Chapter 2

Evelyn dropped the ointment in her hand.

She stood in disbelief:

"Chloe, what did you say? Husband?"

"No wonder you wouldn't come home—you did something to betray Julian!"

Julian's eyes went dark. He gripped my wrist so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Chloe, who's the bastard?"

"Is that why you're pretending not to know me?!"

Like a madman, he dragged me upstairs by my arm and threw me onto a bed.

"Let's see if that bastard left any marks on your body."

"Get off me!"

I screamed, slapping him across the face.

"If you touch me, my husband will make you pay—"

Before I could finish, he covered my mouth with his.

Julian ripped at my clothes with one hand, shoving the other inside my body.

He kissed and bit my neck, voice hoarse:

"Chloe, you've got some nerve."

"If I can't touch you, who can?"

I sobbed and struggled. Then he suddenly froze.

His hand found not smooth skin, but layer after layer of crisscrossing scars.

Julian's hand trembled. He reached for the nightstand lamp.

Someone pounded on the bedroom door.

Evelyn's soft crying filtered through:

"Julian, I dreamed about your brother again! I dreamed he was hitting me, coming for my life!"

The man immediately released me and rushed out to hold her, soothing her.

"Sweet Evelyn, it wasn't your fault."

"If he hadn't abused you, you wouldn't have killed him in self-defense."

"It's over now. Don't be afraid. I'm here."

His gentle words drifted to my ears.

I trembled as I buttoned my clothes. When I touched my face, I felt wetness.

I crawled to the door, pounding desperately.

Even when my fingers bled, no one came.

I curled up in the corner, whispering his name over and over.

Silas, when will you find me?

I sat alone in that room all night.

The next morning, a maid finally let me out.

When she saw the dead snake, she wasn't even surprised—just tossed it in the trash like routine.

Julian sat downstairs reading the financial paper.

When he saw me, he ordered:

"Evelyn wants the chicken soup you make. Go cook it."

"And Leo's milk needs to be room temperature."

"I'm putting you in charge of ironing my shirts too. The staff don't have your touch."

The words felt coded into my DNA.

I actually started walking toward the kitchen.

Only when my hand touched an apron did I snap out of it.

I stormed out, shaking with rage:

"You're holding me against my will. I'm calling the cops!"

Julian looked up, tossing the paper aside with a cold laugh:

"Chloe, what game are you playing now?"

I was about to answer when I caught sight of the newspaper.

There was a photo of Silas at last week's charity gala.

My voice burst out, excited:

"That's my husband! If you don't believe me, call him!"