Chapter 1

Emma's POV

A blood-curdling scream tore from my throat, dragging me back from the nightmare.

Shit, not this dream again.

Cold sweat soaked through my pajamas, my body convulsing against the silk sheets. Those dark hands, the mocking laughter, and that face—always Damien's face, watching me get torn apart in the shadows.

"Shh... it's just a nightmare. I'm here."

His arms wrapped around me, warm breath brushing my forehead.

GET OFF! Every nerve was screaming. This touch made my skin crawl—not from love, but from disgust.

"Don't you DARE touch me!" I shoved him hard. "GET AWAY!"

He immediately let go, hands raised in surrender. I scrambled to the other end of the bed, curling into a ball. Morning light filtered through the silk curtains, illuminating his face—those deep brown eyes, that sharp jawline. Three years ago, I'd loved this face. Now it just made me sick.

"Breathe, Emma. The nightmare's over."

Over? Hell, nothing was over. My life WAS an endless nightmare.

He got up carefully, every movement giving me time to adjust. He'd learned how to navigate my minefield.

That made me hate him even more.

"I'll make breakfast. Blueberry muffins—your favorite."

"What a perfect husband you are," I said sarcastically.

He flinched, giving me that hurt but still gentle look before leaving.

I listened to his footsteps fade, then sounds from the kitchen. Such a normal domestic scene—if you ignored that our marriage was built on rape and coercion.

The smell of blueberry muffins drifted up, and my stomach betrayed me with a growl. I dragged my stiff legs toward the kitchen.

Steaming muffins appeared before me, golden surfaces dotted with plump blueberries. They looked delicious but tasted like cardboard.

"Coffee or orange juice?" Cautious hope in his voice.

"Whatever. It's not like I have choices anymore."

His hand froze on the coffee machine, knuckles white.

"Emma... I know you hate me, but—"

"But what?" I laughed coldly. "But you did it for my own good? But it was all out of love?"

"Yes. I love you. I've loved you since the first day I saw you in college."

"Love?" I nearly choked. "So love means raping me first, then forcing me to marry you?"

His face went ashen. "I..."

"What? Want to deny it?" I stood up, leaning over him. "Three years ago, on campus, that goddamn night—remember? Or is rape so routine for you that you can't keep track?"

"Emma, please... if I could go back—"

"But you CAN'T!" All my rage exploded. "You can't go back, just like I can't forget that night!"

The coffee machine's steam hissed. He hung his head, shoulders shaking. A tear dropped onto the marble counter.

God, he was actually crying. This rapist, this monster who destroyed my life, was crying in front of me.

"Does crying help? Can your tears change anything?" My voice was ice-cold.

He looked up at me, eyes full of pain. "I know it can't change anything. But Emma, I swear, I'll spend my whole life making it up to you..."

"Making it up?" I laughed sharply. "How? By keeping me in this golden cage? By playing the perfect husband?"

He fell silent, just watching me. That look reminded me of three years ago—before everything was destroyed, he'd looked at me like that too.

I shook my head, pushing the thought away. That Damien was dead.

"I need some air."

"Emma, wait. It's cold today, put on a coat..."

"SCREW your concern!" I yelled at him.

But no footsteps followed. He'd learned when to let go.

I walked to the balcony, pushing open the glass door. Cold wind hit my face, but I needed this bitter cold to stay alert.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Yes, I know... move the meeting to 2 PM... okay, I'll be right there."

I held my breath. He was leaving?

Footsteps headed toward the bedroom, then the closet opening. He was changing to go out.

Minutes later, he appeared at the balcony door. "Emma, I need to handle something at the office. I'll be back in about two hours."

I didn't turn around. "Do whatever."

"If you need anything, call me. And..." He paused. "Don't do anything stupid."

Stupid? What did he mean by that?

His footsteps faded, then the elevator dinged. I waited, listening to it descend until everything went quiet.

He was gone.

I rushed back inside, heart pounding. This was my only chance—to search for evidence while he was away. If I could find proof this marriage was built on fraud, maybe I could escape this nightmare.

I tiptoed toward his study. The door wasn't locked. Damien never locked anything, as if proving his trust in me. How ironic.

I burst in, heading straight for the massive mahogany desk. Drawers, filing cabinets, safe... there had to be some clue.

The first drawer held ordinary business documents. The second... my heart raced. There was a folder labeled "Emma Wilson."

My hands trembling, I opened it.