Ariana
I woke slowly, careful not to move too much, my body already warning me of what I’d feel if I did. A dull throb settled low in my stomach, radiating outward like heat from a dying fire. I didn’t immediately open my eyes, unsure what would greet me.
Thankfully, when I did, the other side of the bed was empty.
Victor was already up.
I let out a shaky breath of relief and stared at the ceiling. It bought me a few precious minutes. Time when I didn’t have to smile. Didn’t have to pretend. Didn’t have to anticipate what mood he’d be in, or if something I said would spark another reaction I wouldn’t see coming.
But I didn’t let myself linger too long. Not today.
It was Sunday. The only day I was allowed to visit my mother. And I wouldn’t let anything stop me from that. Not even the ache burning beneath my skin.
I pushed the covers off and sat up slowly. Pain bloomed immediately, sharp and unrelenting. I gritted my teeth as I forced myself to stand, the bitter taste of blood blooming on my tongue from where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek in order to survive Victor’s assault last night. I’d endured worse.
But knowing that didn’t make it easier, especially when my eyes fell on the bloody sheets. I wondered what our household staff thought whenever they saw them. If they worried for my safety.
They never showed it.
Victor paid them for their discretion.
And their silence.
I gingerly crossed the bedroom, each footfall sending fresh fire up my legs. When I stepped into the bathroom, I initially avoided the mirror. But I needed to know. Needed to see how bad it was.
With my breath held tight, I finally looked.
No black eye. No split lip. Victor was always good at making sure any marks he left could be easily hidden.
But bruises were already forming around my throat. Shadowy smudges like fingerprints painted across my skin. I dropped my gaze lower, carefully running my fingers along the fresh lines he’d drawn on my stomach.
I was horrified the first time he’d marked me like this. Actually believed I was to blame. That it was my fault one of his associates looked at me a second too long.
Now I knew the truth. This was all a game to him. A way to control me. A reminder of the hold my husband had over me.
I turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. The second the water hit my skin, pain tore through me so sharply I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the scream. I doubled over, bracing against the tile, counting to ten like the therapist Victor made me stop seeing used to teach me.
Ten seconds. Breathe. Survive. Move on.
I moved slowly, methodically. Washing away what I could. Scrubbing until my skin burned raw. Trying to erase his scent. His touch. The way his breath had ghosted across my cheek ashe took what he wanted like I was nothing more than a thing for him to use and abuse.
When I finally emerged, I toweled off in silence. The material brushed over tender places that made me wince. But I powered through.
Suffered.
Endured.
I took my time getting ready. Not because I wanted to look nice, but because I had to. Looking like the perfect wife wasn’t just expected. It was required, even on the weekends.
Gone were the days of cozy sweatshirts and yoga pants. Now it was designer dresses and carefully styled hair, even when I could barely stand upright. Pajamas had been replaced with silk and lace. Soft cotton was a distant memory.
Once I looked like the woman Victor wanted me to be, dressed in a shift dress and silk scarf around my neck to hide the bruises, I left the bedroom, pausing at the top of the stairs. With my hand gripping the railing, I stared down at the polished marble foyer, my body fighting against me. As if it knew I was about to march into the lion’s den.
But I didn’t have a choice.
So I made myself glide down the stairs, the scent and sounds of breakfast pulling me toward the dining room. Victor sat at the head of the table as I entered the formal space, reading something on his phone while eating his usual — eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. The large windows overlooked Biscayne Bay, the sun sparkling on crystal blue waters.
As a little girl, I often imagined what it would be like to live in one of the gorgeous houses on Star Island. I foolishly thought it would be my ticket to freedom. To never having to worry about anything ever again.