Stand, Part Two (Stronger #6)

Chapter 1 Celebratory Sabotage

CELEbrATORY SABOTAGE

The tears on my face had long dried up, their salty paths tight on my skin as I stared up at the ceiling. Rubbing my tired eyes, the length of chains attached to each of my wrists rattled noisily, their chilling sounds a reminder of my new prison.

Or old prison, I should say.

Darren had all four of my limbs chained to our bed, the lengths long enough to allow me to toss and turn in the misery he’d promised me.

I was now into the third and final day of my “acceptance period” with literally no books, no company, no Camaro, no Sloane, no forms of entertainment to console me while I “adjust” to the idea of motherhood.

Just me and the damn ceiling.

The only time I was allowed out of the chains was to use the bathroom or work out twice a day, followed by a shower. Not exercising was apparently bad for the baby, so that was not only allowed but strictly enforced.

You know what else is bad for the baby? Stress. A hateful mother. And a lying, murdering psychopath for a father.

At least Darren had been thoughtful enough to place a decent-sized trash can next to the bed so I could conveniently lean over and vomit my lunch up every day.

I was still plagued with the occasional nausea, so I supposed that sleeping most of the day away was a good way to escape the discomfort and pass the time.

Except, according to Darren, sleeping interfered with the time he wanted me to spend visualizing our child and the “happiness” motherhood would bring me.

It made me want to vomit all over again.

How could any woman be happy about raising a child they knew would suffer unimaginable cruelty for a significant portion of their childhood?

Once or twice, I considered strangling myself with one of the chains to spare both of us the horrors of the future.

But, of course, Darren had already thought of that and made sure the chains weren’t long enough for such an attempt.

God forbid he allow death to interfere with his plans for this happy family he was envisioning.

I still hadn’t warmed up to him for three and a half years, yet he thought a child would magically change everything overnight.

Moron.

Darren was right about one thing, though. I had known this was coming. Known this whole time and dreaded the inevitability. I just hoped for another miracle that would continue to delay or prevent the whole damn thing—like someone shooting him in the balls or something.

Then the bastard deliberately made me believe in the hope I’d been longing for with that fake implant replacement, making me stupidly think I had more time than I really did. But naturally, it was just another illusion.

And now that my long-held nightmare was finally here, the cage Darren had built around my life had just become ten times smaller. Just like he wanted.

My world felt so much tighter now that I could barely breathe in it.

After he left the infirmary that day, I’d been so enraged by his deception that I somehow managed to pick myself up off the floor and stormed into our room to find the one thing I knew I could still use to slice his heart open.

But true to his character, Darren would never let me see him bleed.

He’d barely reacted at first, but the act of instantly throwing the letter into the fire was more than just a means of protecting his empire. He was protecting himself so he could continue living in that sweet, fluffy cloud of denial.

No way would he believe he was making a mistake, especially when it came to his wife. He was her god, after all. Nothing could thwart his plans for the future, not even the past.

He wasn’t his father. I wasn’t his mother. And the circumstances were not the same. Not in his eyes. No way would history be allowed to repeat itself.

Like Darren had said, it had only been three and a half years. I still had plenty of time before I eventually caught up to Diana’s brand of crazed desperation.

But hadn’t I already reached that level of desperation? Diana was no longer the only one to start a war for her own benefit. My ass had started two at the same damn time. And Darren was still winning!

I was quickly running out of resources to exploit, and now that Diana’s actions had been exposed, I had very little gain to show for it. At least for now.

But the more I thought about it, the more I knew revealing that letter had been irrational at the time. It was strictly an emotional reaction, catered more toward revenge than any measurable amount of leverage.

I probably should have waited for a more calculated and opportunistic moment, but it had seemed almost poetic at the time.

I’d hoped that Daniel would be there so he too could bear witness to the madness of his mother. Judging by his reaction, it seemed to hit him harder than it did Darren. Either way, the seed had been planted, and regardless of what either of them said, the effects of the truth would take root.

I just didn’t know what those roots would inevitably sprout into.

