Chapter 8 The Uninvited Guest

Richard's fingers dug into my arm as he dragged me through the Beverly Wilshire lobby. The indents would leave bruises by morning, joining the collection already hidden under my sleeves.

Each step felt heavier than the last, walking to my execution.

"Smile," Richard whispered, his breath hot against my ear, reeking of morning scotch. "One wrong move and we're finished."

I forced my lips upward, mechanical and empty. The gift box in my hands—a watch for Wilson—trembled with my shaking fingers.

I tugged at my dress collar, feeling strangled by the fabric. I was being sold.

Wilson entered the lobby, smug in his tailored suit. At fifty, his face showed the wear of hard living—deep lines around his mouth, a redness to his nose that spoke of too many nights with a bottle.

His eyes crawled over me, assessing me as livestock at auction. Richard thrust the gift forward, his smile tight with desperation.

Then I noticed Christopher Mitchell beside Wilson. For a moment, I thought he was Ethan—they shared the same build, the same stance.

My heart raced painfully against my ribs. Christopher nodded slightly, and I wondered if he knew who I was.

During lunch, Christopher spoke above the clinking silverware. "Blackwood's expanding rapidly—their new CEO just got married recently."

My fork clattered against my plate. Wilson leaned closer, his thigh pressing against mine under the table.

Richard jabbed my side hard, right where a bruise from last week still lingered. "Talk to Wilson," he muttered, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

I nodded, feeling trapped in a cage that grew smaller by the second. Wilson's cologne overwhelmed me—too strong, invasive, just like the man himself.

Christopher glanced at me, something unreadable in his eyes. "Excuse me," I blurted, nearly knocking over my chair.

My legs carried me away before I collapsed. Wilson's eyes followed me, a physical weight on my back, but Christopher shifted, blocking his view.

In the hallway, I crashed directly into Ethan. The solid wall of his chest sent me stumbling back. His hands gripped my arms to steady me, warm and firm against my skin.

"My grandmother wants to meet you," he said quietly, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I stared at him, confused and hurt. "Why now?" I asked, my voice giving way.

Christopher appeared at our side. "Wilson's getting curious," he warned, glancing back toward the dining room.

He guided me away with a firm hand on my elbow. As we parted, he slipped a card into my palm. "Family looks after family," he whispered.

The card felt heavy in my hand. Family? The word seemed foreign to me, a concept for other people.

The car ride home with Richard was silent but charged with tension. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. With each mile, dread built in my chest.

I'd embarrassed him. There would be consequences.

When we stepped inside our house, I immediately sensed something was wrong. The air felt different, charged before a storm.

Richard pushed me forward with enough force to make me stumble. "Move," he ordered, his voice stripped of the polite facade from lunch.

Elizabeth lounged on the couch, smiling like a cat that had cornered its prey. "Look who's back," she said, eyes gleaming with anticipated pleasure.

Madison sat beside her, giggling at my discomfort, her face alight with cruel joy.

Without warning, Richard's hand struck my face with such force my head snapped sideways. The sound of the slap echoed in the room.

I stumbled back, my cheek burning with pain.

"Useless!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. Madison snickered while Elizabeth slow-clapped mockingly.

"You've always been a disappointment," Richard said, looming over me. "I should have sent Madison to Wilson instead."

I shrank away, arms wrapped around myself. I edged toward the table, hoping to escape his anger.

"You think you can eat now?" Richard roared, slamming his fist on the table. "After embarrassing me in front of Wilson?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words automatic.

His fist connected with my jaw in an explosion of pain. Stars burst behind my eyes as I crashed to the floor, my head hitting the hardwood with a sickening thud.

Elizabeth laughed as Richard's foot slammed into my ribs. Pain shot through my body, white-hot and paralyzing.

Madison walked over, kicking my shin with her heel. "Stay down where you belong," she said, words cruel and satisfied.

My vision blurred with tears and blood as Richard kicked me again, harder this time.

He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back at an unnatural angle. Strands tore from my scalp, sending sharp pain across my head.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he demanded, face contorted with rage.

Another slap split my lip against my teeth. I tasted copper as blood filled my mouth.

I curled into a protective ball, arms covering my head, a defensive posture learned from too many lessons.

Richard's knee drove into my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs. I gasped desperately.

Madison clapped her hands together. "Hit her again!" she encouraged. Richard's foot connected with my ribs, and I felt something crack inside me.

The pain was blinding, consuming.

He twisted my wrist until my shoulder screamed in protest. "Apologize!" he demanded.

"Sorry," I whispered through bloody lips. His fist smashed into my nose before I'd even finished speaking.

I heard the crunch before I felt the pain. Warm blood poured down my face.

I lay on the floor, each breath sending shards of pain through my chest. I thought of Ethan, of the brief moment in his arms.

It seemed a dream now.

Madison stomped on my hand, grinding her heel down on my fingers. "Oops," she giggled.

Richard kicked my thigh, ordering me to stand, but my body wouldn't respond.

Another kick brought the snap of breaking bones. Elizabeth crouched beside me, her face inches from mine.

"You're finished," she whispered, words meant only for me.

Richard's fist hovered above me. "Say it properly!" he shouted.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled through swollen lips. His foot came down on my hip with deliberate force.

I cried out, the sound weak and broken.

The doorbell rang suddenly, cutting through the violence. Richard's foot froze mid-air. Elizabeth looked alarmed.

"Get up!" she ordered through clenched teeth.

I dragged myself to my feet, blood dripping onto the floor in crimson drops. My vision darkened at the edges.

I swayed dangerously as Richard went to answer the door, straightening his shirt as if he could erase what he'd done.

Through the haze of pain, I saw the door swing open, revealing a tall silhouette against the afternoon light.