Helpless
I was twenty-five when Christian proposed to me.
Except it wasn’t a proposal. It was a sentence.
I remember the cold metal of the holding cell bench under my legs, the way my hands shook as they uncuffed me. Murder. They’d actually charged me with murder. Ashton’s “suicide” twisted into something darker. I had sat there for days, terrified, knowing no one would come for me.
Then the door opened, and Christian walked in.
He didn’t speak to the officers. He just signed whatever papers they slid across the desk, and suddenly the charges vanished. Just like that. I followed him out in a daze, blinking against the daylight like some rescued animal.
In the car, silence pressed against the windows.
He drove too fast, knuckles white on the steering wheel, rain from an earlier storm still dripping from his dark hair.
I stole glances at him... those sharp features I’d secretly memorized for years, the deep hazel eyes now burning with something I couldn’t name.
I was terrified of him when he was like this. Quiet. Controlled. Deadly.
He pulled over at a deserted roadside, engine idling. Stared straight ahead.
“I knew you would come for me,” I said softly, turning toward him. My voice cracked. “Christian, I’m so sorry about Ashton’s death. I didn’t know he was… so obsessed with—”
“He loved you,” Christian cut in, voice low and furious. I swear I could almost see the rage radiating off him. “If you had just accepted his proposal, married him, he’d still be alive. But you pushed him away, broke his heart again and again, and drove him to suicide.”
“I—”
“Don’t.” The word cracked like a whip. “Not a single word.”
I sank back into the leather seat, heart hammering.
“You’re wrong if you think I cleared those charges for you,” he said, turning to me at last. His eyes were pure storm. “Prison isn’t enough punishment, Melody.”
I swallowed. “What do you mean?”
He leaned in, close enough that I felt his breath on my lips. “I’ll be your punishment. I’ll make your life a living hell. I will avenge my innocent brother.”
“Christian, I—”
“Enough!” he shouted, making me flinch. Then, quieter, deadly: “I’m marrying you, Melody. Tomorrow.”
My mind spun. “What?”
I had loved him in secret for three years... quiet, hopeless glances across boardrooms, stolen moments when he’d smile at something I said in a meeting. I’d dreamed of him saying my name gently, not like this.
“Christian, what are you—”
“Choose,” he said, voice like gravel. “Marry me… or I put you back in that cell. The evidence is still there. One call from me, and you rot in prison for the rest of your life.”
I stared at him. The hate in his eyes was real. But so was the threat.
I agreed because I had no one else. No family, no savings, no power. The orphanage had taught me early that the world doesn’t protect girls like me. If I said no, I would disappear behind bars forever... and worse, I knew Christian meant every word. He held all the cards.
But more than fear… there was a tiny, traitorous spark of something else. Because even as terror flooded me, a small, foolish part of my heart whispered: At least I’ll be near him. At least he’ll be mine, even if he hates me.
And then he did the thing I had dreamed about on so many lonely nights.
He kissed me.
Christian Holt kissed me.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, firm and possessive, pulling me across the console. His lips were hard, angry, claiming. Not gentle or sweet like in my fantasies, but overwhelming. He tasted like rain and fury and everything I’d wanted for years.
My heart swelled painfully in my chest. For one dizzy second, I was over the moon... floating, breathless. Because the man I’d loved in silence finally touched me.
Even though I knew, deep down, that this kiss wasn’t love.
It was ownership.
And my life was about to become the hell he promised.
—Melody
×××××××
Melody came awake slowly, pulled from the fog of anesthesia by a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to radiate from the core of her body. The stitches across her lower abdomen burned like fire. Each breath tugging at them, each small shift sending fresh waves of pain through her.
The room was too white, too quiet. Sterile curtains, beeping monitors, the faint smell of disinfectant.
Her mouth was dry, her limbs heavy. She tried to push herself upright, desperate to see, to know, but the moment she tensed her stomach muscles, a sharp gasp tore from her throat.
Pain lanced through her, white-hot, forcing her back against the pillows.
Her dark eyes, still glassy from drugs, swept the room.
He was there.
Christian stood by the window, back to her, hands in the pockets of his dark trousers. Rain streaked the glass behind him, blurring the city lights into soft halos. His broad shoulders were rigid, black hair still slightly damp, the line of his jaw tight even in profile.
“Christian,” she whispered, voice hoarse.
He didn’t turn.
“Christian… you weren’t there when they operated. I needed you—” The words cracked, fragile and pleading. “I was so scared.”
He interrupted without looking at her. “Is it true that you tried to hurt Symphony?”
The name hit her like cold water. Symphony?
“I’m sorry?”
“You tried to hurt my baby, didn’t you?”
“What?” Her heart stuttered. “Christian, no—”
He turned then, hazel eyes hard and accusing. He walked toward the bed, each step deliberate. “Mom told me everything.”
“Mom.” Melody let out a weak, disbelieving scoff. “You know how manipulative your mother can be.”
He looked away, jaw clenched so tightly she saw the muscle jump.
