Page 16

Scarlett

T he silken fabric of the gown slides over my skin.

It’s a beautiful dress, to be sure, with delicate beadwork that sparkles under the soft lights of my dressing room, but it feels wrong against my body. Too revealing. Too provocative for a simple family dinner, or at least, what I thought was going to be a simple family dinner.

Alex stands behind me, his reflection in the mirror a mix of pride and possession as he watches me dress, his hands guiding my own as he adjusts the straps, ensuring it fits just right.

Too tight. Too constricting.

His fingers linger on the bare skin of my back, tracing the line of my spine, and a shiver runs through me at his touch.

It’s not a shiver of pleasure, but one of apprehension, of dread.

Because in this moment, I realize just how much control he has over me, over my body, over every aspect of my life.

I always knew he was controlling, even when we first met and started dating, but back then I had my freedom, my health, my family too. I had ways of sidestepping his less desirable parts.

Now I have nothing. No escape routes. No exits. No way to manage.

How the fuck did I end up trapped like this? What went wrong?

“You look stunning, Scarlett,” he murmurs, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the nape of my neck. The gesture is intimate, and under different circumstances, I might have found comfort in it. But now? Now it feels like the prelude to a storm I’ve got little strength to stand against.

I nod, mute, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and suspicion. I don’t know what game he’s playing at, but I know better than to question him openly. I must be careful, cunning, even as every instinct screams at me to run, to put as much distance between myself and this cursed house as possible.

With a deep, steadying breath, I slip my feet into the pair of high heels waiting for me by the vanity, their sharp points like weapons against the plush carpet.

Once I found joy in such frivolities as fancy dresses and parties, but I’m no longer that woman.

No, something destroyed that part of me. I just need to discover what it was.

“Come,” Alex says, extending his hand toward me. “Dinner awaits.”

I take his hand, allowing him to lead me from the sanctuary of my room and into the grandeur of the Forster estate.

When we get to the dining room, he seems to relax a little. As if he expected me to become some screaming banshee. A long mahogany table is set with the finest China and crystal, a silent testament to the wealth and power of the family I’ve married into.

Vincent and Irene are already seated at the far end of the table, their postures stiff and formal. Rafe stands by the window, his dark gaze fixed firmly on the tumultuous sea outside, as if he’s seeking something—anything—that might offer him an escape from the evening’s proceedings.

Christ, it feels like an omen. My heart seems to pick up, beating almost erratically.

I can’t get out.

I can’t do anything but play along.

A staff of uniformed maids and butlers lurk in the shadows, ready to spring into action at the slightest signal.

Their presence is as much a part of this performance as the silverware that gleams beneath the chandeliers, their silence a stark reminder of the hierarchy that dictates life within these walls.

As we enter, all eyes turn to us, and there’s a moment where everything seems to freeze.

Vincent’s stare is cold and calculating, his gaze raking over me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Irene doesn’t even bother to look up from her place setting, her disapproval evident in the set of her shoulders and the tight line of her lips.

But it’s Rafe who holds my attention. Even from across the room, I can feel the heat of his gaze, its intensity a stark contrast to the indifference he typically displays. His eyes lock onto mine, and it feels like a silent question hanging in the air between us.

Do you understand now? Have you been paying enough attention?

I tear my gaze away, focusing instead on the empty chair that Alex pulls out for me with a flourish.

With as much grace as I can muster, I take my seat, acutely aware of the way the fabric of the dress stretches taut against my thighs.

My heart is now pounding in my chest, a frantic, staccato rhythm that matches the clinking of cutlery against China as the first course is served.

Around me, the conversation flows. It’s mostly a stream of idle chatter and polite inquiries that I answer with single-syllable responses because my focus is too divided between maintaining my compliant facade and navigating the labyrinth of my own thoughts.

Every word feels like it’s being pulled from my lips with great effort.

Every smile is a betrayal of the turmoil that rages beneath the surface.

I pick at my food, pushing the pieces around on my plate, their rich aromas now a nauseating reminder of my captivity. I tell myself that I’m not hungry, that it’s not fear constricting my throat like a noose, not anxiety churning in my stomach like acid.

