Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Ariana
I woke slowly, careful not to move too much, my body already warning me of what I’d feel if I did. A dull throb settled low in my stomach, radiating outward like heat from a dying fire. I didn’t immediately open my eyes, unsure what would greet me.
Thankfully, when I did, the other side of the bed was empty.
Victor was already up.
I let out a shaky breath of relief and stared at the ceiling. It bought me a few precious minutes. Time when I didn’t have to smile. Didn’t have to pretend. Didn’t have to anticipate what mood he’d be in, or if something I said would spark another reaction I wouldn’t see coming.
But I didn’t let myself linger too long. Not today.
It was Sunday. The only day I was allowed to visit my mother. And I wouldn’t let anything stop me from that. Not even the ache burning beneath my skin.
I pushed the covers off and sat up slowly.
Pain bloomed immediately, sharp and unrelenting.
I gritted my teeth as I forced myself to stand, the bitter taste of blood blooming on my tongue from where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek in order to survive Victor’s assault last night. I’d endured worse.
But knowing that didn’t make it easier, especially when my eyes fell on the bloody sheets. I wondered what our household staff thought whenever they saw them. If they worried for my safety.
They never showed it.
Victor paid them for their discretion.
And their silence.
I gingerly crossed the bedroom, each footfall sending fresh fire up my legs. When I stepped into the bathroom, I initially avoided the mirror. But I needed to know. Needed to see how bad it was.
With my breath held tight, I finally looked.
No black eye. No split lip. Victor was always good at making sure any marks he left could be easily hidden.
But bruises were already forming around my throat. Shadowy smudges like fingerprints painted across my skin. I dropped my gaze lower, carefully running my fingers along the fresh lines he’d drawn on my stomach.
I was horrified the first time he’d marked me like this. Actually believed I was to blame. That it was my fault one of his associates looked at me a second too long.
Now I knew the truth. This was all a game to him. A way to control me. A reminder of the hold my husband had over me.
I turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. The second the water hit my skin, pain tore through me so sharply I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the scream. I doubled over, bracing against the tile, counting to ten like the therapist Victor made me stop seeing used to teach me.
Ten seconds. Breathe. Survive. Move on.
I moved slowly, methodically. Washing away what I could. Scrubbing until my skin burned raw. Trying to erase his scent. His touch. The way his breath had ghosted across my cheek as he took what he wanted like I was nothing more than a thing for him to use and abuse.
When I finally emerged, I toweled off in silence. The material brushed over tender places that made me wince. But I powered through.
Suffered.
Endured.
I took my time getting ready. Not because I wanted to look nice, but because I had to. Looking like the perfect wife wasn’t just expected. It was required, even on the weekends.
Gone were the days of cozy sweatshirts and yoga pants. Now it was designer dresses and carefully styled hair, even when I could barely stand upright. Pajamas had been replaced with silk and lace. Soft cotton was a distant memory.
Once I looked like the woman Victor wanted me to be, dressed in a shift dress and silk scarf around my neck to hide the bruises, I left the bedroom, pausing at the top of the stairs.
With my hand gripping the railing, I stared down at the polished marble foyer, my body fighting against me.
As if it knew I was about to march into the lion’s den.
But I didn’t have a choice.
So I made myself glide down the stairs, the scent and sounds of breakfast pulling me toward the dining room.
Victor sat at the head of the table as I entered the formal space, reading something on his phone while eating his usual — eggs, bacon, toast, coffee.
The large windows overlooked Biscayne Bay, the sun sparkling on crystal blue waters.
As a little girl, I often imagined what it would be like to live in one of the gorgeous houses on Star Island. I foolishly thought it would be my ticket to freedom. To never having to worry about anything ever again.
How wrong I was.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Victor greeted, his voice low and smooth as he lifted his gaze to me.
Gone was the monster from last night. In its place was the man I married. Or the mask of him.
I forced my lips into a natural smile. “Good morning.”
I took my seat beside him. Within seconds, the housekeeper walked in, setting down a bowl of fruit and a parfait in front of me.
I picked up my spoon. Fruit and yogurt. Always fruit and yogurt. Victor didn’t like when I ate anything “heavy.” Didn’t want to be the man whose wife “let herself go”, as he put it.
“How did you sleep?” he asked casually, as if last night never happened.
As if I hadn’t been moments away from death at his hands.
As if he hadn’t forced himself on me.
Violated me.
Brutalized me.
