Chapter 2: She's Awake

"I'll give her all the blood she needs," I said firmly. My fingers traced the edge of my sleeve, where countless needle marks formed a braille story of pain and betrayal. Each tiny scar burned under my touch, a permanent reminder of these three years of silent suffering. "But only after you sign the divorce papers."

"After everything I've given you?" Harrison's footsteps circled closer, each step sending tremors through the floorboards that resonated in my bones. My heart hammered against my ribs as I tracked his movement, like prey sensing a predator's approach. "This apartment, the lifestyle, the Ward family name... Do you think you'd be anything without me?"

"I never wanted any of that." My voice remained steady despite the fear clawing at my throat. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stand my ground. "You know exactly why you married me. I was just convenient – the right blood type at the right time."

"And if I don't want a divorce?" His voice dropped lower, taking on that tone that sent ice through my veins. "These three years, you have always satisfied me in bed."

"Don't." I stepped back, panic rising as my hip hit the edge of our bed. The familiar texture of the silk sheets beneath my fingers brought back memories I'd rather forget. "Don't touch me."

"You're still my wife." Harrison grabbed my wrist, his wedding ring biting into my skin like a brand of ownership. My stomach churned at his touch. "Everything you are belongs to me. Your body, your blood, your life – I own it all."

"Let go—"

"You seem to have forgotten your place." He yanked me closer, the sudden movement making my head spin as he slammed me against the wall. The impact knocked a frame loose – our wedding photo, I knew. The sound of shattering glass echoed the breaking of my last illusions about this marriage. "Let me remind you who you belong to."

"Stop it, Harrison!" I struggled against his grip, terror and rage warring in my chest. "You're hurting me!"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" His voice dripped with cruel amusement that made my skin crawl. "To feel something? To be touched like a real wife instead of just a blood bank?"

I turned my face away as he forced his lips on mine, bile rising in my throat. The taste of scotch on his breath made me dizzy with revulsion. My nails dug into his shoulders, not in passion but in desperate resistance, as if I could claw my way to freedom.

"Please..." My voice cracked, shame burning hot on my cheeks at showing such weakness. "Don't do this."

"Shut up!" His grip bruised my wrists as he pinned them above my head, each fingerprint a new mark of possession. "You're nothing without me. Nothing! Just a blind girl from a bankrupt family."

I had no choice; in the end, I could only surrender, letting my body endure his brutal invasion one last time.

My fingers moved mechanically across his face. Because I want to remember his face for the last time. Every touch a memorization rather than a caress. I traced each feature with clinical detachment, mapping the face of my tormentor. The scar near his temple felt rough under my fingertips – a souvenir from the hotel fire ten years ago, the event that had set all of this in motion. That scar held secrets, I was sure of it.

Remember this, I told myself as hot tears carved silent paths down my cheeks. Remember why you can never come back.

After the intense battle had ended, Harrison lay on top of me, drenched in sweat. The sharp ring of a phone cut through the room – the special ringtone that made Harrison's breath catch. The hospital.

"What?" Harrison released me so suddenly I nearly collapsed, my legs weak from fear and relief.

His voice transformed, filled with an emotion I'd never heard him direct at me – real, genuine concern tinged with desperate hope. "She's awake... what? When did this happen? ...I'll be right there!"

I straightened my clothes with trembling hands, tasting copper where my lip had split. Each movement sent new waves of pain through my body, but I forced steel into my voice. "Sign the papers before you go."

"Damn it"

"Sign them now, Harrison." Strength surged through me, born of desperation and determination. "Or should I call your lawyers first? I'm sure they'd be very interested in these marks you've left. What would the board think about the CEO of Ward Enterprises using his disabled wife as a personal blood bank?"

The curse he spat was followed by the angry scratching of pen on paper. The divorce agreement hit my face with enough force to slice my cheek, but I refused to flinch. Each drop of blood felt like a final payment for my freedom.

"Keep the apartment," Harrison spat, keys clattering against the floor near my feet. "Consider it payment for your... services. God knows you earned it on your back."

"How generous," my voice dripped with sarcasm, masking the way my hands still shook. "Make sure the door hits you on the way out."

"You'll regret this. You're nothing without the Ward name."

"The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner." The words tasted like victory and ashes.

The elevator closed with a final whisper. My fingers found the divorce papers, tracing Harrison's angry signature that had torn through the page. Each ragged edge felt like a promise of freedom.

"Ms. White?" butler's gentle voice came from the doorway, heavy with concern. He had been with the household since before my marriage, one of the few who saw me as a person rather than a possession. "I heard... I should have intervened."

"It's not your fault, Jim." I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring how my body protested every movement. "But I would appreciate your help with packing."

"Of course. Shall I call Dr. Lawrence? Those bruises—"

"No." I touched my wrist gingerly, feeling the heat of forming bruises. "No doctors. Just help me pack what's mine."

We worked in efficient silence, every item we packed marking another step toward freedom. Clothes, documents, and the few personal items that had survived these three years went into a single suitcase. My fingers lingered on my old design drafts – tangible reminders of dreams I'd sacrificed at the altar of being Harrison's perfect wife.

"Ms. White..." His hesitation made my heart skip. "There's something you should know. While you were... occupied, Mrs. Ward called. She mentioned—"

The main elevator chimed, cutting off his warning. I froze at the sound of an unfamiliar voice – soft, almost musical, yet somehow making my blood run cold – floating through the foyer.

"It's exactly as I remember it," the voice said with evident pleasure. "Everything's still in the same place."

Mrs. Ward's reply felt like ice crystallizing in my veins: "Of course it is, darling. Harrison wouldn't let anyone change a thing after your accident. He kept everything exactly as you left it, waiting for you to wake up. Thank God that annoying blind person is finally gone. Welcome home, Anna."

My body went rigid, every muscle locking in place as though turned to stone. My fingers clenched around the suitcase handle until the leather creaked, the sound echoing the crack forming in my carefully maintained composure.

Anna Sullivan. She's awake.