Chapter 3
When I stepped into the house, the downstairs was cloaked in darkness. Only the faint glow of a light upstairs bled into the silence.
As I pushed open the bedroom door, Jarek slammed me hard against the wall.
The wind was knocked out of me, and the sudden jolt sent a stabbing pain through my lower abdomen. I gasped, but before I could get a sound out, his hands were already on me—rough, unrelenting, clawing at my clothes like I was prey.
"Stop—Jarek, what are you—"
He shoved me onto the bed.
The same bed he’d shared with another woman just hours earlier.
I turned my head to avoid his touch, and that’s when I saw it—tucked in the corner, a video camera perched on a tripod, its red-light blinking.
A cold chill slithered up my spine. "What the hell is that?"
Jarek didn’t even pause. He grabbed my jaw in a bruising grip and gave me a mocking smile.
"You can whore around in public, but I can’t have a little fun of my own?"
My breath hitched. "That's not what happened."
He silenced me with a hand over my mouth, then shoved my face into the pillows.
What followed wasn’t love. It wasn’t even hated.
It was violent.
A rage-filled punishment disguised as sex. To him, I wasn’t a wife, a human, or even a woman—I was an outlet. Something to be used.
Tears burned my eyes, but I didn’t dare cry. The pain in my stomach was getting worse, twisting and sharp, as if something inside me was tearing apart.
By the time he was done, I couldn’t even tell where the pain ended, and my body began.
I lay there, shaking, barely able to breathe.
“Husband,” I whimpered, reaching for him. “It hurts.”
I didn’t even know what I was begging for. Comfort? An apology? A sign he still saw me as a person?
He yanked his arm away and spat, “Don’t be so dramatic. You think a little sex hurts that much?”
Then he pulled his clothes back on, took the camera, and walked out like nothing had happened.
I didn’t even have the strength to scream after him.
I blacked out.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious. But when I came to, there was warmth between my legs.
Wet warmth.
I peeled the blanket back—and my heart dropped.
Blood. So much blood.
It soaked through the sheets and trailed down my thighs.
Panicked, I fumbled for my phone, which was still tangled in my shredded clothes on the floor. My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely dial 911. While waiting for the ambulance, the screen lit up again.
It was Jarek.
For a moment, stupidly, I hoped he’d come. That maybe—just maybe—he’d realized what he’d done and would rush to my side.
If he came back, I told myself, I’d forgive him. I'd even crawl to him like a dog, just to feel that warmth again.
I answered the call.
But it wasn’t his voice I heard.
"Reya, do you know why he treated you like that tonight?"
The woman’s voice was honeyed and cruel, each word a dagger.
I went still. "Why… why are you on his phone?"
She laughed, low and satisfied. "He was pissed because I slept with someone else. But he couldn’t punish me, so he took it out on you instead. After all… we look the same, don’t we?"
I felt a bile rise in my throat.
"He didn’t want to stay with you. He came to me right after." She sighed, a little smug. "Guess you were just his punching bag."
My grip tightened around the phone, my knuckles white.
The blood. The pain. The emptiness.
And Jarek had left me there, bleeding out, so he could go back to her.
The heartbreak cracked open into something worse. Something darker.
The doorbell rang—finally, the ambulance. I crawled toward the stairs, my body trembling uncontrollably. My legs gave out halfway down, but I kept going, dragging myself toward the front door.
By the time I opened it, I was slick with sweat and shaking violently.
Behind me, a trail of blood marked every inch I’d crossed.
