Chapter 2
But I hadn't even made it two miles from the estate when a black van tore out of an alleyway, its blinding high beams pinning me like a deer.
The sliding door ripped open, and three masked men jumped out.
My heart stalled. I spun on my heel and bolted.
"You bitch, where do you think you're going?"
A meaty fist locked into my hair, yanking my scalp back so violently that I thought my neck would snap.
A greasy face shoved into mine, reeking of stale beer and cigarettes.
"So this is the toy Mr. Foster finally got bored of? Damn, she really does have a killer body.
"Those HD pics from the clock tower were good, but tonight, boys, we get the live show.
"Same rules as last time. Get the cameras rolling. But this time, we're not just posting it online. We're printing posters and plastering this slut all over town."
Pure terror chewed through my bones.
The nightmare from six months ago was happening all over again.
I thrashed like a wild animal, digging my nails into the man's arm and tearing away a strip of flesh.
A backhand cracked across my jaw, sending me crashing into the freezing asphalt. I tasted blood.
"You wanna do this the hard way? Fine. Strip her."
My jacket was torn open, the biting cold wind shocking my skin into a field of goosebumps.
Just as my vision blurred with tears of absolute despair, the deafening screech of tires shredded the silence.
A black Maybach barreled out of the dark like a mechanized beast, slamming directly into the side of the van with a violent crunch of metal.
The driver's door flew open. Matthew, draped in a black wool overcoat, stepped out into the glare of the headlights like an avenging angel.
"You touch what's mine, and I'll end you."
His eyes were swirling with a terrifying violence. Yet, the second his gaze landed on me, that storm melted into a pool of heartbreaking tenderness.
The thugs took one look at the billionaire and practically wet themselves. They scrambled over each other, diving back into the dented van and peeling out into the night.
Matthew rushed to my side, immediately stripping off his coat to wrap it tightly around my trembling body. Without a word, he scooped me into his arms.
"Isabelle, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I was late."
His voice shook. He buried his chin in my hair, his warm breath washing over my freezing skin.
He murmured, "Don't be afraid. I'm here. No one is ever going to hurt you again."
If it hadn't been for what I heard in the study, I would have buried my face in his chest, cried my heart out, and handed him my soul all over again.
But right now, I just wanted to vomit.
My stomach churned violently, and my body went entirely rigid in his arms, stiff as a mannequin.
The ride back to the estate was dead silent. Matthew held my hand in a vice grip the entire way. His palm was burning hot, but it couldn't thaw the ice in my veins.
Andrew Clark, Matthew's executive assistant, was driving. He glanced at me through the rearview mirror and let out a conflicted sigh.
"Mr. Foster, how much longer are we going to keep up this charade? I honestly can't stomach it anymore.
"Those thugs you hired went way off script. If you had hit your cue a second later, they really would have assaulted her.
"The Shaw family is destroyed. Her brother is dead. She has absolutely no one left. Are you seriously going to drive your own wife insane just to clear the path for Vivian?"
Andrew's words detonated like a bomb in the confined space of the car.
The thugs were hired by Matthew. The entire attack was staged.
Matthew orchestrated it to deepen my trauma, making me so paralyzed by fear that I would have no choice but to cling to him like a helpless parasite.
I bit down on my tongue so hard that I tasted blood, using the sharp spike of pain to keep myself from completely losing my mind.
Matthew's face contorted into something demonic. He dropped my hand, lunged forward, and seized Andrew by the back of the neck, his voice dropping into a sinister, deadly hiss.
Matthew snarled, "If you're tired of your job, you can jump out of this moving car. Since when do you lecture me?
"Have you forgotten how the Foster family handles loose lips? I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs."
The car swerved as Andrew choked, sputtering out breathless apologies.
Matthew finally shoved him away and settled back into his seat. When he turned to me, the mask of the devoted, loving husband was flawlessly back in place.
He reached for my face, but I shied away the moment I felt his fingertips.
"Isabelle, don't listen to a word he says. The corporate stress has him losing his mind," Matthew whispered. "Just hang on a little longer, sweetheart. Once I clean up this mess, we'll move abroad. We'll start over."
Start over?
Likely, I would be shipped off to rot in a foreign asylum.
Once we returned to the estate, Matthew sat by my bed and watched over me the entire night.
It wasn't until dawn cracked the horizon that he finally went back to his study for a conference call.
I slid my hand under my pillow, pulled out a pen and a crumpled piece of paper, and wrote a frantic, shaky note. It was for Leonard.
I knew one thing for certain: I couldn't survive another day in this slaughterhouse.