Xanthe’s breath hitched. Her eyes locked on Barrington, wide and stunned. She could not wrap her head around the fact that those words had actually come out of his mouth.
But there was no trace of guilt on his face. Instead, the man she once shared a bed with now looked at her like an authority figure giving her a punishment.
“You’ve really disappointed me, Xanthe.” His gaze flicked toward Vionnet, who nestled closer to him. “You drugged her. Whatever happened after that, it’s your fault.”
As Vionnet’s fingers traced slow circles across his chest, her mocking gaze slid to Xanthe. Xanthe’s knees trembled beneath her. She gripped the edge of the table, forcing herself upright. Her voice came out sarcastic when she spoke.
“You seriously think I drugged her just so you“-she pointed at him with a shaky hand –“could be the cure?”
She took a breath, eyes narrowing. “There are other ways. Any number of ways to detoxify her.
But this-”
“Barry,” Vionnet crooned suddenly, her voice soft and broken. Her nails brushed over the bruised skin on her arm, drawing a shallow line. “Just go. Don’t mind me. Let me… deal with it on my
own.”
She turned her head ever so slightly, just enough to angle her words toward Xanthe. “And don’t blame her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to drug me. She just loves you so much…”
Something snapped in Xanthe. Even though she had already decided to let Barrington go, she couldn’t allow Vionnet to humiliate her like this in her own home.
“My gosh, Vionnet, do you even have any shame? You’re in my place, clinging to my husband, and now you dare blame me? What happened to the manners you were supposed to have growing up? Your tycoon lover must’ve eaten them, huh?”
Barrington’s hand moved. The moment the words left her mouth, he stood up and slapped her hard across the face.
“Enough, Xanthe. Vionnet hasn’t said a single bad word about you, and yet you keep slandering her! You don’t deserve anyone’s pity!”
He grabbed her wrist. She gasped, stumbling as he dragged her to the doorway. “You like drugging people so much, huh? Then stand here and listen to what happens next!”
He yanked the tie from his neck. Cold metal met her back as he bound her wrists to the doorknob, the knot biting into her skin.
Just before shutting the door, he threw one last line at her.
‘You brought this on yourself. Don’t blame me or Vionnet!”
Overnight, the door slammed shut, and she was forced to hear the sound from the other side. A low groan. Then a higher moan. The rhythm was unmistakable. Unrelenting.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears streamed silently at first. But as the hours dragged on, the sobs stopped and her eyes dried.
All that remained was a quiet burn in her chest, bitter and corrosive.
8:01 pm D DDD.
Every gasp, every cry from inside became a nail in the coffin of what she’d once called love. ‘This is what happens when you love the wrong guy,’ she told herself over and over.
Suddenly, pain struck deep in her abdomen. Her knees gave out. She slid down until her weight hung from her bound wrists, cold sweat pouring down her back.
Her mouth opened, but her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Compared to the pleasure–filled sounds coming from the room, her faint cries were completely drowned out.
The sounds from inside stretched on, one hour bleeding into the next.
When the door opened, it was already dawn. Barrington stood there, adjusting his sleeve. “Have you learned your lesson?”
It was the first thing out of his mouth. When he didn’t get a response, he looked down–Xanthe was at his feet, unmoving.
He crouched. His hand touched her cheek–burning.
A flicker of panic flashed in his eyes.
He scooped her up and turned toward the car–but before he could take a step, a voice called lazily from the bedroom.
“Barry, you were a bit too rough last night. I think something’s swollen. It’s not something I can exactly ask someone else to help with, you know?”
Hearing no response, she added, “Xanthe used to get fevers all the time back in college. Just sent her to the hospital for some meds. The maid can take care of her.”
She sounded almost bored. “And you know my position. If the maid gossips about this, people will talk. My reputation would be ruined.”
Xanthe’s lashes fluttered. She couldn’t move or speak–but she saw it.
She saw Barrington hesitate.
She saw him turn.
She felt her body lowered into unfamiliar arms… before there was nothing to see but darkness. When she woke up again, the world was white. Sheets. Lights. And there was a beeping machine at her side.
“Ma’am,” the doctor said, “you’re about three months pregnant. But the baby isn’t stable. You should-”
“Doctor,” Xanthe cut him off, “I don’t want the baby. Schedule the abortion.”
The doctor was momentarily stunned, thinking perhaps she was worried about the baby’s health. “Ma’am, it’s just an unstable pregnancy. There’s no medical need to terminate-”
But the next words shut him up instantly.
“My husband cheated on me. We’re already divorced. That’s enough reason for an abortion. Please schedule it. Today. Thank you.”
The doctor sighed. Any advice he’d wanted to give died in his throat. “Alright. I’ll arrange it as soon as possible.”
Once he left, Xanthe picked up her phone and sent a message to Trevor.
…
[A month’s too long. Three days. Come get me in three days.)
