Independence Is a Good Look On Her

My husband, Liam Sterling, once held me like a fragile, precious thing.

Three years into our marriage, his touch turned to ice.

He led Chloe Miller, the interior designer he now obsessed over, into our home.

Today was her wedding day, a cruel game to force his hand.

On my knees in a rust-scented warehouse, Liam' s gentle fingers stroked my neck.

He smiled, but glacial eyes demanded Chloe' s wedding address.

I pleaded, "I don' t know where her wedding is, Liam. She' s setting me up. She' s lying."

He sneered, "Chloe was right, as usual. You' re just jealous of her."

Then he brought out my brother, Ben, bound and gagged.

Five snarling Dobermans lunged, their barks hungry.

Liam whispered, his lips brushing my cheek, "If you don' t give me the wedding location, your brother will have a little 'playdate' with the Dobermans."

His words were a cold knife, cutting deeper than any physical pain.

A dog' s claw dug into Ben' s shoulder, tearing skin, drawing blood.

His muffled cry tore through me.

I begged, "Please, let my brother go! Take it out on me instead, Liam!"

His face darkened, grip tightening on my chin.

"Tell me, where is Chloe getting married?"

He had forgotten everything we were.