LOVE HIS ENEMY: My Husband's Downfall

I watch myself pressing the makeup sponge to my bruised cheek. The mirror is unforgiving, reflecting back a face I barely recognise, hidden beneath layers of foundation. My black eye stands out despite everything I try to mask it with.

How did I get here?

How did I let things go so wrong?

"Elizabeth," Christopher's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and angry.

"Hurry the fuck up in there. Don't make me wait. And make sure you look presentable. I don't need people asking questions."

I swallow hard, forcing down the anger that rises every time he talks to me like that. I answer him quietly, "I'm done."

Standing up, I smooth the glittering black dress clinging to my body, its sequins catching the light.

My hair is a glossy sheet of black that falls to my shoulders, and my hazel eyes-once full of life-look dull now. I swipe a finger over my red lips, fixing the lipstick. I know, objectively, I look beautiful. But right now, it feels like a mask.

I step out of the room and see him leaning against the doorframe, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. His gaze stops on the faint outline of the bruise peeking through the makeup, and he frowns, displeased.

"Go back and fix your face, Lizzy," his voice is not as cold. He walks towards me. He pulls me towards him, gently rubbing my hair.

"See what you made me do to you, baby. I didn't mean to. I am sorry. Now please fix your eye."

I nod, understanding that he does not mean that as a gentle request.

Finally, I look back up. He nods in cold approval.

"Good. You look beautiful," he says. "I'll meet you in the car. Go say goodnight to Edward if you have to. Just don't take too long."

"I won't," I mutter.

I turn towards our son's room, walking down the hall, my heels quiet on the plush carpet. The tension in my chest loosens slightly as I near Edward's door. I close my eyes for a moment, taking in a calming breath. He's the only light left in my life, the only reason I haven't walked away from all this. Somewhere inside me, I still hold onto the idea that maybe things will change and that Christopher might somehow become the man I once knew.

As I enter Edward's room, the dim nightlight illuminates the small figure under the blanket. I see his little legs kicking playfully beneath the covers, his soft laughter filling the room. His big blue eyes lock onto me, lighting up with excitement.

"Mama!" he squeals, his small hands reaching out toward me.

I melt instantly. "Hello, my little lion," I say, my voice soft. "I just came to kiss you goodnight, sweetheart."

Edward holds out his arms, and I lean in, scooping him up into a hug. He giggles as I plant a loud, exaggerated kiss on his cheek, holding him close, wishing I could freeze this moment. For just a second, all my troubles fade.

"Love you, Mama," he murmurs, his small arms wrapping around my neck.

"I love you too, Edward," I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. I settle him back into bed, tucking the blanket around him and brushing a lock of his soft hair back. "Sleep well, my little lion."

As I close his door, the warmth fades, and the reality of my life hits me like a punch to the gut.

The mask slips back on.

How much longer can I keep this up?

I hate this life. I hate the lies and the empty, soulless world I've been drawn into.

Christopher wasn't always like this, I remind myself. We were high school sweethearts. We were in love, or at least I thought so. We came from the same wealthy world, full of privilege and dark secrets. My father had begged me not to marry him, but I was so determined to prove him wrong.

I walk down to the car, each step heavier than the last, knowing that the evening ahead will be as empty as the rest of my life. As I settle into the passenger seat, Christopher doesn't even glance at me. The silence is suffocating. Tonight, as always, he has his Friday poker game. And as always, I'm expected to be by his side, the perfect, smiling trophy wife.

When we arrive, he holds out his hand for me to take, his fingers tight around mine. It's not a gesture of affection-it's a command. He expects me to smile, to play along, to hide the pain he's inflicted. I grit my teeth, pasting on a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

The room is filled with billionaires and politicians laughing too loud, exchanging money and stories. Most of the women here are high-end escorts, hanging on to their clients, laughing at jokes that probably weren't funny. I don't recognise most of them, but it doesn't matter. They're here for the night, bought and paid for.

