Chapter 5
A group of men in dark suits closed in around me, their faces blank and expressionless.
They grabbed my limp body like it was nothing more than garbage, dragging me out of the hospital
with brutal force.
“Nathan Sterling!” I screamed, my voice hoarse. “What are you doing?! I’m your wife!”
“I’m bleeding–hurting–where are you taking me?”
“You’ll regret this! I swear–you will regret this!”
But all I got in return was his voice, cold and final: “I never regret anything. And I certainly don’t
claim a wife as vicious as you.
The blood running down my legs soaked through my dress as I was hauled into a waiting van.
I don’t know how long we drove.
Eventually, th
they dragged me into what looked like an abandoned warehouse–isolated, desolate, the air thick with rust and filth.
That‘
when their expressions changed.
The guards–once silent and mechanical–now wore twisted smiles.
One of them stepped forward, holding a leather whip.
“Orders from Mr. Sterling,” he said flatly. “Ninety–nine lashes. No less.”
I backed away, barely able to stay on my feet.
“No… please…”
One of them–a bald man with a scar across his cheek–let out a low, perverse laugh.
“Ninety–nine? That’ll kill her.‘
He looked me up and down, then turned to the others.
“Seems like a waste. Pretty face/nice body… why don’t we have our fun first? Nobody’s gonna miss
her anyway.”
They exchanged glances.
Their silence was the loudest agreement I’d ever heard.
I screamed.
I fought.
But my body was too weak, too broken to fight back.
Terror consumed me.
And through it all–through the pain, the degradation–I heard his voice again..
The man who once whispered so gently in my ear: “Claire, you’re safe with me. I’ll never let you
lose. Never.”
What a lie.
What a monstrous, beautiful lie.
By the time dawn broke, it was over.
They zipped up their jackets with bored, bitter expressions.
“Damn,” the bald one sneered, spitting on the ground. “Looked good, but cold as a corpse. even make a sound. No wonder he dumped her.
“Total waste of time.‘
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
Didn’t
I crawled toward the corner, collecting what was left of my shredded clothes, trying to wrap myself in them–anything to hide the pain, the shame.
But there was no hiding it.
Not anymore.
I don’t remember how long I walked.
At some point, I found myself stumbling down an empty road, gravel biting into my feet.
And there, on a lonely street corner, stood a broken old payphone.
I stepped inside.
Slipped in the last coin I had.
Chapter 5
A group of men in dark suits closed in around me, their faces blank and expressionless.
They grabbed my limp body like it was nothing more than garbage, dragging me out of the hospital with brutal force.
“Nathan Sterling!” I screamed, my voice hoarse. “What are you doing?! I’m your wife!”
“I’m bleeding–hurting–where are you taking me?”
“You’ll regret this! I swear–you will regret this!”
But all I got in return was his voice, cold and final: “I never regret anything. And I certainly don’t
claim a wife as vicious as you.”
The blood running down my legs soaked through my dress as I was hauled into a waiting van.
I don’t know how long we drove.
Eventually, they dragged me into what looked like an abandoned warehouse–isolated, desolate, the air thick with rust and filth.
That’s when their expressions changed.
The guards once silent and mechanical–now wore twisted smiles.
One of them stepped forward, holding a leather whip.
“Orders from Mr. Sterling,” he said flatly. “Ninety–nine lashes. No less.”
I backed away, barely able to stay on my feet.
“No… please…”
One of them–a bald man with a scar across his cheek–let out a low, perverse laugh.
“Ninety–nine? That’ll kill her,”
He looked me up and down, then turned to the others.
“Seems like a waste. Pretty face/nice body… why don’t we have our fun first? Nobody’s gonna miss her anyway.”
They exchanged glances.
Their silence was the loudest agreement I’d ever heard.
now
I screamed.
I fought.
But my body was too weak, too broken to fight back.
Terror consumed me.
And through it all–through the pain, the degradation–I heard his voice again.
The man who once whispered so gently in my ear: “Claire, you’re safe with me. I’ll never let you
lose. Never.”
What a lie.
What a monstrous, beautiful lie.
By the time dawn broke, it was over.
They zipped up their jackets with bored, bitter expressions.
“Damn,” the bald one sneered, spitting on the ground. “Looked good, but cold as a corpse. Didn’t even make a sound. No wonder he dumped her.”
“Total waste of time.”
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
I crawled toward the corner, collecting what was left of my shredded clothes, trying to wrap myself in them–anything to hide the pain, the shame.
But there was no hiding it.
Not anymore.
I don’t remember how long I walked.
At some point, I found myself stumbling down an empty road, gravel biting into my feet.
And there, on a lonely street corner, stood a broken old payphone.
I stepped inside.
Slipped in the last coin I had.
Dialed a number.
When someone answered, I spoke clearly, calmly, as if it were just another errand.
“I need to file a death certificate.”
“Claire Sterling is dead.”
“I want out of his world–forever.”
