PROLOGUE
It started small. A comment about my body. Guilt trips into canceling plans with friends. New clothing bought one size too small. The gradual disappearance of the desserts I coveted. Lavish gifts for my parents.
Let me rewind.
Gideon Lowell swept me off my feet. A hot-shot lawyer, he was rich, handsome, and solely focused on me. That kind of attention is addictive, drugging, and makes you blind to the warning signs. It took him a mere six months to place a gold band on my finger and declare me as his. His wife, his trophy, his possession. A woman to mold and control.
It took another six months for the real Gideon to rear his head. That was the day I learned not to disagree with my husband. It was the first time I made an excuse about an injury to a medical professional, but not the last. I thought if I loved him harder, deeper, it would change. I would become worthy of the man I first met. I was wrong.
Now we stand on the precipice of our one-year anniversary, and I am a shell of the woman I once was. Gutted by his words,his hands, his emotions, and his control. But there’s a place deep inside of me, one he cannot reach, that clings to a thin ray of light. I just have to be brave enough to grasp it and jump, for there is no salvation in the vast darkness, and I am not ready to go without a fight.
CHAPTER 1
HONOR
NEW YEAR’S EVE
To love is to trust, which is why they hurt us the most.
My heart races in my chest, a galloping deer looking to escape the beast stalking it in the darkness. I don’t run. It never ends well. Instead, I await Gideon on the edge of the enormous bed, with my eyes trained to the floor and my spine ramrod straight. He enjoys letting the fear build until my limbs shake. I pluck at a loose strand on the white silk dressing gown shielding my body and try working through the steps of meditation I learned as a teenager. Breathe. Funny how people make millions teaching us to do something we are naturally born to. My deep breaths are hindered, getting stuck part way down. Instead, I entertain myself with fantasies of stabbing Gideon with the steak knife he cut into his beef wellington with last night. My mouth waters. How long has it been since I tasted steak?
The door to our bedroom swings open, and all my cleverbreathing techniques evaporate as his shoes tap on the hardwood floor. They pause in front of me, and the hair on the nape of my neck lifts. I’ve become intimate with the many pairs of shoes he owns, given they are the first thing I see each day.
A finger curves under my chin and tilts my head back. My gaze locks onto the startling baby blues the city has declared their savior. Gideon Lowell is now the district attorney for New York. Powerful, untouchable, and wicked. A dangerous combination.
His blonde hair is styled back, one lock seemingly escaping onto his forehead. But nothing about Gideon is accidental. He’s disarming, dressed in a classic tailored black suit and white shirt. The bow tie hangs undone around his neck, a job he considers important for his wife.
I don’t doubt that my husband covets me, but there is a difference between love and obsession. The beauticians did my makeup and styled my long ice-blonde hair into an elegant updo based on Gideon’s instructions. His excuse for such control is him having a special dress made for me as a surprise, so only he would know what matches. They made noises of approval, like he was Prince Charming. It astounds me how people gloss over the obvious facts and cling to the fairytale. Anyone looking close enough would see the cracks covering my facade. I am breaking piece by piece.
“You look stunning,” he utters.
My brain processes his relaxed shoulders, his steady breathing, and the calmness in his eyes. The beast he houses is not in control. I draw in a steady breath.
“Thank you. You look handsome.” My words are clear. I learned early on to not whisper or stutter.
He hums in the back of his throat. “Stand, Honor.”
I hide the wince as I comply. He tilts his head as he undoes the knot at my waist, and slides the gown off my shoulders. His fingers trailover my naked breasts, pebbling my nipples. His hands curve around the leather clinched around my abdomen.
His jaw ticks as his hands fail to touch as they circle the dip in my waist. “Almost there. Let’s tighten this up a little. Turn around, hold the bedpost.”
Ice inches down my spine as I spin and clutch the wooden post. “I think we can get this into its final position tonight, baby. Giving you the perfect body to show off.”
“Thank you.” He’s training my body into what he considers ideal—all for my benefit, of course—and he expects me to be eternally grateful for it. Secretly, I dream of wearing sweats and hoodies while eating pizza.
His fingers sweep the length of my spine, following the cold sensation. He undoes the heavy-duty laces holding the steel-lined leather in place. “Deep breath in, baby, hold it, then release slowly.”
Ha. Deep breath, what a joke. I drag in the air, spiced with his expensive cologne. It’s woodsy, with hints of tobacco and vanilla. As I exhale, my grip tightens on the bedpost and he yanks. My body lifts in the air, but gravity doesn’t help his cause.
Bones click behind me as he snaps his neck, an action which always heralds suffering. Mine, not his. I glance over my shoulder as he lifts his foot and braces it against my bare ass.
“Again,” he snaps.
As I exhale, he yanks on the laces and pushes against my butt to keep me in place. The leather tightens, and bile rushes up my throat. I swallow the burning liquid.
“Once more.”
Tears spring in my eyes, but no sound leaves my throat as he pulls the waist trainer into its ultimate position. He breathes heavily behind me as he secures the laces with knots. He curves his body around mine, kissing along my shoulder as he tests outthe new positioning. I glance down as his fingers touch over my stomach.
