Page 1 of Perfectly Wrong

Prologue

I considered hiding behind the sofa, where he wouldn’t see me, but that was wishful thinking. Noah would turn the house upside down until he found me. He was furious—no, it was worse than that. He was seething. He wanted revenge and wouldn’t stop until he got it.

“Who is he?” my husband yelled, taking heavy steps toward the TV room on the second floor where I was. I had to get out of that house. I needed to find an escape as soon as possible. “WHO’S THE FUCKER YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH?”

“No one!” I repeated senselessly, but he wouldn’t listen. “Noah, please, stop! I’m not seeing anyone else!”

It was a ridiculous scene: there I was, pleading for my life to the man who had once promised to love me and make me happy no matter the circumstances. As he marched toward me, the portraits on the side table crashed to the floor. Noah destroyed our happy memories in one fell swoop, and I couldn’t let myself think about what he would do to me if he got the chance.

I was cornered between the couch and the wall. Behind me were only windows, and I knew I’d get hurt if I jumped. Noah grabbed the crystal vase we had bought the week before from the side table. It was one of my favorite pieces, and he knew it. According to him, he had been so captivated by the shine in my eyes when I saw it that he simply had to get it.

“Let’s see what your lover thinks of your face once it’s been cut up by glass shards.” A cruel smirk spread across his face, his eyes vacant. “Let’s see if he’ll still want to fuck you when that perfect skin I’ve paid for all these years is ruined.”

“Noah, please don’t do this.” I struggled to breathe, scanning my surroundings for a way out.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less about my face being ruined. First of all, I didn’t have a lover, and second, all I wanted was a divorce! That was all I had said that evening when he got home from work. I had calmly and conciliatorily told him that it wasn’t working anymore and that I wanted my old life back. That had been enough to set him off.

“You should’ve thought of that before cheating on me, Elena! You should’ve thought about those ‘Noah, please don’t do this’ before sharing his bed like the fucking whore that you are!”

He was so close I could smell him—once a scent I loved, now it sent chills down my spine. He only needed to take a few more steps, and that vase would end up smashed against my face. It scared me less than the anticipated pain from it later. What if shards got in my eyes and left me blind? What would he do if I passed out? Would he keep torturing me until he killed me? What if he thought I’d died and buried me alive? It was then that panic set in. I looked around again and noticed one of the windows was open. Without hesitating, I ran toward it.

“You’re not that brave, Elena,” he mocked, approaching me with a smirk. “You’re afraid of heights, remember? Look down, Elena. Look how far you are from the ground.”

Noah was right, and I was terrified of what would happen if I jumped. I was practically counting how many bones might remain intact after jumping from a two-story window, if I even survived it. But nothing terrified me more than the man standing just two feet away. I gazed at his beautiful face, my heart heavy with sorrow as I climbed onto the windowsill, my lungs seemingly rejecting the air I tried to breathe.

“Elena!” His tone changed, a desperate attempt to regain my attention, to manipulate me as he had for nine long years.

My husband reached out, and I closed my eyes, letting myself fall. I felt his nails scrape against my right arm just as my feet lifted off, granting me a strange sense of freedom. Mere moments later, I woke up.

Chapter one

I sat up in bed, breathless, with sweat trickling down my cheeks. Another night, another nightmare. The day I ran from my now ex-husband haunted me like a curse he’d probably cast before we separated for good. Or should I say, the day I “flew away from my ex-husband”? I rubbed my face, trying to adjust my eyes and figure out where I was. In my bed. The room was dark, indicating it was the middle of the night. My house was completely silent, and I was alone. Thank God!

After everything that had happened the year before, I moved into my own place and started a new life, leaving behind years of submission and insults in an effort to reclaim the Elena I had always been. Unfortunately, what transpired kept reminding me day after day that I was, in some way or another, still trapped. I turned on the lamp on my bedside table. The room was smaller than the one in my old house. Though the judge sentenced Noah to four years in prison and declared everything we had as mine, I hadn’t wanted to return to that place to collect my belongings. My parents rushed to Toronto as soon as they heard I’d been in the hospital and took care of everything for me. Shaken as they were, they blamed themselves for a long time for having supported and treated that monster like a son. But how could they have known? How could any of us have predicted such a tragic end to a marriage that once seemed so perfect?

Noah was different. I know what you’re going to say—they’re always different—but it’s the truth. We met in school and became friends almost instantly. As the years went by, we discovered we had more in common than we’d expected. He asked me to prom in high school, and it was then that we shared our first kiss. Noah was the sweetest, kindest, and most polite boy ever, to the point where my parents always took his side whenever we fought. His calm demeanor and soft voice contrasted strikingly with his six-foot height and muscular build. When he wasn’t working at a store in town, he spent hours at the gym, lifting more weight than I could count. He was my first everything: boyfriend, man, love.

