The Billionaire's Sinful Affair

Emmeline's POV

Maybe he's just stressed at work.

Seduce him, entertain him. That's what people usually tell a married woman when she complains about being subjected to violence and abuse by her husband. The same ignorant, victim-blaming bullshit was said by my own family and friends.

Their words echo in my head like constant reminder of how alone I truly am in this nightmare.

The brutal truth? I was repeatedly raped and assaulted under my own roof by my husband Richard. And the most ridiculous, infuriating thing I heard when I finally gathered the courage to turn to my family for help and support?

"He'll change when he gets older! Boys will be boys!"

Their dismissive, enabling attitudes made me feel even more isolated and trapped. It was as if they were complicit in my abuse, choosing to protect a monster rather than their own daughter and sister.

Like, what about my wasted life? What about the trauma and suffering I've endured? The sleepless nights, the constant fear, the way my body tenses at the slightest sound?

At first, I believed I was the problem, so like any newly-wed desperate to make her marriage work, I bent over backwards trying to win his attention and affection, leaving my dignity and self-respect in the wind.

I tried dressing more provocatively, cooking his favorite meals, doing anything to keep him happy and interested in me. I even tolerated his rough handling in bed, convincing myself it was normal, that I should be grateful for his desire.

But after months of walking on eggshells and being berated, smacked around, and forced into sex acts against my will, I realized the issue wasn't me at all - it was him.

It was his anger, his entitlement, his belief that as a man he had the right to dominate and abuse me however he pleased.

The realization was both liberating and terrifying. Liberating because I finally understood I wasn't to blame, but terrifying because I knew the truth wouldn't set me free from this prison of a marriage.

I tried keeping up appearances, tried not rocking the boat too much for fear of further explosive rages and punishments. But now, after six long months of this personal hell, I've reached the point of utter despair where I simply don't care what fresh humiliation or hurt he inflicts on me anymore.

My spirit is broken. I'm numb inside.

It's like I'm watching my life unfold from outside my body, like a passive observer to my own destruction.

"Where's my damn breakfast? I'm going to be late for work like this!" Richard's booming voice made me jump as he stomped into the kitchen, snapping me out of my trance.

My heart rate instantly spiked at my body's learned response to his presence.

I was standing at the kitchen counter, scrambling to make his omelets before he left for the office.

My hands shook slightly as I cracked the eggs, spilling a bit of shell into the bowl.

"Give me a few minutes, I only have two arms." I answered in a measured tone without looking at him, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

I heard him exhale loudly in that annoying, patronizing way of his. The sound sent a chill down my soul in a pavlovian response to the pain that usually followed.

"Did you just answer me sarcastically, you little bitch?"

I glanced over my shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. Despite the deep frown etched across his face, he was insanely handsome - like God had taken away every last shred of human decency and morals and added them all to his striking looks instead.

It made me feel even more insignificant and small in comparison. How could someone so beautiful on the outside be so rotten within?

"And what do you want me to say, Richard?" I sighed, expressing my barely concealed annoyance at being rushed and belittled first thing in the morning...again.

A small part of me knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't help it. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Today, we're moving to the new house, and instead of you accompanying me to supervise the workers like a good wife, you'll just leave me alone to deal with it, as usual." He shook his head in disgust, his perfectly styled hair not moving an inch.

"What classy, dutiful woman would act the way you do? For the love of God, have you no self-respect?"

I wanted to laugh at the irony. Self-respect? How could I have any left after months of his systematic destruction?

I folded my arms across my chest and gave him a blank stare, struggling to keep my expression neutral and not betray the rising anger and hurt inside me. "You're not the only one with an important job that demands my time and energy. My career is just as important, but I always have to drop everything to cater to you and your masculine needs, just because I'm a woman."

He raised his thick eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief.

His eyes, usually so captivating, now held nothing but contempt and barely contained rage. "Since when do you talk back to me with such disrespect, Emmeline? Did you miss the feeling of my fist against that pretty little mouth of yours?"