I glance at Christopher, who sits at the poker table, his jaw tight, his gaze dark. He's losing. I can tell from the way he clenches his glass, the way his fingers tap against the table. I know what that means for me. A night like this always ends the same way.

"How do you know Chris?" A voice suddenly interrupts my thoughts, soft and curious. I turn to find a young woman standing beside me. She's blonde, fresh-faced, and too young to be in a room like this. Her eyes are wide as she looks at me, clearly expecting a friendly answer.

I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat, glancing back at the table. "He's my husband," I reply, my voice flat.

Her face brightens, and she tilts her head, giving me an envious smile. "Oh, you're so lucky. You bagged yourself a rich, handsome guy," she says, her tone full of admiration.

I turn to her, my face calm, but there's a sharp edge to my voice. "I bagged nothing, sweetheart. His money is the last thing I will ever need."

She blinks, a look of confusion passing over her face, but I don't explain. I turn back toward the table, just in time to see Christopher lose another hand. His face darkens further, and a small group of men around him exchange amused glances, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Then, someone leans forward at the table, his voice booming over the quiet murmurs of the room.

"Are you calling it a night, Chris?"

The man's voice is low and thick, with a hint of something mocking in it. I look at him, not recognising his face. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that glint in the dim light. He smiles, a lazy, predatory grin that sends a chill down my spine.

Christopher glares at him, his fingers drumming against the table, but he doesn't respond. The man leans forward, his gaze never leaving Christopher's.

"How about one last round?" he drawls, his voice full of challenge. "Just you and me. If you win, I'll give you my entire stake. But if I win..." His eyes flicker to me, and I feel a cold, sinking dread. "If I win, I get a night with your wife."

The words hang in the air, and my heart stops. I stare at the man, my breath caught in my throat, shock turning my body to ice. This can't be real. This can't be happening.

I look at Christopher, praying that he'll end this. That he'll say no, that he'll stand up for me for once. His face is impassive, but I can see him weighing the offer, calculating. My stomach twists as he meets my gaze, the look in his eyes cold, detached. And then he nods.

"Deal."

I can't move.

I'm staring at Christopher, my mouth open, heart hammering, and he's looking at me as if nothing unusual just happened.

As if he hasn't just agreed to trade me to another man like I'm some lose change.

My mind spins, disbelief and horror mingling as Sebastian's voice breaks through.

"There's no going back if you agree to this, you know," he says to Christopher, his voice edged with dark amusement.

Christopher scoffs, barely glancing at him. "I know that, Sebastian. I know exactly whats at stake."

A nauseous feeling rises in my stomach, and I turn quickly, making my way to the bar as my legs threaten to give out. The man I loved once and trusted completely is now using me as a gambling chip, tossing me around like I'm nothing.

What the hell is wrong with him? How did we come to this?

I reach the bar, my hands shaking as I order whiskey, downing the first shot in one gulp and feeling the burn slide down my throat, a temporary numbness.

I barely hesitate before ordering a second, hoping it will somehow dull the horror that's tightening around my chest.

"Fuck!" Christopher's voice rings out across the room, harsh and guttural. I don't even need to turn around to know what's happened. He's lost.

I hear him walking toward me, each step heavy and angry. I close my eyes, forcing down the panic rising in me. When I open them, he's right in front of me, his eyes blazing.

"You cannot expect me to do this, Chris," I manage to say, my voice trembling but defiant as I meet his gaze. I search his eyes, pleading silently for him to back down, to take it all back, to show me a shred of compassion and dignity. But there's nothing.

Not a hint of empathy.

Not even regret.

"Time for you to hold up your end of the bargain," Sebastian calls out from the table, his tone mocking, sending a shiver through me.

My stomach twists with dread as Christopher's face hardens.

"Christoper, please don't make me do this. I am your fucking wife. Please Chris."

