My stomach turned over. My chest felt ripped open, bleeding in ways I didn’t even know were possible.
It wasn’t sobbing I’d heard. It was her moans. Pleasure. Laughter whispered through her gasps. The so-called “punishment” I’d imagined wasn’t torture. It was… love. Their love. The prison he’d spoken of all those times wasn’t a cell. It was their playroom. Their nest.
I stumbled backward, staring at the chaise lounge I had painstakingly picked out for him, imagining him sitting there with me, hands blistered from carrying the weight of my life in his hands. He’d said once, soft but with fire, “Danica deserves all the beauty in the world. This lounge is yours alone. And so is my love.”
Now it wasn’t mine. Not mine at all.
My hands clenched until they bled, pain ripping through me. Why? Why the hell would he do this?
And then I started listening.
“Honey, you’re amazing. I’m so happy,” Shannon said, her face flushed and glowing. “Just thinking about how I finally married you makes me feel like I’m dreaming.”
“You deserve it,” Felix said, calm, almost casual, sliding on his shirt like the chaos behind him didn’t exist. His voice was velvet with steel.
I froze at what he said next.