Chapter 3
CHARLOTTE
“What?”
“Hit yourself one hundred times right now. Right in front of me.”
His brows frowned, his gesticulating hands dropped to the side and with visible pride, he asked, “What have I done that’s so wrong? And why are you complaining? Is it because I haven't fucked you? Char, I feed you, clothe-"
My loud snicker cut his nonsense short.
“Fuck you, Brady Simmons,” was all I said.
I pulled out the wedding ring he tied me down with from my breast pocket, threw it at him and walked out, past the door which used to be out of reach for many years.
“Charlotte!” Brady’s voice rippled through the mansion. “Where do you think you’re fucking going, you cunt?! Come back here! Come back-”
With shaky breaths, my feet weak, I descended the stairs and entered the jeep my friend drove in after Brady arrived.
Once I was inside, I collapsed into the passenger seat. My entire body shivered, my breath nearly ceased.
“Lo-Lo,” my friend Susan tenderly assured from the driver's seat, “it’s over.”
As the engine roared in response and as the vehicle slid out of the compound, the tight feeling in my chest melted, and I finally allowed the tears to flow.
Sniffling and crying and even wailing hard, I sat up to witness my departure from the place I spent five years trapped in.
The outside world welcomed me as it seeped into my soul that I was indeed no longer in that trap. This realisation worsened my tears, and shedding them was the only choice I had.
~~~
Hours later, after I went to the hospital from some due check up, Susan dropped me off at an affluent hotel she booked for ten days.
In her words, within those ten days, I must taste fun, good food, peace and excitement to have some memories that will at least distract me from my past.
After she left, I took a very long, soothing aromatic bath during which I got a very clear view of the scars, bruises and every other evidence of all the awful days I had to endure life with Bray Simmons.
Now, I’m draped in a nice-feeling bathrobe and touring my grand suite, which presents the kind of quiet I used to spend nights dreaming about.
And, easily, my feet drifted towards the little wine bar in the far corner.
I used to love wine before getting married, but I learned not to go near Brady’s collection the day he insulted me for shifting the placement angle of his favourite wine. That day was one of the many during which he reminded me that I had no money to my name.
Oh…
Look, I’m making myself cry again.
Dabbing at my teary eyes, I glanced at the four bottles and wondered which one to try.
A doorbell ring interrupted my decision.
I purposely left my phone back in Brady’s house, so there was no way for me to confirm if it was Susan on the other side. But she did say she’d be returning soon with some items.
So… I walked to the entrance.
The door thankfully had a peephole. My pounding heart felt a little ease when I saw that it wasn’t Brady.
However, the person wasn’t Susan either.
From what I could make out, it was a man, but someone I had never seen before.
As if this person knew I was standing close, he knocked again.
To avoid a situation where I’d have to be bothered by this person later, I slightly opened the door.
“Good choice, Miss Kissman,” a raspy, deep voice uttered, his use of my maiden name surprising me a bit. “Ignoring me wouldn’t have worked out in your favour.”
With a gulp because the voice moved something within me, I opened the door a little bit more, and a gasp fell from my lips.
“I am not a ghost,” the man said, his lips serious. “And I am not your husband.”
Still awed by his tall, finely built presence, I swallowed hard and managed to ask, “What do you want?”
“Shouldn’t your question be-”
“What do you want?” I sharply demanded because I was wary that Brady had sent him. For some reason, his presence reeked of something familiar and I couldn’t help but link that feeling to Brady.
The little scar at the side of his full lips dragged into a smirk, and a side dimple revealed itself. “You’re quite bold for a thief.”
“Th-thief?” My eyes lashed him for that ridiculous statement. “How dare you-”
“Miss Kissman,” he reached into the chest of his tailored, very sexy suit, “I am not here to chit-chat.” A black card soon appeared before me. “I am Keith Royalwood.” That was also the name on the card. “Owner of Royal Enterprise.”
“Royal Enterprise?” I looked up at him and my chest thudded harder because Brady works for one of their subsidiaries.
“Good, you know what I’m talking about.”
“I…” My mind flashed to all the money I diverted. But I maintained my calm. My left hand fisted behind me. I answered, “I don’t.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Miss Kissman.” His voice roused the guilt I never thought I would feel. “Not before me.”
“Who are you?”
His light-brown, quite mystical eyes flashed with amusement. “Keith-”
“Who are you in Royal-?”
“Oh.” His smile this time was devious. As he pulled back the left side of his parted, quite luscious hair, he answered, “Haven't I answered that question already?”
I glared.
"I'm your husband's boss."
Whatever words I had quickly hitched.
He continued, “You’ve been stealing what’s mine.” With a graceful swing, he leaned closer, his eyes not sparing mine. His voice lowered, and he breathed against my face, “I am here to get them back.”