Chapter 2
Walking through the dimly lit foyer, my black heels click against the marble floor while the train of my fitted black velvet dress whispers behind me.
I tug anxiously at my long sleeves, pulling them further down my arms. Silk fingerless gloves conceal my scarred hands as low murmurs drift from the dining room ahead.
My pulse spikes when I reach the slightly open double doors.
Peeking through the gap, the smell of food hits me first, turning my stomach. Then I spot Law, sitting at the head of the table.
I take a few seconds, trying to steady myself before lifting a hand and pushing the door open.
The conversation dies instantly, every head turning toward me.
And that’s when I notice who else is here.
Brad and his wife, Kelly.
Why are they here? Law never invites them over anymore.
My gaze immediately finds Law again, his dark eyes dragging over me, making my skin crawl.
“Blaire!” Kelly chirps, pushing her chair back with a bright smile.
I remain rooted to the spot, paralyzed, unable to tear my eyes from him until she steps in front of me and pulls me into a tight hug.
Soreness explodes through my ribs, and I wince before I can stop myself, my eyes squeezing shut.
Kelly pulls back immediately, her hands settling on my upper arms as concern flashes across her face.
“Are you okay?” she says quietly, her eyes sweeping over me, searching.
I blink, my mind scrambling for an excuse.
“It was a long day at the gym, that's all.”
“Oh.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “You should really take it easy. You already look incredible.”
Incredible?
The compliment makes me cringe internally. Only if she could see the tragedy hidden beneath this pretty dress, she wouldn't be saying that.
“Come sit. Let’s catch up,” she murmurs, head tilting toward the table with her hand on the small of my back.
I manage a brittle nod and drift past her like a ghost tethered to its own grave. Sliding into the chair beside Law, I keep my eyes nailed to the wood grain of the table, refusing to raise my head.
Every cell screams run, but my body obeys the invisible chains. I already know the script, and this polite acting is only the prelude to the real performance.
A private chef moves like a shadow in the kitchen while meaningless chatter laps against me in oily waves. My eyes burn with unshed tears, staring into the void between heartbeats.
Brad’s prying gaze sweeps over me from the right, Law’s presence presses from the left, and anxiety coils tighter, a serpent in my throat.
I try to swallow it down, but saliva fills my mouth, and sweat blooms cold across my forehead, tracing icy fingers down my spine.
Then the chef delicately sets the plate down in front of me.
The crimson vulgarity catches my eye—raw, glistening meat, bleeding juices across porcelain like an open wound. Color drains my face, and bile surges up my throat, thick and bitter, as fractured memories detonate behind my eyes.
The smell hits, and a guttural rench rips from my throat before I can cage it.
My trembling hand flies to my mouth as every head snaps toward me.
He knows full fucking well I can’t eat meat.
“Are you okay, Blaire?” Kelly’s voice is laced with alarm.
“She’s pregnant,” Law announces smoothly, and my wide, watery eyes shoot to his.
“Oh my god, Kelly gasps. “Congratulations!”
“Amazing news, guys,” Brad echoes, but it’s full of unease.
How fucking dare he. That nasty piece of shit.
I stare at Law, jaw unhinged, shock slamming through me like a butcher’s cleaver.
No matter how brutally he breaks my body, his mind and audacity to always find new ways to carve out my soul, never fails me.
Ripping my gaze away, I lift the fork with a sweat-slick hand, knuckles white as bone. I spear a lone vegetable and force it between my lips, desperate to avoid the carnage on my plate.
Butter melts over my taste buds first, but then the blood from the meat follows. It seeps through, copper and iron, coating my tongue like a curse.
My eyes drop to the meat again, and my mind starts to spiral. It suddenly no longer looks like food. It looks like pieces of a fetus, torn and scattered, glistening under the chandelier light.
My breathing fractures into jagged bursts, and vomit floods my mouth, hot and violent. I slap a hand over my lips, chair screeching backward as I bolt upright.
“Blaire?” Kelly’s voice fades into the roaring in my ears as I run, stumbling toward the door.
◆◆◆
Reaching the downstairs toilet, I barely make it before my body betrays me completely. I collapse over the bowl and heave, stomach wrenching in savage spasms.
Sweat pours down my face, mixing with tears and the bitter strings of saliva dangling from my lips.
My lungs pull as I hyperventilate, the world tilting around me as I slide down the cold wall, my body dragging like a corpse refusing its grave until I’m crumpled on the tiled floor.