Without another word, he grabs my hand, yanking me roughly and dragging me down the hallway toward the bathroom.

He shoves me inside, locking the door behind him before he slams me against the cold, tiled wall, his hand around my neck, pressing just hard enough to make me gasp.

"You will do this, Lizzy. Do you understand?" His face is inches from mine, his eyes cold and filled with something I can't recognize anymore-contempt, maybe. Disgust.

"No, Chris, you can't make me do this!" I choke out, struggling against his grip. "I'm the mother of your child, for God's sake! I'm your wife!"

He leans in closer, his voice low and venomous. "You're a nag, Lizzy. You've lost every other pregnancy anyway. The least you can do is make yourself useful. That man in there is very important to my company. Now, put on a fucking smile and do as I tell you. Or I swear, you will never see Edward again."

I feel my resolve crumble, the last of my strength fading as his words cut deeper than any physical blow. I cannot afford to lose my Son.

He is all that I have. Tears prick at my eyes, but I hold them back.

I can't let him see me break, not fully.

He lets go of my neck, and I gasp, clutching the wall to steady myself. He straightens, brushing a hand over his suit, a look of cruel satisfaction flickering across his face.

"Now fix yourself up and go," he says, his tone as cold as ever, before he turns and walks out, leaving me alone in the tiny, claustrophobic space.

For a moment, I can't do anything but stand there, breathing hard, my hand trembling as I press it to my bruised neck.

Slowly, I turn toward the mirror, staring at the tear-streaked, hollow-eyed woman staring back. How did it come to this? The man I fell in love with, the man who once promised me the world, the boy I had grown up with is gone. Replaced by this monster who treats me like his property.

I swipe at my face, wiping away the tears, before reapplying the makeup over my smudged cheeks. It feels pointless, but I know it's what he expects.

Another layer of paint to cover up the damage.

When I leave the bathroom, the lounge is empty, a ghostly silence filling the room. The bartender catches my eye. He holds out an envelope.

I don't need to ask; I already know what it is. With numb fingers, I take it from him, feeling the weight of the small key card inside.

The numbers printed on it stare back at me, mocking me: 1111.

I stand there, repeating them over and over in my head, hoping that if I stay here long enough, maybe I'll wake up and this nightmare will end. But it doesn't. I linger outside the room, hoping to see Christopher. Hoping that he sees the madness in his actions, nothing.

Finally, I swipe the card and push open the door to the presidential suite.

The room is lavish, almost overwhelmingly so, with a grand view of the city skyline stretching out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

And there, standing in front of them, is Sebastian, shirtless, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the night.

I walk slowly toward him, every step feeling like a betrayal, like I'm leaving a piece of myself behind. When I stop beside him, he doesn't turn to look at me. He simply says, in a tone as casual as if he's ordering a drink.

"Take your clothes off."

My breath hitches. I hesitate before I obey, my hands moving to the zipper on my dress as I step back to the edge of the bed.

My fingers tremble. My stomach churns, the whiskey threatening to come back up as I try to pull the zipper down.

Suddenly, I feel a strong pair of hands on mine, guiding the zipper the rest of the way. I flinch, a shiver running through me as Sebastian's hands graze my bare skin.

"What is this?" he asks, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing as he studies me. I stare at him, confusion and fear swirling together, unsure of what he means.

His eyes drop to my body, his face darkening as he takes in the faint bruises, the evidence of Christopher's anger. His jaw tightens, and I realize he's seen the truth etched across my skin.

A tear slips down my cheek as I whisper, barely able to meet his eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't know this is how my night would end."

He pauses, his expression unreadable.

"Did Christopher do that to you?"

I don't answer, just stare at him, frozen, feeling the weight of his gaze on me.

Slowly, I reach behind me, fingers fumbling as I try to unhook my bra, determined to get this transaction over with. But Sebastian's voice, suddenly harsh, stops me.

"Stop."

