Chapter 3

Today was my birthday, and our wedding anniversary.

He said he'd make it up to me, that he had a surprise planned.

I pushed open the private room door at the karaoke bar, and the lights flickered on.

Balloons, streamers, and a magnificent three-tier cake burst into view.

His gaze was earnest, unwavering. "Eleanor, I truly, truly know I was wrong."

"Please, just let me make it up to you. Please?"

"I'm a bastard, I know. You can hit me, scream at me, curse me to hell-just don't ignore me, Eleanor. I can't bear it."

His words, laced with what sounded like genuine remorse, seemed to temporarily soothe the raw sting of yesterday's pain.

As I leaned in to blow out the candles, the lights abruptly flickered off.

His lips claimed mine, a rough kiss, and his hand roamed possessively along my waist.

But when he tried to go further, I frowned, a gut instinct screaming, and pushed him away.

He wiped his mouth, a smirk playing on his lips, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "It's fine, that's enough for now."

Chloe pushed the door open and sauntered in, settling herself immediately onto his lap.

And then I saw the photos she held in her hand, neatly arranged.

The tender affection on his face vanished like smoke, replaced by a cruel, mocking smirk.

"Eleanor, I call you pathetic, and you truly are. A single cake is all it takes to buy your forgiveness?"

"You truly didn't inherit an ounce of Sarah's cunning."

"If you had half of her ruthless decisiveness when she abandoned me back then, you wouldn't have been played for such a fool."

He held up the letter, the one I'd poured my heart into. "This kind of pathetic love letter... did you honestly think I'd even bother to open it?"

"Sarah would never have stooped to such childish displays. If you were even a fraction like her, perhaps I wouldn't have to be so cruel."

He waved the photos menacingly. "You haven't graduated college yet, have you? Imagine if these photos found their way to your university..."

"Tell me, if your precious mother saw how I treated you, would she be so enraged she'd claw her way out of her grave just to strike me down?"

As he spoke, his eyes welled up, his voice cracking with a raw, ugly sob.

"Then let her come back to life! What good is she doing, dead, leaving me to suffer alone!"

In his twisted, broken mind, it seemed that the more cruelly he tortured me, the more he could soothe that raw, consuming hatred he couldn't place.

And then, in front of my very eyes, he started making out with Chloe, right there on the couch.

I stood frozen, a statue carved from ice, watching in numb horror.

It wasn't until Damien's final thrust-and the moment Chloe let go, letting the photographs of me, disheveled and exposed, flutter to the floor-that the scream finally ripped its way out of my throat.

A raw, electric shriek of pure revulsion.

Disgusting. Filthy.

After the scream, I stumbled to the nearest trash can, convulsing with violent dry heaves.

Tears streamed down, mixing with my humiliation, and I wretched everything, my soul included, into the filth.

I wanted to purge every last vestige of feeling I ever had for him, to cleanse myself completely.

My calves trembled uncontrollably, my stomach twisting with agonizing cramps.

Under Damien's stunned gaze, a defiant spark ignited within me for the very first time.

I slapped him. Hard.

The sharp crack of my hand against his cheek seemed to echo in the room, shattering every last illusion, every fragile bond we had.

I turned and walked away, not looking back.

But before I could even make it out the door, his men blocked my path.

His eyes blazed with a terrifying fury as he glared at me. "This woman is insane. Get her to a mental institution. Make sure she never sees the light of day again."