Chapter 3

The tube of ointment in Serena's hand clattered to the floor.

She stood up, her face filled with mock disbelief.

"Vivian, what did you just say?"

"No wonder you refused to come home. You cheated on Julian!"

Julian's eyes turned incredibly dark. He grabbed my wrist so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Vivian Miller, who is that bastard?"

"Is that why you're pretending to have amnesia? Just to be with him?!"

Like a madman, he dragged me up the stairs by my arm and threw me onto the bed.

"Let's see if that bastard left any marks on you!"

"Get off me!"

I screamed, swinging my hand and slapping him hard across the face.

"If you touch me, my husband will destroy you..."

Before I could finish, his mouth slammed onto mine, cutting off my air.

Julian used one hand to tear at my clothes, his touch rough and violating.

He buried his face in my neck, biting and kissing me, his voice deep and raspy.

"You've gotten brave, Vivian."

"If you won't let me touch you, who are you saving yourself for?"

I sobbed, fighting him off, when suddenly, the man on top of me froze.

His hands hadn't found smooth, soft skin. Instead, he felt thick, jagged, crisscrossing scars all over my body.

Julian's hands began to shake. He reached out to turn on the bedside lamp.

But before he could, the bedroom door was pounded violently.

Serena's delicate, weeping voice drifted in through the door.

"Julian! I had another nightmare about Marcus! I dreamed he was beating me, trying to drag me to hell with him!"

Julian immediately pushed himself off me. He rushed out of the room and wrapped Serena in his arms, whispering softly.

"Serena, it's not your fault."

"He was abusive. You only killed him in self-defense."

"It's over now. Don't be scared. I'm right here with you."

Julian's tender whispers echoed down the hallway and into my ears.

I shivered, desperately buttoning my torn clothes. When I brushed my hair back, my face was completely soaked with tears.

I crawled to the door and banged on it with all my might.

But even when my fingers were bloody and raw, nobody opened it.

I curled up in the corner, whispering one name over and over in my heart.

Tristan, please. When are you going to find me?

I sat in that dark room all night.

The next morning, a maid finally unlocked the door and let me out.

She walked past me, completely unfazed by my state, and casually tossed a dead snake into the trash can.

Julian was sitting downstairs, reading the Wall Street Journal.

Seeing me walk down, he ordered casually, "Serena wants your homemade chicken broth. Go make it."

"And make sure Leo's milk is strictly room temperature."

"Iron my suits when you're done. The maids aren't as neat as you."

These words felt like they were programmed into my DNA.

My legs actually started moving toward the kitchen on autopilot.

But the moment my hand touched the apron, I snapped out of it.

I rushed back into the living room, trembling with rage.

"You are kidnapping me! I am calling the police!"

Julian looked up from his newspaper, letting out a cold, mocking laugh.

"Vivian, what game are you playing now?"

I was about to scream at him when my eyes caught a photo on the front page of the newspaper.

It was Tristan, attending a high-profile charity gala last week.

I pointed at the paper, my voice shaking with excitement.

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