Preferably something I could bludgeon them with.

But there was one small silver lining that I might still be able to use to hang them all with, assuming I ever found the right opportunity to do so.

Darren clearly did not want the information about his mother reaching anyone else's ears.

According to him, the fears of a potential uprising were a very real possibility. If someone were to allow such a dangerous “rumor” to spread, I might end up with a far better outcome than I had originally anticipated.

I would have to keep my eyes open for the opportunity to send out that flare that could create one hell of a forest fire that Darren might actually struggle to extinguish.

Lying still, I tried to feel every inch of my body, from the tips of my toes all the way to the top of my head. I didn’t feel any different. Aside from the occasional nausea, I didn’t even feel pregnant.

Whatever unlucky life now growing inside me was keeping itself hidden from me as best it could, staying in the shadows where it was still safe. That could just be the denial still talking, though.

Would it be a boy or a girl? Blue or hazel eyes?

What if it was a boy with red hair? Would Darren be mad?

Male redheads always suffered an unfair stigma for some reason.

People didn’t seem to like red hair on men as they did on women, and it was such bullshit.

Boys got bullied so much harder in school because kids thought they looked weird.

I had a friend in elementary school who actually had to switch schools because he was bullied so bad for his red hair. I tried to tell him to just beat the shit out of them, but he wouldn’t listen.

And then it made me wonder even more—would our child even grow up to have bullies? Would they be allowed to socialize with other kids? Make friends? Or would they just have private tutors for their whole lives?

If we had a daughter, would Darren just discard her completely? Just ignore her until she was grown enough to marry her off to someone who was just as awful as he was? Would he at least spare her the same torture he’d endured as a child?

Boy or girl, it clearly didn’t matter. Their future was already decided for them, and it was full of nothing but anguish. And right now, there wasn’t shit I could do to stop it.

The bedroom door suddenly opened, my eyes latching onto the sound of anything other than the noise of my wretched breathing. Sloane entered the room, her gunmetal eyes warming with sympathy as they grazed over my limp form.

She sighed quietly to herself as she approached, scratching the side of her buzzed scalp where her Japanese dragon tattoo snarled at me.

“Your husband would like you to join him and the rest of the family for dinner in twenty minutes,” she informed me, her Russian accent particularly heavy today.

I cocked a lazy brow at her, surprised by the sheepish demeanor in informing me of my apparent evening plans.

“The rest of the family, huh?” I mumbled, completely disinterested. As much as I would love to see Katherine right now, the idea of having to tolerate Darren’s presence soured the entire thing. “I think I’d rather eat alone. Again.”

Her lips tightened before she shook her head. “It’s not a request,” she replied, regret lingering in her tone as she reached out to unlock the chains from the cuffs on my wrists.

When all four of my limbs were free, I sat up and stretched my back with a dramatic yawn.

“Of course it isn’t,” I murmured, then hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

As I stood in front of the mirror to tidy up my hair, Sloane lingered in the doorway, her eyes gliding over me with an odd look of uncertainty. I glanced over at her for a split second, then returned to brushing my hair.

“Something up?” I asked her, wincing as the brush caught on a seriously painful knot.

“You’re unhappy about the baby,” she stated plainly, her soft gaze lingering over my stomach. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t get to choose it,” I replied, my tone flavored by a bitter taste as I stated what I thought was obvious. “It was forced onto me under false pretenses.”

Sloane’s brows knitted together in confusion as she watched me braid my hair into a loose braid down the side of my neck.

“Why would he need to go to such lengths? Do you not want children?”

Her Russian accent hinted at the concern she was clearly trying not to voice with her words. It seemed she didn’t understand why a husband’s wife would be unhappy about having his children.

“I don’t want to have his children,” I answered bluntly as I tied a small rubber band around the end of the braid, then grabbed my toothbrush to quickly brush my teeth.

“But why?” she balked, bewildered by my disdain. “You are his wife. Is it not your duty to provide him with children?”

I spit out the toothpaste and nearly tossed my toothbrush into the sink in anger. Straightening my spine, I turned to her and glared.