Then, I move myself past him to Kelly.
“Thank you,” she says, genuine and soft.
Once done, I stride over to Brad, and our eyes lock across the table. As I lean over, wine pours in a thin, blood-red stream into his empty glass, and I silently mouth the words, lips shaping the only plea I have left.
Help. Me.
He watches my mouth, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, then he gives the smallest nod, dropping his gaze.
“Thank you, Blaire,” he says smoothly, as if I had only offered wine and not my last shard of hope.
I don’t know if he understood. I don’t know if he’ll do anything. But it is the only rebellion my shackled soul can manage.
“You’re welcome,” I mumble before retreating to my seat beside Law.
???
After some time, Kelly and Brad rise to leave, and a fresh wave of terror crashes over me like ice water flooding a sinking ship. The safety of people being here is slipping away, and with it, the last fragile barrier between me and him.
They stride toward the front door, and I trail behind like a shadow chained to its owner, every step heavier than the last.
“Take care, Blaire,” Kelly says with a small wave, her voice distant and useless. “If you need anything, just call me.”
I nod slowly, the motion numb, but then my eyes dart to Brad’s. He’s already looking at me—really looking. And in that single heartbeat, I pour every last ounce of my crushed soul into my gaze.
Help me. Please. Don’t leave me here.
He holds it for a fraction of a second, then turns and walks out, and the door clicks shut behind them.
I suck in a sharp, defeated breath that tastes of erosion and finality, the illusion of my rescue vanishing with the echoes of their footsteps.
Turning on my heel, I drift back to the dining room, my mind frazzled with anxiety.
I begin gathering the glasses, the clink of crystal mocking my racing pulse. But then his looming presence presses against my back, and body locks tight, every muscle screaming silently.
His mouth skates over my neck, the smell thick with stale alcohol, and it crawls across my skin like maggots over a decaying corpse.
“Get the fuck on the table,” he orders, his front flush against my back, dick solid, grinding the command right into my spine.
My eyes squeeze shut, and a fresh tear carves a scorching path down my cheek.
And here I am all over again—his used and abused wife—just pretty wounds dressed in obedience, and he’s about to reopen every single one.
I shake my head twice, lips trembling like dying leaves in a storm.
“But I don’t want to,” I whisper through a broken weep. “Please don’t make me… I can’t…”
“You,” he growls viciously against the shell of my ear, pressing against it bitterly, the words slithering like venom into my bloodstream, “never fucking learn, Blaire. It’s time to give up.”
His hands seize my hips with bruising force, then he yanks the fabric of my dress upward in rough, impatient jerks, bunching it around my waist until cool air kisses my exposed skin.
“If you don’t,” he bites, ragged and thick with dark, sadistic greed. “I’ll force every last scrap of that leftover meat down your throat while I fuck this ass.”
The threat lands hard, and my stomach twists at the image—cold, bloody flesh shoved past my teeth while he tears into me. I can already taste the copper on my tongue.
He doesn’t just want my battered body, he wants to feed me my own nightmares until I die on them, until my submission tastes like his sick satisfaction.
I shake my head again, but it’s useless because he doesn’t wait for anymore begging.