But after we left Dorchester, a small residential area in Thames Centre, Ontario, and moved to Toronto, things began to change. Noah was accepted into the University of Toronto to study finance, and our families were thrilled! We’d been married for six months, and it was our chance to build a life together in a new city. He was also my biggest supporter when I decided to apply to George Brown College to study marketing, and he was the first person I told when I got in. I can still hear his voice when he said, “I’ve never been so proud!”

Life was good. At first, we lived in a two-bedroom apartment, supported by our families. We studied full-time, but I managed to work part-time at a coffee shop in our neighborhood, giving us some extra money to spend on our place. Even though our parents covered the rent and bills, it felt empowering to go out with my husband without relying on them for money. It didn’t take long for us to buy a beautiful two-story house in a good neighborhood with five bedrooms and plenty of space.

However, after two years in Toronto, Noah’s behavior changed completely. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky guy I had met in Dorchester. My husband grew angry about everything, and any minor inconvenience was enough to spark a fight: a towel he didn’t like, a dirty glass in the sink, the scent of a lavender candle I had lit. He hurled insults at me for the pettiest reasons, with no filter or consideration. Questions turned into orders, “thank you” vanished from his vocabulary, and “please” was replaced by “now.” I thought it was just a phase since Noah had a lot on his plate with finals approaching. He had also started an internship, and I assumed it was just too much at once. I tried my best to stay out of his way and complied with his absurd demands.

I also need to mention that my inability to get pregnant contributed to his anger. We never openly discussed it, but having children was one of our dreams and the biggest expectation our families had for us. No one knew exactly why it hadn’t happened, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I had just landed a job at Icon Records, an imprint of Universe Music Group, and I was having the time of my life. Before bringing a new life into this world, I wanted to establish a lasting career and secure my place in the industry, to avoid being replaceable. Unfortunately, that was far from what was going through Noah’s mind. At one point, he accused me of not getting pregnant because I didn’t love him enough. He claimed I was ungrateful and arrogant, that I took our marriage for granted and didn’t want to share anything with him because I despised him. In hindsight, I can only thank God for never allowing us to have a child. I don’t know what would have happened if I’d had to escape with a baby in my arms.

All these thoughts had been swirling through my mind this past year. I was acutely aware that I’d end up in a mental hospital if they didn’t stop. I threw back my covers and made my way to the kitchen, hoping a good cup of English tea I’d bought during my last trip to London would help. Additionally, working for a bit would help clear my mind and allow me to move forward with my life, at least for a day. According to the clock in the kitchen, it was only four-thirty, and I groaned in protest. It was Sunday—I should have been able to sleep for at least another four hours.

On my way back to the bedroom, I paused in the office next to the living room and picked up a file thick with documents. My team and I had been invited to work on SM Project, as I liked to call it, and I needed to study and start the marketing plan. When I say my team and I, I’m referring to the amazing people I worked with directly. With so many specialists around the world, it was easier to collaborate in small teams focused on two or three artists at a time. However, we always kept track of every artist prioritized by the company, working closely with their assistants to ensure everything ran smoothly while their contracts lasted. I didn’t like to brag, but I had to admit that wicked good marketing was my specialty, and my team was one of the best in the company. This meant we were invited to work on projects that essentially involved world tours and superstars whose profit could keep the label afloat—like Taryn Stewart. After SM Project, she was next on my list.

When things with Noah started to sour, I contemplated giving up my career numerous times. He would belittle my job, claiming it was ridiculous and that he was embarrassed to say his wife made a living promoting talentless artists. It didn’t take long for me to realize it was just another one of his schemes to make me depend on him completely, locking me away from the outside world. Luckily, my parents had taught me that a Vaughan never gives up, so I stayed strong and trusted my decision to continue my path at Icon Records.

I left my mug on the bedside table and settled in among my six pillows. Since I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and it was far too early for anything else, I figured it’d be a good idea to investigate my next artist a little more. It was always wise to arrive at meetings with my homework done.

SM was basically Sam Martin, the eighteen-year-old singer who had skyrocketed to stardom on a social media platform. He had been with us since 2014, and his albums consistently impressed the finance team, generating more revenue than invested. His first single hit the Top 25 on Billboard right out of the gate, which is one of the best indicators of success, right? For a guy his age, it was pretty impressive.

Of course, opening on a world tour for Taryn Stewart had done wonders for establishing Martin’s fame, as she practically dominated the music industry. For Sam, this would only be the fourth time he went on tour, and the third time he’d perform shows around the world. As I had come to expect, the orders were clear: his music career needed to grow big enough that every concert and product he released would be sold out. For that reason, and also because Sam Martin was Canadian and lived in Toronto, Jeremy called me into his office and instructed me to drop everything to focus solely on the SM Project.

The initial plan was for Sam to release his new album soon, with aggressive and incisive marketing. We knew there was no room for error, and Icon Records was investing heavily in this venture, placing more trust than ever in whatever plan we devised for this kid’s tour. And since they needed a team to make it all happen, guess who they called for help?

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