Page 2 of Crossed Up

Needless to say, I never asked for help again.

His plate hits the wall without warning, shattering all over the floor as I jerk back to the present and let out a startled squeak. Shoving away from the beautiful wood table, he stalks toward me and lifts me by the neck, squeezing hard enough that I have no chance of escaping. Desperate wheezes escape my throat as Sebastian’s sweaty palm cuts off my airway.

“Amelia picked up her kids at two-thirty today! What the fuck were you doing for two hours before I walked in that goddamned door? Because it sure as hell wasn’t cleaning up your fucking mess. I didn’t sign up to live with a slob, Lyla!”

We’ve been fighting like this more than ever lately, and I’m so tired. Bas wasn’t always like this. For the first year we were together, up until we got engaged, he was so sweet. Nice dates, flowers every week for no reason at all, constant love notes, and sweet words. Sure, he could get a little too flirty with other women whenever we’d go out, but I told myself at the end of the day, it was me he was going home with, not those other girls.

But from almost the exact moment he slipped his ring on my finger, it all changed. Instead of treating me like a prize to be won, I became his possession. Our parents treated it like the second coming of Jesus when we got engaged, our fathers more excited than anyone else. That’s actually how we met.

Bas’s father, Sebastian Michael Pennington Senior, better known as Mike, is the CEO of a massive media conglomerate here in Maryland, while my dad, Colin Kingsley, is one of the most prominent actors of his generation.

Due to my father’s wide range of smart investments, he’s richer than God and still has a ridiculous amount of pull in the entertainment industry. So despite being mostly retired, he and Mike still work closely together.

My dad dragged me along to an industry party with him one night just before my sophomore year of college, and I refused on principle, not having the energy to deal with more snobby rich girls trying to use me to get to my dad. But he insisted he had someone I should meet.

When we arrived, Sebastian was already there. In a stunning navy bespoke suit, Bas stood out, even in the upper-echelon of the entertainment industry.

Despite being desensitized from growing up around actors and other celebrities, there was this magnetism about him that had me hypnotized from that very first night.

With a full head of dark blond hair, even darker blue eyes, and a sweet, round face, he was the epitome of boy-next-door good looks. That and his charm drew me in like a moth to flame. After being sheltered from dating and boys for most of my life, I didn’t hesitate to jump at the chance to be with someone my dad approved of.

I wasn’t a virgin by any stretch when I met Sebastian, a fact that irritated him to no end, but I was completely naive when it came to love and what a healthy relationship was supposed to look like.

Which is likely how I ended up in this situation.

A punch to my face knocks me out of my oxygen-deprived stupor, forcing my head to the side in a violent snap as something warm drips down my nose and cheek. Blinking to clear my blurry vision brings me back to a set of blue eyes so dark with anger they’re nearly black.

If I was getting more oxygen to my brain, I might be terrified at the dead look in the abyss of Sebastian’s glare because even standing at 5’10, my fiancé is still more than half a foot taller than my barely 5’3 frame, which he uses to his advantage often.

“When I ask you a question, I expect a fucking answer. Do you really think I’m going to let my wife act like this? What if I had brought a colleague home with me?” Sebastian screams in my face. His hand is still wrapped tightly around my throat, but he’s moved us closer to the doorway.

He grips my wrist so tight something snaps, forcing me to bite my cheek to hold in the scream. Blood fills my mouth from the fresh cut, making me want to gag, but I don’t dare make a sound when he’s like this. The smirk tugging up the side of his mouth turns cruel as he yanks me into the hallway, muttering under his breath about teaching me a lesson.

Panic makes me hyper-aware of my surroundings, which is the only reason I spot the baseball bat I left out after playing with Amelia’s ten-year-old son earlier.

A plan quickly forms in my mind, and without a sound, I drop to my knees in front of Sebastian, catching him off guard enough that he loses his grip on my neck.

I snatch the bat and tighten my hands around it so hard my fingers turn white with the pressure. “Don’t come any closer!” I hiss as harshly as I can. I would have screamed it, but I worried my voice would shake with anything louder than a whisper, and I know that I can’t let my fear show right now.

A deranged chuckle leaves his thin lips, sending a bolt of fear skittering down my spine. “Are you going to hit me, Lyla? We both know you’re too much of a meek little bunny to follow through with it.”

That awful nickname fuels the anger that’s been at a low boil in my chest, and I swing with all my might… only to miss him entirely, getting the bat stuck in the drywall. I only have a second to process my own horror until his heavily modified jaw drops in shock, and his dark eyes burn with unrestrained fury.

The fear skittering down my spine causes my hands to shake as I pull as hard as I can on the handle in a desperate bid to get it free before he retaliates.

“You. Fucking. BITCH!” He leaps forward to attack me just as I manage to yank the bat out of the wall; only it comes out so fast I lose my footing and clip Sebastian’s head on the backswing. I watch in stunned silence as he drops like a stone to the ground.

Steeling myself against the panic wreaking havoc on my nervous system, I slowly lean down and press my shaky fingers against his mouth to see if he’s breathing.

I realize with a small amount of relief I only knocked him out and sprint up the stairs to the opulently decorated master bedroom, shoving as many clothes as I can into a large duffle bag before making my way to the en-suite bathroom.

Knowing I need to assess the damage, I hesitantly lift my gaze to the ornate circular mirror over the sink. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.

Blood pours from a thick cut on the bridge of my nose, likely from Sebastian’s class ring. Bruises are already forming on my pale skin, made even more pale from the fear coursing through my veins.

There isn’t much I can do with the limited time I have left to get out of here, so I quickly open a couple of butterfly bandages to hold the cut closed. Cleaning up as much of the blood as I can, I place a larger bandage over the butterflies on the bridge of my nose to keep it protected. The pain is bad, but not the worst thing I’ve ever felt, so low-strength over-the-counter medicine will have to do.

After swallowing the pills with water from the tap and gathering the few sentimental things I refuse to leave behind, I hurriedly dump the contents of the cabinet under the bathroom sink, pulling out the small tampon box hidden under a small stack of towels.

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