Chapter 2
The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my father's penthouse, casting a deceptive warmth over the Sunday brunch table. I sat stiffly in my designated chair, hyperaware of Alexander's presence beside me. His hand rested possessively on my knee under the table, but his eyes kept drifting to Victoria across from us.
The private investigator's report from yesterday still burned in my mind. Every glance between them now carried new meaning—loaded, secretive, mocking.
"Sophia, darling, you look pale," my stepmother Eleanor remarked, her concern as artificial as her smile. "Are you eating enough?"
Before I could answer, Victoria interjected, "She's probably just tired from all that charity work she insists on doing." Her voice dripped with condescension. "So noble of you, Sophia."
I felt Alexander's fingers tighten on my knee—a warning. I forced a smile. "Just a little headache."
The housekeeper placed a tray of smoothies on the table. Victoria immediately reached for the pink one—strawberry-banana, her favorite. I watched as she took a delicate sip, then wrinkled her nose.
"This isn't mine," she said, pushing it away. "Mine has extra protein powder."
My father frowned. "Sophia, why don't you take that one? No sense in wasting it."
I nodded, reaching for the rejected glass. The cool liquid was refreshing against my throat, until—
Fire. Immediate, searing fire spread through my mouth and down my esophagus. I gasped, eyes watering as I realized what had happened. The smoothie had been doctored with something intensely spicy.
"Oh my god!" Victoria exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth in mock horror. "That was supposed to be mine! I've been trying this new cayenne cleanse."
I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. My eyes streamed as I reached desperately for water. Through my tears, I caught Alexander's expression—not concern, but cold fury directed at me.
"Excuse us," he said smoothly, rising from his chair. "I think Sophia needs some air."
His grip on my arm was painful as he steered me from the dining room. In the hallway, my vision still blurred from tears, I felt rather than saw two men approach—Dimitri Volkov, Alexander's head of security, and another man I recognized from his team.
"Take her," Alexander ordered, his voice low and deadly. "You know what to do."
Before I could protest, a cloth bag was pulled over my head. I struggled, panic rising in my chest, but Dimitri's iron grip rendered me helpless.
"Alexander, please—" My plea was cut short as I was roughly lifted and carried away.
Time lost meaning in the darkness. I was bundled into what I assumed was a car, the engine's hum vibrating through my bones. My mouth still burned from the cayenne, but now fear overwhelmed the physical pain.
When the vehicle finally stopped, I was dragged out and marched forward. The bag was removed only after I heard a heavy door close behind us. I blinked in the dim light of what appeared to be a warehouse basement—concrete floors, exposed pipes overhead, a single metal chair in the center.
"Sit," Dimitri commanded, shoving me toward the chair.
"What is this?" I demanded, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound strong. "Do you have any idea what Alexander will do when he—"
Dimitri's laugh cut me off. "This is on Mr. Hayes's orders, Mrs. Hayes. You upset Miss Victoria."
The truth crashed over me like ice water. This wasn't a misunderstanding or a kidnapping gone wrong. This was punishment—orchestrated by my own husband.
Dimitri produced a small bottle filled with angry red liquid. "Mr. Hayes believes consequences should fit the crime. You took something meant for Miss Victoria? Now you'll understand exactly what that means."
As the second security man moved behind me to hold my shoulders, I realized with horrifying clarity that every punishment I'd endured over the years—every "accident," every "misunderstanding"—had been Alexander's doing. All for Victoria.
Dimitri unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell of extreme hot sauce filling the air. "Open wide, Mrs. Hayes. We're just getting started."