Chapter 3

When I came to, Eric's face hovered above mine, dark as a storm cloud.

"Once was enough for the dramatics. Three trips to the ICU? Do you have a death wish?"

I didn't know how to respond.

All I knew was that disobedience meant death.

After a long silence, he sighed.

"Fine. Clara won't stay over anymore. Happy now?"

Clara's sleepovers had become routine.

The excuses varied—game night ran late, her water heater broke, she needed someone to talk to...

At first, she'd bring an overnight bag. Eventually, she stopped bothering.

Her silk pajamas, house slippers, bedside mug, skincare products—all permanently stationed in the guest room.

She hated mosquitoes, so he installed screens. Changed the curtains and sheets to her favorite colors too.

The guest room had become hers.

She even had a key.

Sometimes, right in the middle of intimacy, she'd walk in announcing she needed to crash. She'd tell us to carry on like she wasn't even there.

Whenever I got upset, he'd shut me down with, "That's just how she is—straightforward, no filter. You're reading too much into it. Keep overreacting and we'll just stop altogether."

Now I'd finally gotten what I wanted. Yet I felt nothing.

I nodded vaguely.

"I'm tired. I need rest." I paused, then quickly added, "May I?"

He studied my trembling frame, his expression unreadable.

When no answer came, my brain kicked into autopilot. I scrambled out of bed.

Just as my knees were about to hit the floor, he caught me.

"The treatment was for your own good. Otherwise, that temper of yours would've gotten you killed out there. So what—are you holding it against me now?"

For my own good? But that place had been hell.

I clenched my fists to stop the shaking.

"I wouldn't dare. A wife's everything comes from her husband's generosity. All actions should follow her husband's will."

He stared at me for a moment, then tilted my chin up with his finger. "My efforts weren't wasted on you after all. Get some rest. Our anniversary's coming up—I'll take you somewhere nice."

On our anniversary, I wore a simple white dress.

Something flickered in his eyes. "You used to wear that style on all our dates."

Back then, we'd lived in a cramped apartment in the old part of town.

My closet hadn't been filled with designer gowns—just plain white dresses.

In summer, we'd fan each other with paper fans.

In winter, we'd huddle together on our single narrow bed.

When the power went out, we'd light candles and dance in our tiny space.

Life had been hard. But our hearts had been full.

When had it all turned into nothing but fighting?

"Earth to Helen?" Eric's voice snapped me back.

He ruffled my hair.

My body went rigid.

Memories of violation flooded back.

I dug my nails into my palms, fighting down the wave of nausea.

He didn't notice. He took my hand and led me toward the door.

We hadn't even made it out of the building when we ran into Clara.

She shoved a bouquet into Eric's hands, draping her arm over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

"Pretty thoughtful of me, right? Remembered your anniversary and everything."

Eric's expression softened. "Thanks for the flowers. Now get lost—don't ruin our date."

"Like you know anything about romance." Instead of leaving, she grabbed his arm. "I'm taking you guys somewhere amazing. Consider it payback for all those times I crashed at your place."

She dangled car keys in front of him, pulling him toward a gleaming vehicle. "Perfect chance to test out that car you got me."

The Maybach. The one I'd once admired. The one he'd made excuses not to buy me.

Eric kept his hands in his pockets, letting her tug him along. "Alright, let's see how you drive."

I slipped into the back seat without a word. Closed the door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his step falter—just barely.

"What are you waiting for? Get in!" Clara called from the driver's seat.

His fingers curled briefly at his side. Then he opened the passenger door.