Page 2 of Wicked Scandal

My hands fly to my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Troy.” I reach for him, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalates. I watch his face, searching desperately for his temperament. He rolls his neck, teeth grinding. “Troy,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to…” I rub his arm, but he jerks it away.

Without warning, he yanks a handful of my hair and slams me against the wall. My skull jars with the impact, and I taste blood in my mouth as my cheek connects with the hard surface.

I cry out, barely recognizing the sound because it wasn’t intentional. I fight so hard not to show Troy the fear he’s instilled in me because it gives him power. I’m not usually one to take his beatings lying down, but lately, he’s gotten worse, and I feel the need to cower just to protect myself.

It’s too much—the pain, the heartbreak, the unknown.

I can’t do this anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say the words in my head, not even realizing I’ve said them out loud until Troy lets go of me, his face contorted in confusion.

“If that’s really how you feel, Catherine, then let me know when you’re ready to leave and your dirty little secret will be front-page news.”

Drawing my fingers around my lips, I glance down at them, noticing the blood dripping into my palm. It doesn’t even faze me. Bloodshed has become a common occurrence in this house.

I rub my fingertips together, spreading the sticky, warm blood between them. “You’re bluffing,” I hiss, unable to even look at the bastard I call my husband.

“Try me.” He laughs menacingly. “You’ll be a goner before you even get to the state border.” I catch a glimpse of him turning around, walking toward the bedroom door, my heart racing in anticipation of him leaving. But he pauses with his hand hovering over the doorknob, and I gulp. “We both know you’re not going anywhere, Catherine. Now go clean up the mess you made in the kitchen, and while you’re at it, throw away the chili you made. It tastes like shit.”

I prepared chili this morning in the slow cooker, knowing I wouldn’t have enough time since I was helping Wilder. I even made sure the kitchen was spotless. I washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, took out the trash, and even swept the floor three times. All that so this asshole could have a meal when he got home from work. Heaven forbid he makes himself something to eat.

If anyone’s worthless, it’s him. As the current mayor of Willow Creek, Troy is worshiped by many, but I know the real man behind the mask.

He’s cold and calculated. A narcissist in the worst form. He steals from the poor and keeps the rich richer. He preys on the weak and bargains for your soul. At least, that’s what he did to me. I can only hope one day I’m strong enough to bring this son of a bitch down. Only then will I truly be free from the cage he’s put me in.

As soon as his footsteps fade down the hallway, I tiptoe toward the door. Making sure to avoid the squeaky floorboards, I peek out into the empty hallway. With a sigh of relief, I gently lift up on the door handle to keep the hinges from making any noise as I close it.

After grabbing my cell phone off my dresser, I make my way back to my large walk-in closet and go inside. With the door closed, I drag the chain link lock I put on it a couple weeks ago, just in case I ever needed to bide my time to call the police. Not that I’m sure I would. Troy has made it clear what will happen if I ever try to leave him—my life will be over.

He isn't joking when he says I'll be arrested before I could leave him. Troy saved me from my darkest secret.

Some days, it sounds like a blessing. Other days, I know it’s a curse.

When Troy was first elected as mayor of the town, he gained the respect of everyone here. Within a matter of months, I watched the man I thought I loved transform into a beast I didn’t recognize.

Now here I am—crawling on my knees to the back wall in my closet to the only space I feel safe in my own home. I move behind a long row of evening gowns, settling in on the stack of blankets I’ve put down. Picking up a bottle of water I left back here last time, I twist the top off and take a swig, swishing it around in my mouth to erase the taste of blood on my tongue.

Peeling up a loose slab of carpet against the wall, I expose the floorboard where I cut a small square, creating a hiding space for necessities. I reach inside to pull out the metal box and I flip the clasp.

Inside is a pocketknife, a handgun I purchased last year—loaded and ready—a prepaid cell phone, instant ice packs, and a first aid kit. I take out one of the ice packs and shake to activate it.

Bringing the cool surface to my cheek, I flinch on impact. My eyes close and I relish the coolness against my battered face. The last thing I need is to show up to class with another bruise. I’ve done a fairly good job at hiding most of them, but after what Wilder witnessed tonight, I cannot allow for rumors to spread. If anyone ever tried to piece my life together and expose my husband, I’m not sure I would survive the fallout.

I have invested heavily in the right makeup to counter the bruises under any light. Troy is usually careful with where he hurts me when an event is coming up, but he has messed up a few times and left marks where people could see.

It’s the reason I invest in long gowns with long sleeves that cover most of my neck. Troy claims it’s because I’m modest. I, however, want to laugh at that. I would love to leave the house in the summer in anything but a turtleneck and pants, but he likes to make that damn near impossible, and I have to continue to cover myself so that none of my students notice.

Fortunately, I see these kids nine months out of their lives then they move on and I’m just a teacher in their pasts. One who probably didn’t even make a difference but certainly tried. No matter what shape I’m in, I always show up. Even if I hate that my career was chosen for me, I still try to give it my all because these kids deserve it.

I grab my phone on the floor beside me and bend my legs, bringing my knees to my chest as I open my SnapTok app. Seeing the smiles on other people’s faces is a nice distraction and a reminder that there is life out there waiting for me.

There’s one person in particular I enjoy watching. He’s my student, but it’s innocent. Nothing more than one person admiring another’s work. He also doesn’t know it’s me because my profile is private, and I never make my own content. Even though we've chatted on the app, I’ve kept my responses to a minimum without giving him any inclination of who I am.

Wilder has become quite the social media star with two hundred thousand followers. His videos are usually short and comical. Just random things he does that makes other people laugh. I can always count on smiling when I see him on my phone screen.

At the start of the school year, he expressed his need for help on an essay he was writing, and I offered to give him a hand with it. That’s when he told me about his passion for creating content and showed me his account. The next day, I created mine. I’ve been watching him ever since.

I tap his profile pic from the video and I go to his account so I can watch it again. As suspected, I’m taken away from my shitty life where I have to hide in my closet and put ice on the wounds my husband creates.

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