I sit there in the dim silence, trying desperately to get myself together, to quiet the earthquake shaking through me.
In this toilet, I am both the offering and the waste. He carved out my fucking future and left me to vomit up the pieces.
The door suddenly explodes open, and I recoil hard, curling inward like a kicked animal. Law storms in, jaw clenched, eyes burning with cold fury. He grabs my upper arms with iron fingers, yanking me upright so violently my ribs scream.
He shakes me once, hard enough to rattle my soul loose.
“Stop fucking embarrassing me, Blaire,” he hisses, voice low and venomous, breath steaming against my face.
He pushes me out the door and my legs buckle beneath me, wobbling like a newborn fawn. I stumble into the hallway, the walls closing in.
“I can’t…” The words break into a sob, barely heard.
His hand slams against my back, shoving me forward with bruising force toward the dining room.
“Act like the fucking wife you should be,” he growls, “and grow up.”
As we reach the door, I swipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. And when he pushes the door open, I force my shoulders back, lifting my chin like a marionette whose strings have been pulled taut by a cruel hand.
“Are you okay?” Kelly asks as I pass, her voice sympathetic.
I manage a small, brittle smile and a nod, the motion forced and lifeless.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur, tone as thin as paper as I lower myself back into the chair beside Law.
I’m glad to see my plate has been cleared away, evidence of my weakness being swept under the rug before it could stain their perfect evening.
My eyes glide across the table until they land on a bottle of wine, dark and glistening. Desperate for something to anchor me, to make me look normal, useful, and compliant, I reach for it with a hand that still betrays me with its faint tremor.
“Here,” I say, forcing lightness into my tone as I stand. “Let me refill these for you.”
I fill Law’s glass first, the dark wine swirling like liquid night. His blue eyes burn into my side-profile—cold, unblinking, and dissecting every tremor in my wrist, every splinter in my composure.
Then, I move myself past him to Kelly.
“Thank you,” she says, genuine and soft.
Once done, I stride over to Brad, and our eyes lock across the table. As I lean over, wine pours in a thin, blood-red stream into his empty glass, and I silently mouth the words, lips shaping the only plea I have left.
Help. Me.
He watches my mouth, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, then he gives the smallest nod, dropping his gaze.
“Thank you, Blaire,” he says smoothly, as if I had only offered wine and not my last shard of hope.
I don’t know if he understood. I don’t know if he’ll do anything. But it is the only rebellion my shackled soul can manage.
“You’re welcome,” I mumble before retreating to my seat beside Law.
◆◆◆
After some time, Kelly and Brad rise to leave, and a fresh wave of terror crashes over me like ice water flooding a sinking ship. The safety of people being here is slipping away, and with it, the last fragile barrier between me and him.
They stride toward the front door, and I trail behind like a shadow chained to its owner, every step heavier than the last.
“Take care, Blaire,” Kelly says with a small wave, her voice distant and useless. “If you need anything, just call me.”
I nod slowly, the motion numb, but then my eyes dart to Brad’s. He’s already looking at me—really looking. And in that single heartbeat, I pour every last ounce of my crushed soul into my gaze.
Help me. Please. Don’t leave me here.
He holds it for a fraction of a second, then turns and walks out, and the door clicks shut behind them.
I suck in a sharp, defeated breath that tastes of erosion and finality, the illusion of my rescue vanishing with the echoes of their footsteps.
Turning on my heel, I drift back to the dining room, my mind frazzled with anxiety.
I begin gathering the glasses, the clink of crystal mocking my racing pulse. But then his looming presence presses against my back, and body locks tight, every muscle screaming silently.
His mouth skates over my neck, the smell thick with stale alcohol, and it crawls across my skin like maggots over a decaying corpse.
“Get the fuck on the table,” he orders, his front flush against my back, dick solid, grinding the command right into my spine.
My eyes squeeze shut, and a fresh tear carves a scorching path down my cheek.
And here I am all over again—his used and abused wife—just pretty wounds dressed in obedience, and he’s about to reopen every single one.
I shake my head twice, lips trembling like dying leaves in a storm.
“But I don’t want to,” I whisper through a broken weep. “Please don’t make me… I can’t…”
“You,” he growls viciously against the shell of my ear, pressing against it bitterly, the words slithering like venom into my bloodstream, “never fucking learn, Blaire. It’s time to give up.”
His hands seize my hips with bruising force, then he yanks the fabric of my dress upward in rough, impatient jerks, bunching it around my waist until cool air kisses my exposed skin.