Chapter 1
766words
I sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, deliberately fastening the last button on my blouse. The air still hung heavy with the scent of our indiscretion.
Samuel Sanders stood in the shadows, his typically dignified face twisted with rage. Blood dripped from his clenched fist onto the pristine white carpet, forming a constellation of crimson dots.
At his feet, a young man trembled like a leaf in autumn.
"Get out," Samuel's voice cut like ice.
The man scrambled out as if granted a last-minute reprieve. Now, only Samuel and I remained, locked in silent confrontation.
He stalked toward me deliberately, each footfall of his leather shoes striking my heart like thunder before a storm. In one swift motion, he seized my wrist and dragged me roughly toward the bathroom.
"Samuel Sanders, let go! Don't touch me!"
He hurled me into the cold bathtub, tearing at my half-buttoned clothes. Grabbing the showerhead, he unleashed a torrent of ice-cold water over me. I gasped, my entire body seizing from the shock.
"Winnie Thompson, this is the last time."
My struggles were futile against his strength. His voice barely contained his rage, but his actions were brutal—his trembling hands scrubbing at my neck as if trying to erase another man's touch from my skin.
Humiliation and cold made my entire body convulse.
"Get out!" I shoved him away with all my strength, seized the metal showerhead and smashed it against his temple.
He didn't even try to dodge.
Blood streamed from his temple, mixing with water droplets, lending him a feral, unhinged appearance. His intense stare, filled with madness and possessiveness, made my skin crawl.
I instinctively backed away, but he grabbed me by the neck and crushed his lips against mine in a savage kiss.
"I should leave? Then who do you want? That male prostitute?!"
"Winnie Thompson! I swear to God I could kill you!"
A sharp pain shot through my lips as his teeth broke skin. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, followed immediately by a wave of nausea from deep in my stomach.
"Ugh..." I shoved him away, ignoring his bloodshot eyes, and doubled over the bathtub, retching violently.
"I disgust you that much?" His voice was hoarse and trembling, filled with disbelief and wounded pride.
I couldn't answer. My stomach felt like it was being shredded by a thousand tiny knives, the pain blurring my vision as my body convulsed uncontrollably.
"Winnie Thompson, you gave up on us first! I've already broken things off with her! What more do you want from me?!"
"If that's how you want it, from now on we're done. Don't come crawling back when you regret this!"
The door slammed with deafening finality, leaving me in silence.
After what seemed like hours, I dragged myself out of the bathtub, shivering. My eyes fell on an elegant gift bag sitting on the corner of the sofa.
Inside was a baby rattle drum carved from fine rosewood, its handcrafted sheepskin face embroidered with the character for "peace" in gold thread. I'd casually admired it while passing an antique shop days earlier.
I vaguely recalled Samuel carrying this very bag when he'd first entered.
Ever since discovering my pregnancy—when he'd begged me to keep the baby—Samuel had reverted to his former self. He'd canceled all unnecessary engagements to spend time with me. If I so much as glanced twice at something, it would appear before me the next day.
Time, money, and seemingly boundless love—he gave them all without reservation.
But I was no longer the woman I once was.
Every time his phone rang, I suspected Rachel Lawrence was calling. Whenever he opened his laptop, I imagined him secretly checking her social media updates.
Rachel Lawrence had supposedly vanished from our lives, yet she haunted me like a ghost, always present in my mind's eye.
The memories of his betrayal and my physical suffering were driving me insane.
I'd had enough.
So I found someone else. I needed to understand what made other women so special—special enough for him to throw away our decade-long relationship.
I picked up the card from the gift box, recognizing his bold, flowing handwriting.
"To our Sean, may he live a peaceful life."
My heart felt torn open, cold air rushing through the gaping wound.
Just then, my phone screen lit up with a friend request. The profile picture was Rachel Lawrence's—I would recognize her face even in death.
"Thank you for giving him back to me."
