Page 123 of Ruined By Protection
The commercial flight from New York landed fifteen minutes ago. Our private jet touched down three hours earlier, giving Matteo, Noah and Daniel time to position themselves. I've been standing here for twenty minutes, my legs shaking beneath my sundress.
A middle-aged couple walks past, dragging matching luggage. A group of college students laugh together. A businessman in a rumpled suit hurries by, shouting into his phone.
Then I see him—not Elliott, but a driver in a black suit holding a sign that reads "MONTGOMERY."
I exhale slowly, counting to three like Matteo taught me. This is it.
The driver is ordinary in every way—thinning hair, clean-shaven, probably mid-fifties. His posture is relaxed as he scansthe crowd, looking for Elliott's wife who's supposed to be on this flight.
I force a smile and approach him.
"Hi, I'm Hazel Montgomery." The name tastes like ash clogging my mouth.
"Mrs. Montgomery, welcome back." He gives a polite nod. "Mr. Montgomery sent me to collect you. I'm Thomas."
"Thank you, Thomas." I clutch my small carry-on tighter.
"Let me take that for you." He reaches for my bag and I hand it over without resistance.
As we walk from the terminal I think about how normal this all seems. Thomas believes he's just doing his job—picking up the wife of a respected businessman. He has no idea that the ‘delightful wife’ he's escorting has bruises hidden under her makeup.
"The car is just outside, ma'am."
"Thank you." My voice sounds hollow to my own ears.
We step out into the Texas heat. It hits me like a wall after the air-conditioned terminal. Thomas leads me to a sleek black town car and opens the back door.
"Mr. Montgomery apologizes he couldn't meet you himself. He said he's preparing the house for your return."
I force another smile. "How thoughtful of him."
The irony isn't lost on me. Thomas thinks he's serving a legitimate businessman by picking up his wayward wife. He has no idea he's delivering me to a monster—or that monsters are following close behind.
I settle into the backseat of the town car and Thomas pulls away. I scan my surroundings, praying that Matteo is close, following us.
"How long is the drive to the house?" I ask, trying to sound casual even though I know exactly how long it takes to get to Elliott's country house.
Thomas glances at me in the rearview mirror. "About an hour and fifteen minutes, Mrs. Montgomery. Traffic's light today."
I nod, pretending this is new information. "Thank you."
"Would you like the radio on, Mrs. Montgomery?" Thomas asks.
"No, thank you. I'm fine with silence."
It strikes me then—this performance isn't new. I've been playing dumb for years with Elliott. Always asking questions I knew the answers to. Always pretending to know less than I did. How many times had I deliberately dumbed myself down for my husband? Asking him to explain things I already understood. Pretending his mansplaining was enlightening rather than insulting.
I'd been a bartender who could calculate complex tabs in my head, yet I'd ask Elliott to check my math when balancing our household accounts. I spoke three languages but acted impressed when he corrected my pronunciation.
It wasn't just my intelligence that I downplayed. I knew which wines paired with which food but I'd defer to Elliott's choice at restaurants. I could fix simple plumbing issues but would wait for him to handle them so he could feel masculine.
The realization makes my stomach turn. I didn't just endure Elliott's control—I actively participated in crafting the helpless persona he wanted. I became smaller to make him feel bigger.
"Are you comfortable back there, Mrs. Montgomery? Temperature okay?" Thomas asks.
"Yes, everything's fine," I reply automatically, another practiced response.
How easily the lies still come. How readily I slip into the role of the docile, agreeable wife. The perfect Mrs. Montgomery who needs guidance and supervision.
