His Madness, Her Marriage

Six years of my life, six years of unwavering devotion, all shattered in an instant.

My fiancé, Mark, stood on a brightly lit stage, his arm wrapped around my supposed best friend, Tiffany, proudly announcing their engagement.

My presence was mandatory, a cruel reminder of my indentured servitude at his company.

He spotted me, his smile vanishing, and his voice, laced with contempt, cut through the applause, ordering me to prepare serving trays.

A wave of humiliation washed over me as I stumbled, nearly falling at his feet, only to be met with his ugly laugh and a sneer from Tiffany.

I forced a brittle smile, offered them wishes for eternal happiness, and then turned away, my resignation already processed, my freedom merely hours away.

But my escape was brutally cut short.

A blinding pain exploded at the back of my head, and I awoke tied to a chair in a dark room.

Dave, Mark' s slimy friend, emerged from the shadows, his touch reptilian as he confessed his twisted desire and revealed a chilling truth: Mark himself had orchestrated my abduction, wanting me "taught a lesson."

My heart plummeted into an icy abyss as Mark' s cold, ruthless voice played from a voice recorder, confirming his betrayal, accusing me of hurting Tiffany.

I was silenced, my blouse torn, as the small red light of a camcorder flickered in the corner, Mark' s chilling words echoing: "Chloe, Mark said he wanted to record this as a keepsake."

No matter how I struggled, terror deepening with every passing second, it was an eternity, my hope draining away.

After it was over, and I was left a broken rag doll on the floor, I stumbled back to the hotel, holding onto the last shred of my dignity and the severance package that promised my freedom.

Mark and Tiffany were there, a picture of domestic bliss, his cruel words slicing through me like knives: "You really are cheap, anyone can have you."

They had thrown away my belongings, calling them "awful," and then Mark, with a deranged twist, forced me to cook for them.

The familiar sting of Mark' s demands felt like a replay of a nightmare I couldn' t escape, a constant humiliation.

I cooked, served, and watched their nauseating display of affection, then quietly asked about my luggage, only for Tiffany to feign illness, accusing me of poisoning her with chili.

Mark, blinded by rage, physically assaulted me, splashing scalding sauce across my chest, then forced me to eat meat, knowing my pain and my vegetarian vow-a cruel reminder of the child he had lost, the child I buried alone.

But in the depths of my despair, a lifeline emerged-Ethan, my childhood friend, calling, his gentle voice a beacon in the dark: "Tonight at 11 PM, I' ll be waiting for you at the pier."

My heart, long dead, stirred.

This was my chance, my last hope to escape the nightmare of Mark and claim the new life awaiting me.

Six years of my life, six years of devotion, all for nothing. My ex-fiancé, Mark, was standing on a brightly lit stage, his arm wrapped tightly around Tiffany, who used to be my closest friend. Now, she was his new fiancée.

To show the world how much he adored her, he threw this ridiculously lavish engagement party. The whole room was silent as he picked up the microphone.

"I want to thank everyone for coming tonight," he started, his voice smooth and confident, booming through the speakers. "But most of all, I want to thank the woman standing next to me. Tiffany is the woman I love most in this life."

The crowd erupted in applause. My hands felt cold. I was still an employee at his company, and my presence here was mandatory. He saw me standing near the edge of the crowd, watching. His smile vanished.

He walked over to me, his expression turning to ice.

"What are you standing around for? Go prepare the serving trays."

His voice was a low command, meant only for me, but sharp enough to make my head spin. I turned to obey, but my foot slipped on the polished floor. I stumbled forward, my body lurching, and I barely caught myself before falling right at Mark' s feet.

He let out a short, ugly laugh.

"Are you really that pathetic?"

I straightened up, ignoring the burn of shame on my cheeks. I looked past him at Tiffany, who was watching with a small, satisfied smile. I shook my head slowly, then took her hand and placed it in Mark' s.

"I wish you both eternal happiness."

My voice was steady, much steadier than I felt. He didn' t know it, but my resignation from his company was already processed. In a few hours, I would be free.

...

My palm was stinging, a small cut from when I' d braced my fall. I tried to ignore it as I carefully arranged the colorful appetizers on the silver trays.

Tiffany, looking like a princess in her designer gown, leaned against Mark. Her face was lit up with a happiness that felt like a deliberate performance for my benefit.

"Chloe, thank you for helping us prepare."

Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were not.

"With your blessing, Mark and I will surely be deliriously happy soon."

