Chapter 2

Reginald nudged me with the tip of his polished shoe. "Still faking it? Hurry up and get off the floor. I don't have all day to wait for you."

I tried to haul myself up from the icy floor, my bones rattling like old furniture, but my body gave out and I ended up face-down again.

For four years in this so-called prison, I was tortured again and again by the prison boss's gang, just because I wouldn't play by their rules.

They'd shove needles between my fingers and tear strips of skin right off my scalp.

They'd wind copper wire around the softest part of my belly, pulling it tight until it cut deep into me.

They'd take an iron brush and scrape away layers of skin from my back, strip by strip; the pain was enough to make me want to die.

And if I ever tried to fight back, they'd carve the flesh from my thighs and arms, strip by strip, like they were filleting a fish.

Every time I blacked out from the pain, the prison doctor would show up right on time to patch me up, just enough so I wouldn't die, barely keeping me breathing.

I tried reporting it to the warden, but all that happened was they'd get tossed in solitary for a bit. And every time they came out, their lips were slick with grease and they'd be burping like they'd hit up an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Back then, I was foolish enough to wonder what I had done to deserve such a cruel fate.

Turned out, Reginald was the one pulling all the strings.

"Reginald, it hurts so much I can't get up," I managed to say.

I caught my breath, then looked up at him, my voice weak and trembling.

Reginald's fingers twitched as he stared at me, his gaze cold and impatient.

He jerked his chin at the bodyguard. "Toss her in the car.

"Useless. Just a little flesh wound and she's already whining."

His bodyguard hauled me out the door and tossed me into the back seat like I was nothing but trash.

I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug deep into my palms, biting back a cry and swallowing the pain.

Through the car window, I saw Reginald holding an umbrella, keeping the sun off Jodie.

He walked her to the passenger seat, leaned in close, and fastened her seatbelt with a tenderness I'd never seen.

The car started up, and not once did he look at me.

They laughed and chatted together. I might as well have been invisible.

On the way, Jodie pouted, "Reginald, my foot really hurts. I think I twisted it when I was waiting for Maisy."

Reginald hit the brakes, leaned over, and carefully picked up her foot, settling it on his lap.

He cooed, "You little dummy, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

He slipped off her twelve-inch heels and started to softly massage her foot, his touch tender and attentive.

Back when he was out delivering food, I'd have dinner ready and waiting for him when he got home. I'd massage his shoulders, trying to ease the tension from his long day.

After he finished eating, I'd get some hot water ready and wash his feet for him.

As long as it helped him relax, I'd do anything for him.

Jodie giggled, squirming from the ticklish feeling. "Alright, it doesn't hurt anymore. If you keep this up, Maisy will start pouting again. She hasn't said a word this whole time."

Reginald shot me a sideways glance. "Maisy, there's really nothing between me and Jodie. If you're jealous just because I'm giving her a foot rub, suit yourself."

I shifted my gaze away from the damp condom wedged between the seat seams.

With a flat tone, I said, "Mr. Hurst, don't let me stop you."

Guess that struck a nerve with him.

Reginald's face darkened, and he abruptly let go of Jodie's foot.

For the whole ride, Jodie was pulling out every trick in the book, trying everything she could think of to get Reginald to crack a smile.

But Reginald just kept that stormy look on his face, never cracked a smile, never said a word.

When we got back to what they called home, it was a massive mansion, the kind I'd only ever seen on TV.

A bunch of guys swaggered out to greet us, their voices dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, look. Reginald brought back the superstar from the prison flick."

"What kind of celebrity actually eats shit? She'd stoop to anything just to be Mrs. Hurst. Talk about shameless."

"Exactly. Jodie's the real high-class superstar around here."

They were cracking up, doubling over with laughter, their eyes filled with nothing but pure contempt as they looked at me.

I felt like I was being strangled, my whole body going cold and numb.

Four years ago, I saved up half a year's salary to buy Reginald a birthday present. I snuck over to where he was waiting for delivery orders, hoping to surprise him.

But I walked right into a nightmare, some guys were accusing him of spitting in their food, and they were beating him with sticks, trying to kill him.

Reginald was curled up on the ground, hugging his head, begging for mercy.

I rushed over and threw myself on top of him, shielding him from the blows.

To protect me, Reginald grabbed a rock and started smashing it into their heads like a madman. One of them dropped dead on the spot.

I was so scared that I froze.

Reginald pulled me into his arms, repeating over and over, "You can bully me all you want, but don't you dare touch my wife.

"Maisy, if I get executed, find someone who'll love you in my place."

Later, the "police" showed up.

I took the fall for it all.

Those guys right in front of me were his buddies. They were the ones who helped him put on that whole act.

"Quit standing there like an idiot. Your room is at the far end of the second floor. I don't have time to babysit you," Reginald said coldly.

He coldly took Jodie's hand and walked down to the wine cellar.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I gripped the banister and dragged myself up the stairs, step by step.