He cracked his knuckles menacingly and a sound that used to make my heart flutter with attraction but now filled me with dread echoed.

"You want me to take the time to properly discipline you again?"

He slammed his large hands down on the kitchen table, making the dishes and utensils rattle.

I flinched involuntarily, hating myself for showing weakness.

Sparks of rage danced in his dark eyes. "I can always make time to put you in your place, to remind you of your duties as a wife so you don't dare disrespect me with this newfound attitude of yours. I don't like this path your character has taken lately at all."

Our marriage had lasted six torturous months - six months of me remaining silent and enduring his emotional, verbal, and physical abuse out of fear and a naive, misguided hope that things would eventually get better.

I remembered our wedding day, how full of hope and love I had been.

How quickly that dream had turned into a nightmare.

But lately, as the brave spark of defiance and my own self-worth had begun to rekindle inside me, I realized I'd let my guard down a little too much around the monster I'd naively vowed to love and obey.

"You think assaulting an unarmed, defenseless woman makes you more of a man?" I challenged, unable to hold my tongue any longer.

The words tasted like freedom on my lips, even as I braced for the inevitable backlash.

In a flash, he shot up from his chair. The wooden legs scraped against the tile floor with a harsh screech.

Richard was ready to unleash his rage and assault me again, like so many times before.

His face contorted with fury, transforming his handsome features into something ugly. "You dare insult me and question my authority too, you ungrateful little whore!"

The smell of smoke from the pan of omelets burning on the stove behind me made my situation even more precarious.

As soon as he reached where I stood frozen, he roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him with such force it felt like he might rip it from its socket.

The staggering height difference between his muscular 6'2" frame and my petite 5'3" made me feel even more powerless and insignificant in his presence. I could smell his cologne, the same scent that used to make me weak in the knees but now just made me nauseous.

"I am a man, whether you like it or not," he growled, his hot breath reeking of stale coffee and cigarettes fanning across my face.

I tried not to gag.

"A real man, not some weak little pussy-whipped bitch like you want to turn me into." He added through gritted teeth, turning off the burner on the stove before I could with his other hand.

The pan's contents was now a blackened, smoky, inedible mess. Just like our relationship.

I stared at the ruined food, which was a perfect metaphor for my life.

"You're the one who's unfit - unfit for this house, unfit for my bed, unfit for my seed." His cruel words stabbed at my femininity and my sense of self-worth like a rusty knife.

I thought of the pregnancy test I'd taken in secret last week... the relief and sadness I'd felt at the negative result.

Richard noticed the pain and humiliation etched on my face. The corner of his lips raised in a sardonic smirk.

He always did enjoy seeing me suffer.

"Seeing your miserable, pathetic form in front of me makes me lose my appetite for food and sex. What did I do in a past life to be afflicted with a woman who doesn't even resemble a real woman? Why do I feel like I'm living with someone of the same useless sex as myself?"

He succeeded in stealing my voice. He succeeded in rendering me mute as I fought back the sting of tears.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not again.

Then he shoved me aside, nearly making me topple over.

I struggled to maintain my balance in the ridiculous heels he demanded I wear around the house.

My hip collided painfully with the edge of the counter, and I knew it would leave yet another bruise to add to my collection.

"You'd better take care of the move and have everything ready at the new place while I'm gone, unless you want a repeat of this morning's fun."

He snatched his suit jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and headed for the front door, not even bothering to look back at me.

"I'm leaving for work. Don't disappoint me again, Emmeline."

I stared daggers into his back as if I could burn holes through his tailored shirt with the intensity of my glare and hatred alone.

"I hope you get hit by a truck," I muttered under my breath, even though some dark, shameful part of me still craved his approval and affection like an addict.

I hated that part of myself, the weakness that kept me glued to this monster.

I let out a deep, shuddering sigh of relief once the front door slammed and he was finally gone.

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Should I be thankful his busy work schedule and lack of time meant he didn't go to even further extremes abusing me this morning?