the ground beneath it was concrete.

She thought of Nathan one more time.

"I'm coming," she spoke to the eerily quiet room; to her family who went before her.

She got up and let the sheer outfit drop off her shoulders revealing a body riddled with scars turned blue.

Each step was a negotiation with her body, a small argument that she won through sheer will.

She reached the window and put her hands on the windowsill, her eyes look down at the ground below, pale grey in the dark.

Then she leaned forward waiting for her head to hit that rough concrete floor.

No-one would save her.

Her husband made sure of it.

The first thing she felt was sharp bitter cold.

Not the cold of concrete or cold blood, instead it was like sharp winter cold specifically for the North pole.

'Is Hell cold?'

'Wasn't hell supposed to be hot?' Zoe wondered.

Then she heard a sound she knew so well it lived in her chest.

'Mama.'

Zoe's eyes flew open.

Pale yellow walls hit her eyes causing her to shrink instinctively.

But this yellow was different. No, it wasn't the peeling color in the room where she was being brutally molested a second ago, it felt weirdly familiar.

Zoe had not seen this color in a room in years.

This was the same color in her parents' estate house, the pale yellow walls she had complained about at seventeen and quietly loved every year after. The curtain was the old one, cream with small embroidered birds her grandmother had chosen. Morning light came through it, soft on her face.

What the ----

Zoe bolted upright, her head spinning as a massive headache slammed into her.

"Ow" she winced and then her eyes widened in surprise.

Her voice sounded ----- normal.

She took a deep breath in, closing her eyes.

Was her mind playing dirty tricks on her?

The goal was to die and ask for her parents' and son's forgiveness.

If she couldn't protect them in this life, she shouldn't have brought death to their doorstep.

Slowly, she raised her hand to the side of her head, not knowing what to expect.

A bloddied head from attempting to take her own life?

Or a wrapped head at a failed attempt to take her life?

Smooth silk.

Zoe's eyes shot open in surprise as her hands met smooth silk.

What was that?

She yanked the material off her head to see a bonnet flung across the bedcovers.

She swallowed tightly. She'd recognise that bonnet anywhere. It was one of the few things her younger sister had given her few weeks before her wedding stating there was only one in the world to celebrate her being the only perfect Zoe in the world.

'Why was it on her head now?' Zoe's thoughts were running faster than her blood pressure.

'What kind of sick joke was Brooke playing at? Did that family choose to humiliate her further by creating a version of when she was free? The same colors of the bedroom in her father's estate, one hundred percent soft cotton for bed covers and the hair bonnet that had her sister's memories all over it.'

How could she fail in this one thing?

'Die and make up with my family. Although seeing the way everyone made an effort, I should have probably united with my Dad in hell.' Zoe wondered.

BANG!

The door was kicked open and Zoe shut her eyes instinctively refusing to let the Madam or the workers of the house feast on her failed suicide.

A long leg stretched itself bringing a face that mirrored Zoe's.

She stood tall at six foot-one inch, long legs making up for the absence of every other curves in her life, but her face card was absolutely valid.

She raised her eyebrows at Zoe's figure shaking quietly on the bed, eyes tightly shut.

"Are you praying? You haven't been to church in weeks." her lips curled upward.

Zoe's eyes flew open sharply at the sound of that familiar voice.

The familiar face of her younger sister - Chloe - stared right back at her grinning sheepishly.

Normally, Zoe would have clocked Chloe's sheepish smile in an instant, but nothing was normal about the situation.

Her sister - Chloe- was a model and a spokesperson for a very popular brand allowing her to earn outside their naturally large allowance, but her end hadn't been pretty either.

Hazel eyes with an excited twinkle stared right back at her, her thin lips widening from one corner to the other.

'Maybe, I'm hallucinating my preferred memories before death. Some people said you see your life rush like a movie blur, maybe that's what this is.' She thought.

"Look Ada, I know you're very particular about your clothes but really Nicholas is hosting a groundbreaking party for his new yacht and he invited me. Naturally, I can't afford to look like something that stepped out of last season nor do I want to look like those new money that buy every trending design, so I'm giving you the opportunity to help me." The sheepish smile remained on Chloe's face as she tiptoed to the walk in closet opening it with a flourish.

'Groundbreaking ceremony for a yacht on water. Where's the ground?' The words sat on the tip of Zoe's tongue but she said nothing, shocked at how the hallucination felt so real.

Chloe was still rambling, "See, I want a dress that says luxury without effort, yes, effortless luxury. But it still has to turn heads." She stopped short, walking out of the walk-in closet and walked to the bed.

"Why aren't you saying something?" Her fingers brushed against the bonnet Zoe threw away minutes ago and threw it back on the bed.

Zoe's eyes bulged into saucers.

'What just happened?'

'What kind of hallucination is so real?'

"I don't know why you're fidgeting. Is it --- what do they call it again? Umm-- Wedding jitters?"

"Your wedding isn't until a couple of weeks. Can it begin this early?" She muttered and walked back into the closet.

Zoe reached for the bonnet feeling the smooth silk brush against her fingertips when her eyes fell on her hands.

No bruising across the knuckles where the workers of that place had stepped on them three nights ago.

A surprised gasp leaves her throat drowning Chloe's voice still speaking from the closet.

She pressed her palm flat against her chest waiting.

Her ribs did not hurt.

Her head slowly turned to the small mirror she'd always hung by her bedside.

Chloe sashayed back into the room breaking Zoe's eye focus and turning it back to herself.

A floor length flowing gown hung from her hand, the blush pink color looking like a siren's favoured color under the golden light.

"Let's look at this logically, shall we? You got the dress from a designer and you are yet to wear it once. This means that you don't care about the dress that much to wear it or you care about me so much that I won't be embarrassed at Nicholas ground-breaking yacht party.

