Intertwined with the billionaire

PROLOGUE

Amelia's POV

I cried out in agony as Owen's actions became increasingly aggressive as he thrusted in and out of me.

"You're hurting me, Owen!" I yelled, desperate to make him stop. However, he continued, fueled by his intoxication and frustration over a failed business deal.

"pleaaaase stop!!!" I pleaded. He ignored my cries and choked me, It wasn't the pleasing kind of being choked. It was like he wanted to squeeze the life out of me. Of course that was what pleased him sexually, but today's was different. In a desperate attempt to defend myself, I grabbed a nearby lamp and struck him on the head. While he yelped in pain, I pushed him off me and scrambled to find something to wear.

As I searched for a dress in the closet, I kept a wary eye on Owen, fearful that he would regain his strength and continue his assault. My hands trembled as I quickly put on a dress and turned to face him.

However, Owen suddenly lurched forward, grabbing my hair and pulling me to the floor. I grunted in pain as he slapped me repeatedly, ignoring my cries for mercy. In a desperate bid to escape, I reached for a nearby high-heeled shoe and struck Owen on the head, using all my strength. The heavy shoe, made of solid gold, caused him to collapse once more.

Seizing the opportunity, I struggled to my feet and grabbed my car keys, phone, cash, and credit cards. I fled the scene as quickly as possible that night, constantly checking my rearview mirror to ensure that Owen was not following me.

"Shit!" I exclaimed I got my eye back on the road after a long stare at my rear view mirror.

My distraction had caused me to collide with another vehicle in front of me. The impact was severe, and I blacked out.

I slowly opened my eyes, the bright lights overhead forced me to squint. I turned my head to take in my surroundings, and the familiar sights of a hospital room came into focus: the IV drip, the ventilator attached to my nose, and the beeping machines monitoring my vital signs.

I attempted to sit up, wincing as a sharp headache struck me. I rubbed my forehead, trying to alleviate the pain. A gentle touch on my arm made me turn to see Owen standing beside me.

"Please, honey, rest," he said, his voice low and soothing. But the sight of him only filled me with dread. Memories of the previous night's events came flooding back, and I felt a wave of fear wash over me. Tears began to stream down my face as I realized I was trapped.

The doctor entered the room, interrupting the tense moment. "Ah, welcome back," he said with a warm smile.

I'll just step out for a moment. Please, take care of her, Doctor," Owen said, before exiting the hospital room. The doctor helped me sit up and removed the ventilator from my nose. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

"Doctor, please," I begged, my voice shaking. "I don't want to go back home." The doctor's expression turned concerned. "Relax, Mrs. Bradley. Please, explain to me what happened."

But I knew I couldn't reveal the truth. There was no time. "Owen Bradley isn't who you think he is," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Doctor, please... you need to help me. You need to kill me, I'd rather die than go back to Owen.." The doctor's eyes widened in surprise.

"I can't kill you. I can't take two lives, you're pregnant Mrs. Bradley," he said gently. The news hit me like a ton of bricks, but it also sparked a glimmer of hope.

I smiled weakly, determination etched on my face. "You need to help me, Doctor," I implored, my hands clasped together. "I might not survive the next time I'm brought here. Please, help me. if not me, think about my unborn baby."

The doctor sighed, his expression resolute. "How can I help?" he asked. "I have an idea." I replied, smiling with hope.

*****

CHAPTER ONE

Owen's POV

As I sat at my desk, finalizing a business deal, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of my wife, Amelia. I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt and self-loathing that had been plaguing me since the previous night's events.

My father's influence had always had a profound impact on my behavior, and I couldn't help but wonder if it had contributed to my actions. The memory of how I had brutally beaten Amelia haunted me, and I couldn't comprehend how I had allowed my frustration to consume me.

The loss of a lucrative business deal, worth $200 million, had been the catalyst for my outburst. But that was no excuse for taking my anger out on Amelia. I felt a deep sense of remorse and regret for my actions.

My phone rang, breaking the silence. The caller ID displayed the name of the doctor from the hospital. I answered, my heart racing with anticipation.

"Hello, Mr. Bradley," the doctor said. "How's my wife?" I asked, trying to contain my anxiety.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bradley. She's dead," the doctor replied. I felt as though I had been punched in the gut.

"What do you mean she's dead?!" I exclaimed, my voice rising in desperation. "She was okay when I left the hospital!"

The doctor explained that Amelia had lost a significant amount of blood due to the car crash and had only regained consciousness briefly. I was stunned, unable to process the news.

The phone slipped from my hand, falling to the floor. I felt a wave of anger and frustration wash over me, and I lashed out, sweeping everything off my desk. My computer crashed to the floor, and papers scattered everywhere.

I stormed out of the office, ignoring the concerned questions from my colleagues. I drove to the hospital, my mind reeling with grief and guilt. When I arrived, I was met with the devastating sight of Amelia's lifeless body. I felt a crushing sense of responsibility for her death. It was my fault that she was gone.

I approached the doctor, desperation etched on my face. "Isn't there anything you can do?" I pleaded. The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing more we can do." I ran my hands through my hair, feeling helpless and consumed by grief. Amelia was gone, and I was left to grapple with the devastating consequences of my actions.

THE NEXT DAY

The funeral service for Amelia drew to a close, the priest invited me to deliver a eulogy. My brother, Frederick, nudged me gently after noticing my hesitation.

"They're waiting for you, Owen," he whispered. I rose from my seat, my heart heavy with grief, and made my way to the podium.

I began my eulogy, my voice trembling with emotion. "I would like to extend my gratitude to everyone who has gathered here today to celebrate Amelia's life. I am certain she would have been deeply touched by your presence. There are no words that can adequately express the depth of my love for Amelia, and the profound impact she had on my life. Even in death, my love for her will endure."

I concluded my eulogy and returned to my seat, feeling a sense of inadequacy. Frederick turned to me, his expression incredulous.

"Seriously, Owen? That's it?" he whispered. I was at a loss for words. The weight of my guilt was crushing me. I knew that I was responsible for Amelia's death, and the thought of delivering a eulogy had only served to exacerbate my feelings of remorse.

The funeral service drew to a close, and the mourners began to file past me, offering their condolences. Amelia's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Moore, approached me, their faces etched with grief. "I'm so sorry for your loss," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Moore's expression turned cold, his eyes blazing with anger. "I gave you my daughter, and you returned her to me in a coffin. I will never forgive you."

Mrs. Moore, her eyes brimming with tears, offered me a compassionate hug before turning to follow her husband. I felt overwhelmed by the outpouring of grief and the weight of my own guilt. I knew that I could no longer bear to remain at the funeral, surrounded by the mourners and the painful reminders of my loss. I discreetly excused myself, knowing that Frederick would attend to the remaining formalities.

As I walked away from the funeral, I couldn't shake the feeling that a hundred thousand condolences would never be enough to bring Amelia back.