It was the most ironic thing I had ever heard, the mistress flaunting her victory in front of the woman she had replaced.

Mark' s gaze fell on my hand, and he frowned with a flicker of what looked like concern.

"Chloe, is your hand hurt?"

I quickly pulled my hand behind my back, taking two steps away from them. The small space I created felt like a vast canyon.

"No, you saw wrong."

The air around us turned cold. A few nearby guests had stopped talking and were now watching the three of us, their eyes full of curiosity. Tiffany, sensing her audience, provocatively hooked a finger into the belt loop of Mark' s pants. Her eyes challenged me.

"Mark, it' s almost 1:14 PM."

Her words were dripping with meaning, her finger tracing a slow, deliberate path against his hip. I knew what that time meant to them. It was their anniversary, the time they first got together behind my back.

I managed a knowing smile and started walking straight out of the grand banquet hall.

"Then I won' t disturb you."

Mark scoffed, then suddenly scooped Tiffany up into his arms. He tossed her onto a plush sofa nearby, scattering the tray of appetizers I had just prepared. They tumbled onto the floor around her.

Tiffany let out a playful, high-pitched squeal.

Dave, one of Mark' s slimiest friends, whistled loudly. He came up behind me and gave me a light push toward the exit.

He winked back at Mark, grabbing a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter' s tray.

"Mark, we won' t interrupt your fun."

He raised the bottle.

"You and your fiancée better make the most of it."

A wave of laughter spread through the guests who had been watching. Some of them shot me looks filled with mockery and pity. I lowered my head, a dry chuckle escaping my own lips, and I quickened my pace, desperate to leave.

But then, a sharp, blinding pain exploded at the back of my head. My vision swam, and my consciousness began to fade into a dark, swirling fog. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the hard floor.

When I opened my eyes again, the world was black. I was tied to a chair, the rough ropes digging into my wrists. A familiar voice echoed from a dark corner of the room.

"Chloe, you slept for quite a while."

Dave walked out of the shadows and came up to me. He ran a finger lightly down my face, and his touch was cold and reptilian. His eyes held a greedy, undeniable craving that made my stomach clench with fear.

I remembered something from a long time ago. I had overheard Dave talking to Mark.

"Mark, you don' t even love Chloe anyway."

His voice had been slick with suggestion.

"Just let me have some fun with her, I promise I won' t break her."

At that moment, Mark' s face had instantly darkened. He had glared at Dave, his voice a low warning.

"Don' t even think about her."

Now, sitting here tied to a chair, that memory offered no comfort. My body started to tremble uncontrollably. I tried to pull away from Dave' s hand, a wave of disgust washing over me.

He sneered at my reaction and slapped my left cheek, hard. The force of it snapped my head to the side. I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.

A choked cry escaped my throat.

"Dave, you can' t touch me! If Mark finds out, he won' t let you get away with it!"

I struggled desperately against the ropes, trying to reach the phone I could feel in my pocket. I had to call for help.

But when Dave heard my words, he just laughed, a crazed, high-pitched sound that filled the small, dark room. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a small voice recorder. He pressed a button, and Mark' s voice filled the silence, cold and ruthless.

"Chloe spilled tea on Tiffany' s leg last time and burned her."

There was a pause, then Mark' s voice continued, devoid of any emotion.

"You wanted to have some fun with her, help me teach her a lesson."

My heart stopped, then sank into an icy abyss. The betrayal was so complete it left me breathless. I bit my lower lip so hard I could taste more blood, forcing myself to try and think, to stay calm.

"Dave, please let me go."

My voice was a raw whisper.

"I' ll give you anything you want."

Dave just laughed again, a lazy, cruel sound. He took a piece of cloth and roughly stuffed it into my mouth, silencing me.

He grabbed the front of my blouse and tore it open. Tears blurred my vision, hot and useless.

In the corner of the room, a small red light began to flicker. I saw it and started to struggle wildly, my terror sharpening.

Dave seemed to find my desperate movements amusing. He picked up a camcorder from a small table I hadn't noticed before and aimed the lens directly at my face.

"Chloe, Mark said he wanted to record this as a keepsake."

He leaned in close, his breath hot and foul against my skin.

"Just be a good girl."

I don' t know how long it lasted. It felt like an eternity, long enough for my mind to go numb, for every last bit of hope to drain away into despair.

When it was over, Dave mercifully untied the ropes. I fell from the chair onto the cold floor, feeling like a broken rag doll.