I freeze, looking up at him, confusion clouding my mind. "I... I don't understand," I stammer.

"What don't you understand?" he snaps, his tone hard and unyielding. "I said, put your clothes back on. I don't need a woman crying as I make love to her."

I blink, taken aback, searching his face for any hint of a joke.

But he's deadly serious. The cold indifference in his gaze sends a fresh wave of humiliation through me, and I swallow, my throat tightening as I murmur, "Please... please don't tell him that I didn't... that I couldn't..."

He cocks his head, a glint of something dark flashing in his eyes. "So, Christopher did this to you?"

I nod slowly, feeling utterly defeated. Shame and anger mix as I turn back toward the window, looking out over the city lights, anything to avoid his gaze.

"Why haven't you left?" He asks.

"I wish I could leave," I answer quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "But if I do, he will take my son and I will never see him again."

There's a long pause, and then, in a voice softer than I expected, he says, "I did not know he was violent."

I look over my shoulder, meeting his gaze, my voice bitter as I reply, "Why wouldn't he? Chris has only ever loved three things-drugs, gambling, and women. Those are the only things that matter to him."

Sebastian stares at me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turns away, reaching for a shirt and pulling it on.

"You need a drink," he mutters, walking to the bar, his movements tense, almost angry.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply, willing myself not to break down, not here. But inside, I feel shattered. Each piece of myself lost, like a ghost haunting a life that no longer feels like my own.

I drag myself through the front door, each step weighed down with exhaustion, bitterness, and anger that's simmering just below the surface.

The night's events play over and over in my mind, each memory igniting fresh resentment. Christopher, the man I once trusted with my life, had crossed every line and left me feeling like nothing more than a dirty pawn.

I move slowly through the darkened hallway. I reach the bedroom, my heart pounding. Maybe it's the whisky still swirling in my veins, or maybe it's the realisation that I have nothing left to lose. Today is the day.

I will leave him. Christopher Bell's over. no matter what it takes.

As I push the door open quietly, my eyes fall on the bed, and I have to suppress the urge to laugh.

There he is, sprawled out and sleeping soundly, and he's not alone. Curled up next to him, her blonde hair spilling over his shoulder, is a woman-a slim, young figure, her arm draped possessively around his waist.

I don't even blink. Of course, he'd bring her here. Of course, he'd think he could do this right under my nose, no consequences.

He used me to settle his gambling debts and then had the audacity to bring home one of his little flings with our son under the same roof.

This is the last straw. I can't keep pretending. I need to get him out of my life, once and for all.

I hold my breath and step quietly, moving across the room, careful to avoid any creaks in the floor.

This is my chance.

I need to gather what I can and get out, leave him behind in his wreck of a life. How dare he? How dare he do this to me?

I gave up my family for him.

I gave up my life for him.

But I barely make it two steps before I hear him stir. My stomach clenches as I hear him groan, his voice thick with sleep.

"You're home..." He mumbles, his eyes half-closed, and then, lazily, "Lizzy?"

I freeze, waiting, but he doesn't seem the least bit concerned, not even a hint of guilt as he sits up.

He stretches, running a hand through his hair as if I've just walked in from a normal night out.

He doesn't care that I spent the evening in the arms of another man; he doesn't even flinch at the thought of it.

I say nothing; just keep walking toward the closet; my mind is already planning my escape. But I hear him getting out of bed, his footsteps padding softly across the room until I feel his hands on my shoulders.

"Come on, baby," he says, his tone low and coaxing.

"Don't be mad. We're a team, right? Sebastian's a very important guy. You know that."

I can barely process his words; I can barely believe what I'm hearing.

I turn slowly, looking into his face, searching for the man I once loved so fiercely, the man who once promised me everything.

But he's gone.

In his place is someone cold, indifferent, twisted beyond recognition.

I shake my head, fighting back the anger and disappointment threatening to spill out.