Secondly, the dress reaches the floor on you with heels, so, give or take, I'm assuming it'll reach me around the ankles. I'll skip the heels, and wear a padded bra to fill the bust area." Chloe said, her eyes gauging the expression of her elder sister.

She shifted on her heels seeing the incredulous expression that Zoe had all over her face.

"Fine, I'll tell the truth." She huffed.

"The dress is from Muort. I would be saving face big time and Zen will be there. I have to get his attention!!" She whined.

Zoe stared at her younger sister, unwilling to believe but still hoping this strange phenomenon was true.

That she was back in time.

"Wha -- wha --" her voice cracked, tears welling in her throat.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The smile on Chloe's face stiffened, then disappeared completely.

She fisted the heavy dress into a ball and hurled it at Zoe watching the dress fall short of even touching the bed.

"Fine! Eat it! You have so many clothes that you can't even give me one! I hope Emery knows he's marrying a selfish queen!" She yelled slamming the door on her way out.

Zoe sat on the bed for a long moment, breathing, pressing her hand against her sternum like she was still checking for the constant pain there.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand and looked at the date.

She read it twice her mouth gaping open that was unlike the wealthy socialite her parent raised.

Then she sat very still for a long time and ugly cried.

Fourteen days before her wedding.

And there was the name Chloe had mentioned.

Emery

Emery Landon - her fiancee turned husband whose entire family plotted to kill hers.

The cold that had come with her from where Brooke had sent her to had been settled somewhere behind her eyes, like the memory of a fresh scar.

She got up and went to her dresser to stare at her smooth face in her actual full-length mirror.

Fire ignited in her eyes as a smooth face stared right back at her in the mirror.

One that remained untouched by the riveting experiences Emery was about to put her through.

There was still a fighting chance.

Zoe did not call Emery immediately, instead she sat on the edge of her bed and made a list in her head instead, the way she used to do before a difficult brand deal, laying out each piece in order.

Her mind went on a full reckless drive separating what she knew, what she had and what she needed.

She knew everything, she just had to take actions that reflected it.

Every hidden account holding money for tax-evasion. The people he bribed and those he threatened. Every arrangement Emery had kept quiet behind the face of a faithful husband. She knew the names of all of his mistresses even before they got married.

She knew which board member he had bribed to secure the government contract. She knew about the shell company registered in his cousin's name that moved money out of the country in small enough amounts to avoid scrutiny.

But all these were not enough because she gave him the power to do these things and a lot of them had not been achieved now, yet she knew that he'd already started climbing the ranks just by the virtue of just being attached to her.

And now, she'd already started clearing out his rivals, mentioning Emery's name in circles that he could never be invited in, yet he currently had a side chick by the side.

Zoe scoffed at her foolishness and her blindness.

How did she not see this?

How much blinded by love was she not to see Victoria always hanging around Emery in the guise of a good friend?

How Emery would always take Victoria's side over hers and say it's because she was sensible and smarter than Victoria, so she would understand and destroying her reputation on the other hand?

A lone tear dropped down into her palms.

Zoe wiped the tear furiously, memories of her son's lifeless cold body rushing through her mind.

She shook her head fast wishing the images away.

Her family was alive in this timeline and she was determined to keep it that way.

'First things first' Zoe mentally noted.

There was one man who had been trying to dismantle Emery's empire for years.

He worked methodically and quietly, with the crazy patience of a boa constrictor in Australian waters waiting to strike.

And she had gone out of her way to fight this man expending all her connections and even her father's just to give Emery a good night sleep.

Hot tears trickled down her cheeks as the memory filled her thoughts.

That was a major mistake because Emery turned all her father's allies into his and she'd argued with her Dad to be nicer only to see these same allies look away when he needed their help choosing Emery instead.

Zoe's mind traveled back to the man who stood firm despite her relentless effort to remove him from the seat of power and this man consistently gave Emery headaches.

Nathaniel Quest.

She had met him once, at a charity dinner two years into her marriage. He had shaken her hand and looked at her, not through her the way most of Emery's associates did, and said she was wasting away.

She remembered getting angry at his words but noting him quietly as an enemy.

She picked up her phone and looked up the address of Quest Holdings.

She was about to make him a weapon.

For a man who came from nothing, building an empire without a rich family's background and still withstanding all the negative press around him for not knowing how to relate well in old-money circles, Zoe had to agree that Nathaniel Quest had built a strong empire for himself.

The receptionist at Quest Holdings had the kind of face that was trained to be pleasant and meant none of it.

A perfunctory smile appeared on her heavily made-up face, "Hello ma'am. Welcome to Quest Holdings, do you have an appointment?"

Zoe stood stiffly holding her Burberry handbag, hoping she wouldn't get turned away. Her teeth bit gently into her lower lip without making any teeth marks, "No," Zoe said gently.

"Then I'm afraid Mr. Quest isn't ..."

"Tell him Zoe Beckett is here." She set her bag down on the reception desk, not aggressively, just with the innate confidence of someone who knows how to control people drilled into her bones from birth.

"Mr. Quest will either see me or not. Either way, I'll wait." she played with her bag handle, hoping the brand label will convey her standing if her face wasn't doing that at the moment.

The receptionist opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for the telephone on the desk.

Zoe walked to the seating area and sat down. She crossed her legs, set her bag on her lap, and looked at the far wall where the company logo sat in brushed silver against charcoal grey.

It looked clean and expensive. Zoe smiled, one thing she knew strongly about Nathaniel Quest was his need to belong.

She'll use that against him.

The receptionist voice sounded from her large towering desk, "Mr. Quest will give you ten minutes."