“She was the one who shoved me,” Melody said quietly, tears gathering again. “She and Ashley, they attacked me in the garden. I fell because of them.”
“Why do you act like you don’t know a thing?”
Christian’s gaze flicked back to her, sharp and disbelieving.
“Enough, Melody.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Don’t forget you have my brother’s blood on your hands.”
The words landed like a slap. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaustion and hurt crashing over her.
“Where’s our baby?” she asked finally, barely above a whisper.
Christian shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “She’s with Mom.”
Melody’s chest caved in. She turned her face toward the pillow, tears slipping silently into the fabric.
“Please,” she said after a long minute, voice trembling. “Please let me see her. Just once. I haven’t even held her yet.”
He didn’t answer immediately. She heard him exhale... sharp and conflicted.
She opened her eyes and looked at him again. “Christian, please. She’s all I have.”
Something flickered across his face before the cold mask returned.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But only for a few minutes.”
He left the room without another word. Melody lay there, shaking, counting heartbeats until the door opened again.
A nurse wheeled in a clear bassinet. Inside, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, was the tiniest person Melody had ever seen.
Her daughter.
Dark curls peeked from beneath the little cap. Her small face was peaceful in sleep, rosebud mouth slightly open.
Melody’s breath hitched. Tears spilled freely now.
The nurse gently lifted the baby and placed her into Melody’s waiting arms, mindful of the IV line and the tender incision.
The weight was feather-light, but it anchored Melody to the earth like nothing ever had.
“Hello, my love,” she whispered, voice breaking. She pressed her lips to the baby’s warm forehead, breathing her in... milk and warmth and everything good left in the world. Her tiny fingers flexed against Melody’s chest.
“She’s perfect,” Melody sobbed softly, rocking as much as her stitches allowed. “You’re perfect.”
She looked up at Christian, who stood at the foot of the bed, watching with an expression she couldn’t read.
“What did you call her?” she asked, voice small. “You said… Symphony?”
He nodded once.
Melody’s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with awe. “Why… why Symphony?”
Christian’s gaze dropped to the baby, something raw flashing in his hazel eyes before he shuttered it.
“Because,” he said quietly, “I like it, that's all.”
Melody stared at him. Then, she looked down at the sleeping baby and pressed another trembling kiss to her curls.
“I love her name,” she whispered, more to her daughter than to him. “I love it so much.”
But when she glanced up again, Christian was already turning away.
The nurse returned too soon. Gently, she lifted Symphony from Melody’s arms.
Melody’s hands clutched at empty air, a broken sound escaping her throat.
And just like that, her daughter was gone again.
×××××××
Melody drifted in and out of a shallow, painful sleep, the cold dampness beneath her a constant reminder of her helplessness. Every small shift pulled at her stitches; every breath felt like surrender. The night stretched endlessly, the room wrapped in shadows and silence.
She lost track of time, minutes or hours, until soft footsteps finally approached just after dawn. The door opened with a quiet click, and morning light spilled in from the corridor.
The nurse, a kind-faced woman in her fifties stepped inside, humming softly under her breath. She moved to check the monitors, then paused. Her gaze dropped to the bed, to the darkened sheets, and understanding softened her features.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, not a trace of judgment in her voice. “Your catheter came loose in the night. It happens more often than you’d think after major surgery. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Melody turned her face into the pillow, fresh tears burning her eyes. Shame flooded her, hot and suffocating, worse than the physical discomfort. She, a grown woman, once independent, once proud, reduced to lying in her own mess like a child, too weak to call for help, too broken to save herself.
The nurse moved efficiently but gently, drawing the curtains for privacy, gathering fresh linens and warm towels. “We’ll get you cleaned up and comfortable in no time. You’ve been through so much.”
Melody couldn’t speak. Guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and irrational.
I should have been stronger.
I should have reached the call button somehow.
I should have known something was wrong sooner.
What kind of mother am I, when I can’t even care for myself? How will I ever care for her?
The thoughts circled, cruel and relentless. She felt filthy... not just her body, but her soul. As if her helplessness proved everything Victoria and Ashley whispered: that she was worthless, unfit, a burden.
Tears slipped silently down her temples as the nurse worked, wiping her skin with warm cloths, changing the sheets beneath her with practiced care, adjusting the new catheter with quiet apologies for any discomfort.
“You poor thing,” the nurse said softly, brushing a strand of black hair from Melody’s damp forehead. “You shouldn’t have been alone all night. I’m so sorry no one checked on you sooner.”
Melody shook her head weakly, the lump in her throat too thick for words. The kindness only made the guilt worse. She didn’t deserve it. She had failed at everything.
When it was over, the nurse tucked fresh blankets around her, raised the head of the bed just slightly, and offered a small cup of water.
Melody managed a whisper. “Thank you.”
The nurse smiled sadly. “Rest now. You’re safe.”
But as the door closed again and the room fell quiet once more, Melody stared at the ceiling, guilt and loneliness pressing down heavier than any blanket.
She had never felt smaller.
Never more unworthy of the tiny life she had brought into the world.
And still, no one came.
×××××××