Before I can say anything, another voice interrupts us.

"Hey."

Her voice is soft, and I see Christopher's attention shift over his shoulder.

Standing there, wrapped in a bedsheet, is the blonde woman-the one who had the nerve to look me in the eye last night and tell me how lucky I am to have him.

My hands clench into fists, the words dying on my lips.

I can't do this. I can't play this game anymore.

"I can't believe this," I manage, my voice tight.

I turn, yanking open the closet door, reaching for a bag. I'm done waiting around.

"I'm going to see Edward."

Christopher doesn't even blink. "He's not here," he says simply, as if it's no big deal.

I turn, my heart pounding as the words sink in.

My voice drops to a low, dangerous tone.

"Where is he?" I ask, barely keeping my voice steady.

"My mother took him for the weekend," he replies, his tone casual, indifferent.

I feel my legs weaken, my breath catching in my throat.

He knew. He knew I'd come back furious and that I'd want to take Edward with me.

He's thought of everything-every move, every reaction. He's already steps ahead of me.

Without another word, I storm out of the room, unable to stand the sight of him any longer, unable to believe how calculated and cruel he's become.

My steps carry me outside, away from the suffocating walls of that house, until I'm alone with nothing but my own thoughts, my anger burning like fire in my chest.

Hours pass, but the rage stays with me, gnawing away, hollowing me out. By the time evening falls, I feel exhausted and drained.

My mind wanders back to Sebastian, the mysterious man Christopher had traded me off to.

Despite the awful circumstances, despite everything I'd been through, I can't deny that Sebastian has stirred something in me.

He was different-strangely calm, with those piercing dark eyes and that serious expression that rarely gave away a thought.

He didn't laugh, didn't smile, but somehow he treated me with a kind of respect, even kindness.

For a moment, I let myself remember the night-the way he'd poured a glass of wine for me, the way he'd watched me without judgement, without expectation.

He didn't touch me. He barely spoke, yet somehow he made me feel less alone than I had in years.

I hadn't expected him to be a gentleman, but he'd surprised me, and I'd left that room with a small shred of dignity still intact.

I laugh bitterly to myself, realising how ridiculous it is that I'm even thinking of him now.

What am I doing? He's Christopher's friend, or at least some kind of business associate.

I'll probably never see him again. All I need to focus on now is finding a way out, leaving this toxic life behind me once and for all.

The evening air chills as I make my way back to the house, each step feeling like a step back into the cage I'm so desperate to escape. I know I can't stay here, not another day. I'll do whatever it takes. If I have to beg my family for help, if I have to start over from nothing-I'll do it.

But as I walk inside, my gaze drifts to Edward's toys scattered on the floor, his tiny shoes by the door. He's my world, my reason for everything. My little miracle. And Christopher knows it.

Just then, I hear a voice behind me, and I turn, my heart skipping a beat. Christopher is standing there, watching me with a smirk, a look that sends a chill down my spine.

"You did good last night," he asks, his tone mocking. "Sebastian called me. He is ready to invest in the company."

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze, my voice steady. "Is that why you handed me to him? Chris."

For a moment, he looks taken aback, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. Then he laughs, low and cold. "Oh, Lizzy," he says, shaking his head. "That's all you are good for."

"What is wrong with you?" I scream at him, devastated by his words. "What happened to you, Chris?"

I can see his eyes flaring with anger. I had hit a nerve.

"You think you can just walk away? We're a family, remember? We're in this together." He mutters as if reading my mind.

"We stopped being a family a long time ago," I spit out, the words tasting bitter and sharp.

His expression darkens.

"Maybe if you stopped losing the pregnancies,!" I can hear the anger in his voice.

I turn and walk away, leaving him standing there. I cannot face him anymore. His words are cruel, and he was right. Maybe all this is my fault. That's what the doctor had said.

Christopher has never forgiven me for losing the pregnancies. Now he reminds me every day.