Chapter 35 #3
“I stopped recognizing myself,” I whisper. “Every smile felt forced. Every word was rehearsed, like I was given a script. My clothes became tighter, shorter, more revealing.”
Jett’s aura doesn't waver—grief, fury, heartbreak, and guilt are etched across his beautiful face. Even though we’ve talked about everything privately, I hate how I’m the reason he’s feeling pain again.
He’s seeing the woman he once loved being rewritten in real time, piece by piece, by someone else’s hands.
It starts with a disagreement. Something small in the grand scheme of things didn’t even matter. I had forgotten we were supposed to attend an event. When Elias came home, he found me curled up on the couch, comfy clothes on, as I read on my Kindle.
“What the fuck, Wren?” he yells, storming over toward me and ripping my Kindle from my hands. He tosses it against the wall, and I flinch. “Why the fuck aren’t you dressed?”
“For what?” I ask, confused.
“Are you that fucking stupid you forgot?”
The gala.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
“I guess you are that fucking stupid.”
Rage pours from him. I’m lost in my head, so I don’t see it coming.
The back of his hand connects with my cheek. Hard.
Shock explodes through me as the sound of skin snapping back echoes in my ears.
I clutch my cheek, mouth open as tears burn my eyes.
His eyes widen in surprise as the apologies pour from him. I flinch again as he steps forward, cupping my face with his hand as he rubs circles over the spot he slapped.
“I don’t know what came over me,” he admits, voice soft and laced with pain. “Go take a bath, princess. I’ll go without you. I’m sorry, Wren. It’ll never happen again.”
And foolishly, I believed him.
I pause, taking a deep, shuddering breath and let the words hang in the air. My hands tremble as I tuck a loose hair behind my ear. I can feel the heat of the memory crawling through my veins like molten lava as my cheek stings with the reminder of the backhand.
“After three years of dating…he hit me,” I whisper, voice barely audible. “That night, even though he promised it’d never happen again, everything changed. I was afraid to breathe wrong. Afraid to speak out of line. He took total control. And I let him.”
I woke to flowers and matcha. Gentle caresses and soft kisses. I fought hard not to flinch at his proximity.
He planned a trip for us, but it was during filming. The camera crew followed us to Paris for New Year’s on the private jet.
Paris was magical. The air smells of pastries and something electric under the glow of the city lights.
Our suite has a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower, another bucket-list destination Elias is crossing off my list. I’m dizzy from the jet lag and bubbles I drank on the flight and the ride to our hotel.
Elias’s hands are warm as they run up my bare thighs, his chin resting on my shoulder as he places sweet kisses up the column of my neck.
“Ready for the best New Year’s of your life, princess?”
I nod, a flutter in my stomach, heart both terrified and thrilled.
We walk along the Pont Alexandre III as the wind blows my curls, whipping them in all directions.
The city is alive as we pass couples kissing, street musicians playing instruments, and Elias speaks adoring words.
My pulse thrums in my ears as I feel happiness for the first time in a long time.
Fear is an illusion of our past, and in this moment, I can feel our love.
It’s not long before we’re walking along the Seine River, moving closer to the Eiffel Tower in its glittering beauty.
“Hold on, love.” I pause, staring ahead at the wonder before more.
“Princess.” I turn at Elias’s voice and gasp at where he’s kneeling. Tears well in my eyes as I look at my boyfriend holding open a velvet box with a seven-carat solitaire diamond ring sitting in the center. “Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”
I inhale sharply as my throat tightens. Fear. Love. Admiration. Worry. All come rushing to the surface, but I play it off as shock before I nod.
“Yes,” I say, dropping to my knees and gripping his face. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The cameras catch the moment, and I know the network is going to love every second. Fireworks explode over the city as he slams his mouth to mine.
“After the first time he hit me, it didn’t happen again.
Although I was still weary every time he raised his voice, he never attacked me physically.