Sodomized me.
“I slept well. And you?”
“Like the dead.”
I gave a small smile, pushing down the remark begging to be set free. That I’d give anything for him to actually be dead.
Victor leisurely reached for his coffee, like it was any other Sunday morning. The scent of bacon clung to the air, though none of it was for me.
“You’ll never believe what I overheard at the gala last night.” His voice was light, conversational. Like we were just any other couple chatting over breakfast. “Marta Lavigne’s husband is apparently cheating on her with their nanny. So predictable.”
I stared at the pale swirl of yogurt, forcing my expression to stay neutral.
“She always did turn a blind eye to his dalliances, so long as he didn’t bring them home,” he continued.
“But to do so right under her nose? And in their bed?” He shook his head.
“Word is she slapped him in front of the valet stand. Caused quite a scene.” He laughed, like it was the juiciest tidbit he’d heard all month.
“That’s awful,” I offered quietly.
Victor cut into his eggs. “Sad, of course. But entertaining. High society’s version of reality TV.”
I took a bite of fruit I couldn’t taste, forcing myself to chew and swallow, though my throat ached.
His eyes flicked up to me, sharp for half a second, before softening again. “You look a little pale, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay?”
I didn’t immediately respond. Was he testing me? Of course he was. Everything was a test with him. A game. A ploy to manipulate me.
“Just tired,” I replied, careful to inject just enough softness to soothe him.
“Probably all that champagne last night.”
I hadn’t had a drop. He hadn’t let me.
“But you looked stunning,” he added, as if he hadn’t cut the dress from my body, leaving it in tatters all over our bedroom floor. “Everyone said so. People couldn’t stop asking where you got that dress.”
I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from saying something I’d regret.
“And that necklace? Perfect choice. You wear diamonds like you were born for them.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.
He went on talking. Gossip. His travel schedule. A potential investor from Monaco who’d gifted him a bunch of Cuban cigars in the hopes of luring him to build a hotel there. All things that didn’t matter.
All things meant to make me forget what he did.
There was no mention of last night.
No flicker of apology.
No indication anything had happened at all.
If it weren’t for the marks forming along my neck and the fresh scar carved into my stomach, I might have convinced myself I imagined it.
Victor was an expert at making me doubt my own reality. This was all part of his game. He wanted to unbalance me. Make me question what was real.
And it worked. Time and again, it worked.
His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it, frowning slightly, before returning his attention to me.
“I have to fly out today. Something came up. Business I can’t delegate.”
Relief bloomed in my chest before I could stop it. Victor going away meant I had a break from him. It didn’t matter that whenever he returned from these trips, he would inevitably be more cruel. I’d take any reprieve I could get right now, especially after last night.
“Will I still be able to see my mother?” I asked somewhat timidly, fearing his response.
“Why wouldn’t you?” His smile stayed fixed. “You don’t need my permission.”
Right.
Of course not.
Except I did. Not because he said so, but because the cost of disapproval wasn’t worth the risk.
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to stay home,” I said carefully.
“You can do whatever makes you happy, my darling.” Victor rose from his chair, sliding his phone into his pocket.
“I should only be gone a few days. You should go shopping tomorrow.” His eyes darkened as they raked down my body like they once did.
“Get something sexy to surprise me with when I get home.”
“Of course.” I gritted a smile, fully aware this was yet another test.
If I picked out something that wasn’t sexy enough, he’d accuse me of not being attracted to him. Get something that was too sexy and he’d accuse me of being a whore.
There was no winning with him.
But I wasn’t going to worry about it. Not when I was about to have several days without having to answer to him.
“I love you,” he murmured as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
I closed my eyes and fought the instinct to flinch.
There was a time I believed he loved me.
I was nobody back then. Just a girl who liked flowers and sunshine and dreaming about things that felt out of reach.
I never thought a man like him — a man who transformed his father’s shipping company into a luxury yacht and hotel brand — would look at me twice.
But he did.
And I believed in fairy tales for a while.
My mother warned me about him. And not because I was only nineteen and he was thirty-four. She claimed she saw a shadow on him. I accused her of being dramatic.
I should have listened.
“I love you, too,” I forced out, knowing he expected this response. The last thing I wanted was to give him a reason to delay or cancel his trip.
He treated me to one last smile that reminded me of the man he once was. Then he retreated, his footsteps echoing in the space.
Only when I heard the front door click behind him did I let myself breathe.
Even if it was only for a little while.