Page 41 of Unbreak Me

"Oh my God… I don’t understand. You carried their child—how, how, why—" I stammered, struggling to process the shock.

His face remained motionless and tense. "For the last four months of the pregnancy, they invited me to live in their home. Jared Ferguson pleaded with me, saying that I was too skinny and that he wanted to monitor my diet. His husband, Mark Ferguson, an alpha, was the CEO of a large company—a millionaire. He was used to everything going his way, believing his money could buy anything. Jared could have had children himself and wanted to, but Mark forbade it. He didn’t want his young husband, a model, to ruin his body. Jared had no say in their relationship. So, since they could afford surrogacy, that’s what Mark chose."

Day fixed his eyes on the glass, seemingly observing the flickering lights at its edge.

"I moved in during the end of the fifth month of the pregnancy. About a week later, Jared had to leave for a meeting with his agent about a photo shoot. Mark came home early. He went to my room while I was working on my computer. He said, ‘You’re carrying my child, so your body is ours now—we hired you.’ Then he grabbed me by my hair and pushed me toward the bed…"

A surge of anger hit me so hard that my hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my skin until I almost drew blood.

"Fuck…" I muttered under my breath, experiencing a buzzing in my ears as I fought to control the rage boiling inside me.

"Yes," Day continued, his voice unnervingly emotionless, as if disconnected from what he was saying. "He didn’t care about my screams or protests. When it was over, he said that if I told Jared, he’d cause a miscarriage and ensure I wouldn’t see a penny. I was terrified, too stressed to think rationally. I let him intimidate me. That same day, I rushed to the store and bought a lock for the door. In the evening, I installed it. Jared asked me why, and I told him I’d been having nightmares—that a monster was coming through the door to kill me. I blamed the pregnancy, said it was because my belly pressed against my diaphragm, making it hard to breathe, which caused the nightmares. He didn’t ask further questions."

I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered, "I’m so sorry, Day. I’m so sorry…"

But he didn’t acknowledge my words. He just kept going. "It happened again about a week and a half later. I was careful not to leave the room when Jared wasn’t there, but one time, I went to the kitchen while Jared was taking a bath. Mark came in immediately. He said, ‘You can run, but you can’t hide, kitty! I’llalways hunt you down.’ Then he pressed me against the kitchen table and did it again."

I shot to my feet, unable to sit still any longer. I walked to the terrace railing, leaning against it as waves of nausea rolled over me.

Max felt my unease and raised his head, whimpering quietly.

Day kept talking, his tone still flat, robotic. "The third and final time was when we went to City Hall for some surrogacy paperwork. Jared stepped away to consult with an official, leaving me alone with Mark in the hallway. I took the chance to slip away and hid in a restroom, locking the door. I waited there, hoping it would all be over by the time I came out. Eventually, I got a text from Jared asking where I was because they couldn't find me. I replied that I would be there soon, that something was holding me up. When I left the bathroom—and it was a side bathroom, a small corridor led to it—I saw Mark alone, waiting for me. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the hallway into a small storage room where some old furniture was stored. He pushed me against the wall. This time he was very brutal. He put his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream. It hurt a lot, and when he was finished, I felt blood running down my legs. He said it was just a graze, an abrasion, and told me to pull up my pants. But it wasn’t just a graze. In the car, I felt so bad I threw up and almost passed out. Jared drove me to the hospital, and that's when the contractions started—premature labor."

Day paused briefly to light a new cigarette. I stood frozen, leaning over the banister, struggling to digest it all.

"Did any doctor notice?" I asked quietly.

"One did. He asked me what happened, and I started sobbing. But Jared came in soon after, also sobbing and terrified that the baby was in danger. So… it didn’t go any further. Iknow the doctor put some notes in my medical records, and Jared saw them later. He asked me about it, but by then, their son had already been born. I just muttered something about the abrasions being from the birth."

"Fuck… fuck…" I mumbled as if I had forgotten any other words, my voice shaky.

"The next thing I knew, I was accused of causing the premature birth. Mark claimed he had a recording of me smoking on the balcony, saying it was my fault their son had complications. And… honestly, I did go out on the balcony to smoke, but just a few times. I couldn’t handle the stress. I wasn’t thinking straight—I was in shock. He also called a witness, an older beta maid they employed, to testify that I hadn’t eaten for the last two weeks, emaciating myself and the child. It wasn’t true. I was sneaking out of the house to eat, not wanting to risk going to the kitchen."

I stared at him, wide-eyed. "Why didn’t you tell the court what happened? By then, you knew you wouldn’t get the money, and you might have to pay them a penalty!"

Day scoffed bitterly. "Mark came to my hospital room and told me that if I did anything against them, I wouldn’t survive it. He wasn’t joking. He showed me a syringe with air bubbles or something and said he had ways to make me disappear. I believed him. He was rich and powerful, and I had nothing. So I gave them the money and ran as far as I could."

I stared at him in disbelief as he flicked the ash off his cigarette.

"That happened two years ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since. It’s only now that I’ve considered entering into this marriage contract, but I can’t say I’ve fully dealt with this issue. The fear is still with me. The fear of touch. I just wanted you to know."

I pressed both hands to my face, overwhelmed by clashing emotions. I didn’t know whether to move, run, or scream. I couldn’t even look at Day—I was afraid he might see it in my eyes. The madness of conflicting, violent feelings.

"Day," I stammered, "what you’ve said is just horrifying. You were a victim in that situation. Both of them treated you in the worst, most inhumane way."

"It was Mark who treated me like that. Jared was kind to me. He worried about me a lot, even after everything. He called me several times, crying and asking how I was feeling, apologizing for Mark demanding compensation. He said he begged him not to do it, and I believed him, since Mark always treated him badly, barely seeing him as more than a slave. I heard him call Jared a whore and white trash on a few occasions. And Jared didn’t show up in court or testify against me. That’s another reason I didn’t tell the truth in court. Jared was so happy about the child. I didn’t want to ruin that for him…"

I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I raised my voice. "Day, he’s in a relationship with a rapist. The father of his child is a rapist! I honestly think it would be better if they separated. Ferguson is not a good man, and I doubt he’ll be a good father."

Finally, I looked at him. Day was pale, and our eyes met. I approached him and crouched next to his chair, but I didn’t touch him.

"Day… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m just so fucking angry and helpless. I don’t even know how to express my support without it sounding hollow. But I feel such rage and pain knowing you had to go through this!"

A single tear welled up from under Day’s eyelid, followed by another, but his expression remained motionless, only his eyes cried.

"Can I hold your hand?" I asked quietly.

His small, bony hand lay palm up, and he slowly nodded. I intertwined my fingers with his slender ones.

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