He turned and walked out of the room without another word, leaving me curled up in a miserable heap in the darkness.

After I finally managed to pull myself together, I cleaned myself up as best as I could in a public restroom. My only thought was getting back to the hotel to retrieve my severance package.

Once I had that piece of paper, I could finally, completely, cut all ties with Mark.

I pushed open the door to the hotel suite we used to share. The first thing I saw was Mark, sitting on the edge of the bed, gently applying lotion to Tiffany' s arm.

He looked up as I walked in. He glanced at me, and his gaze fell on the red, angry marks on my neck that my collar couldn't hide. A cruel sneer twisted his lips.

"Chloe, not pretending to be a virtuous woman anymore?"

His voice was laced with contempt.

"You really are cheap, anyone can have you."

I didn' t say a word. I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I ignored him and walked toward the corner of the room where I had left my luggage. But the space was empty.

"Mark, where are my things?"

Tiffany, who had been watching me with triumphant eyes, now put on a show of apology. She pinched her nose and fanned the air in front of her face.

"Chloe, your luggage smelled awful."

She looked at Mark with wide, innocent eyes.

"I just mentioned it casually, and Mark had someone throw it in the dumpster."

Then she looked back at me, her expression shifting to one of mischievous amusement.

"I' m really sorry."

She raised her eyebrows arrogantly, her victory complete.

I turned to leave. I couldn't stand to be in that room for another second. But Mark moved to block my way.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the kitchen. The counter was piled high with fresh groceries.

"Chloe, Tiffany says she' s hungry. Cook for her before you leave."

I forcefully shook off his hand, looking up at him with a sarcastic smile I didn't feel.

There was a time when Mark often asked me to bring lunch to his office. I thought he genuinely liked my cooking, so I had even taken a special cooking class, wanting to make him happy.

But then one day, I arrived with his lunch to find him dotingly holding Tiffany on his lap, feeding her a sandwich.

Tiffany had smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Chloe' s cooking is so good."

But in the next second, she had lowered her head, looking wronged.

"But I can' t do anything, I' m not as good as Chloe at anything."

Mark had kissed her lips then, patiently comforting her.

"Even if you can' t do anything, you' re still the one I love most."

I lowered my eyelids now, remembering that moment. My heart, which had once shattered, now felt completely calm, completely empty.

"If I cook, will you let me go?"

Mark frowned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He didn' t understand what I meant.

"Go? Where are you going?"

I was afraid he would discover my escape plan. I had to provoke him, to make him think this was just another one of our usual fights. I sneered and retorted.

"Not going? Just stay here and watch you and Tiffany making out?"

My words angered him, just as I' d hoped. He grabbed the extra blankets from the closet and threw them onto the floor by the door.

"Fine, after you cook, you can sleep by the door."

I turned without another word and started obediently washing the vegetables and preparing the meal. Soon, the dining table was filled with steaming, fragrant dishes.

Mark glanced at me, then picked up a piece of meat with his chopsticks and held it up to Tiffany' s mouth. Sauce accidentally stained her lips, and Mark gently wiped it away with his thumb.

"You' re such a grown-up, and you still need me to take care of you when you eat?" he teased her softly.

Tiffany giggled like a child, not forgetting to raise her eyebrows at me in a look of pure triumph.

"You don' t want to take care of me?"

Mark smiled faintly, then scooped up some soup and brought the spoon to her lips.

I couldn' t watch their sickening display of affection anymore. I turned to Mark, my voice cold and flat.

"Where did you throw my luggage?"

Mark frowned, about to speak, but Tiffany suddenly started coughing, interrupting him. She choked, her face turning red. She covered her mouth, looking deeply uncomfortable as two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

"So spicy..."

Mark frantically dropped his chopsticks. He poured her a glass of water and carefully patted her back, his face a mask of concern.

Tiffany, her eyes teary, nestled into his arms, looking wronged and fragile.

"Mark, I can' t eat spicy food."

Her voice was a pathetic whimper.

"Does Chloe dislike me, that' s why she put so much chili in the dish?"

I opened my mouth to explain, to tell him that I hadn't, but Mark was already on his feet. He rushed over and grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron.

He violently pulled me towards the dining table. "Chloe, you did this on purpose, didn' t you?"

I pointed at the dish in front of my own plate, trying to prove my innocence.

"Mark, I didn' t put any chili in it."