It’s why I kept the engagement. There was no way in hell I was saying no on camera anyway, but I really did love him and wanted the promise of forever. ”
Elias and I had discussed having a long engagement, neither of us in a hurry to set a date. Life feels lighter as I find my voice again. A year later, during the filming of season five, wedding planning has begun, and Elias smiles at me, compliments me, and makes me believe every word.
I run my hand over my left wrist, rubbing at a bruise that's no longer there. “Near the end of filming, subtle things started again. At first, I thought I was being delusional with the fear of the past and the stress of filming.”
A grip on my wrist turns too tight as we argue quietly about the direction of filming a certain scene. He whispers derogatory comments in the car, loud enough for me to hear, cutting me down under the guise of “joking.”
Sex becomes rougher, more forceful. My bruises are always covered.
I wear more lace long-sleeves under my tops, all for “fashion.” I buy concealer and theater makeup in bulk to hide the bruises and red marks.
He makes sure nobody sees, or if they can, he blames me.
Says I’m drinking more and that I’m clumsy.
“I was never a big drinker, not since high school,” I tell the group.
“But I allowed him to turn my reputation into a drunk rather than admit the abuse. At that point, I’d nearly lost contact with my family, but they never stopped trying.
Mom and Grams called often, and I answered when I could, but it was few and far between.
Friends in LA saw me even less. I rationalized everything was for the greater good.
I clung to the memory of Paris, of how happy we were, and hoped we’d find that peace again. ”
“I need a break,” I raise my voice, tossing my arms in the air as I stare at the calendar sitting on our island. So many events, appointments, and dates litter the pages. Elias keeps adding more and more; I can barely keep up. “I’m exhausted, Elias.”
He walks behind me, running a hand up my spine until he’s gripping the back of my neck and slamming a vial on the counter. “Come on, Snow White, go ahead and take a line.”
I shake my head, refusing. I will not take drugs–hard drugs–no matter how many times people pressure me.
“I don’t want to,” I beg.
“It’s Hollywood, princess, everyone’s on drugs.”
“Good for them, but I won’t be.” I shove out of his grip and storm toward the stairs. I need out of this condo. I need away from him.
“I hate you,” I toss over my shoulder, but he’s on me in seconds.
“Get the fuck over it, Wren,” he grits out in my ear. “You’re mine, and you’re not going anywhere.”
He pushes me away, but I lose my footing in my heels.
I’ve already had a few drinks, causing my balance to falter.
My brain is spinning, and the next thing I know, I’m falling.
Every edge of the steps sear my body with pain as I fall.
I clutch my ribs, hearing a crack, tasting blood, before my body lands on the floor.
Pain blooms like wildfire, licking my skin, spreading across my chest as I scream in agony.
“See what happens when you fight me.” He shoves my face into the cool floor. “Next time, you might not wake up.”
I can only hope that happens sooner rather than later.
I wake in the hospital, the cold antiseptic scent greeting me. I don’t remember getting here, but I’m sure it wasn’t Elias. Hopefully, it was Leo, my security, coming to check on me.
Doctors ask questions, wanting to call Elias, but I beg them not to. I tell them I slipped on my heels and fell down the stairs. They believe my story based on the amount of alcohol in my system, and I hate this version of myself.
I replay every detail in my mind, the images burned into my memory. The rage in his eyes every time he looks at me, the weight of my body crushing on the stairs, and the bruises blooming on my skin.
But it was the last time. With broken ribs, I found my way out of the rubble. The day he left for a bachelor party in the Caribbean, I took it as my sign.
“I was terrified to tell anyone. Terrified to admit the abuse because I was afraid no one would believe me because of who his family is.”
Soft thumbs brush my cheeks. I open my eyes and find Jett kneeling before me, wiping away the tears I didn’t know I was shedding.
“You’re safe now,” he whispers.
I nod. “I am.”
And for the first time in a long time, I feel all the dark, twisted carnage I’ve been carrying lift away.
I’m alive. I’m breathing. I’m Wren Drummond.