When the meal is finished and the last of the dishes have been cleared, Irene rises gracefully from her chair.

She offers a curt “Goodnight” to her husband and sons, air-kissing each in turn before disappearing upstairs without so much as a backward glance in my direction.

Her departure is abrupt, leaving a palpable tension in her wake that seems to seep into the very walls of the dining room.

It’s like she was making some sort of statement, sending some unspoken message.

Rafe follows her lead, muttering something I don’t quite catch as he pushes himself away from the windowsill. But I see that look on his face all the same. That way he’s intentionally avoiding all our gazes. His expression is full on bloody murder.

“Don’t you want to stay, brother?” Alex says. “We haven’t even had dessert yet. It’s nice and sweet, just how you like it.”

Rafe turns, glaring back at him with his hands curled into fists like he might just beat him to a pulp. Only, instead, he looks across at his father, and again my gut tells me there’s something unspoken there. Something I’m missing.

“I’m not hungry.” He all but growls before storming out.

His leaving seems to unsettle Alex, who watches him go with a narrowed gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. But why would he be upset? He hates Rafe, surely him retiring for the night would be a good thing?

“Is everything okay?” I venture, hating the way my voice wavers, the way it betrays the fear that I’ve fought so hard to hide.

Alex turns his attention back to me, his eyes softening as he reaches under the table to take my hand in his. “Of course, my love. Why wouldn’t it be?”

I have no answer to give him, no reassurance to offer.

All I have are suspicions and half-formed questions that I dare not voice for fear of what might happen if I do.

I swallow hard, forcing a weak smile onto my face, playing the part of the devoted wife, the meek and obedient woman who knows her place and keeps her doubts to herself.

Before I can say anything further, Alex rises from his seat, pulling me up alongside him. He leads me from the dining room, his grip now firm and unyielding, and into the dimly lit smoking lounge next door.

The heavy scent of tobacco hangs thick in the air, stinging my eyes and making my throat itch.

I don’t want to be here.

I know it. I can feel it. My head is screaming at me to leave, and yet there’s no tangible reason for it. No logical explanation.

Vincent strolls in with a cigar clamped between his teeth, and he reclines in one of the plush armchairs, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames in the fireplace.

His presence here sends a fresh wave of terror coursing through my veins.

I have to get away from them. Both of them.

I take a step back, then another, feigning a yawn. “I’m feeling tired.” I say trying to sound as calm as I possibly can. “I think I’ll go to bed, I should rest anyway…”

“You’re going nowhere.” Alex cuts across me. His voice is sharp, cruel. One I’ve heard numerous times, but never in my memory was it directed at me. It’s like that beautiful facade has come crashing down. Like the man who is my husband has just disappeared, morphed into a monster.

Confusion gives way to complete panic. Gone is my concern about keeping up appearances. Gone are all thoughts of pretending to be obedient. My eyes find the door and I fling myself at it.

Alex’s hand shoots out, grabbing my arm and I’m thrown back onto the plush rug.

His face is no longer that handsome one I’m used to. Instead, it’s morphed into that of a snarling beast.

He reaches down, wrapping his hand around my throat and hauls me to my feet. As I dangle, helpless and pathetic, he takes a fistful of my dress right at my cleavage, and rips it apart with terrifying ease.

Sequins seem to fly everywhere. They ping off the furniture, getting stuck in the thick wool of the carpet.

I cry out, using my hands to cover my exposed flesh, but it’s too late. It’s far too fucking late.

Vincent rises from his chair, a predatory grin spreading across his face. In a slow, deliberate movement, he stubs out his cigar in the silver tray before he takes one step and then another to close the distance between us.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss as my eyes dart from father to son.

“What does it look like?” Vincent murmurs as Alex manhandles me over to where an antique snooker table sits.

“No, Alex please…”

My mind flickers to that moment, before. Outside when Vincent, when he… I gulp, realising that assault was not his first.

Alex slams my body down onto the green velvet and as my head smacks into it, stars erupt behind my eyes, stunning me further.

“Dessert is served.” Alex says.

I kick out, I scream, but another blow to my head leaves me dazed enough to become docile.