Through the mirror, I stare at my reflection, wondering what I'd done wrong in life that got me to where I am today. I feel helpless, anxious, and, most of the time, paralyzed.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm Cinderella, who lives with her wicked stepmother and evil stepsisters, who treat me like a doormat, except that I don't live in a home with nefarious women. I live in a secured mansion filled with villainous men who control me and everything I do.

My heart dived into the pit of my belly, and my breathing hitched when my bedroom door opened—assuming it was the monster entering, looking to damage me some more. But when my eyes flickered to the corner of the mirror to the door and I saw who came in, my cut and broken lips let out a breath of relief.

Marla.

"Mr. Stevens asked me to help you with your hair and makeup." Annoyed, I lowered my head and closed my eyes. "I'm sorry, Seraphine. He was very adamant that I do so," she sighed.

Of course, he did.

In the six years, I've been married to Chadwick, he's never allowed me to style my hair how I'd like, let me choose what I wear, or allowed me to apply my own makeup for any parties he throws, claiming he has a reputation to uphold, fearing I'll botch my look and make him the laughing stock of his friends and the associates he's trying to impress.

Party or not, I'm still not allowed to dress and get ready on any given day.

Just once, I'd like to know what it's like to do my hair and makeup and choose my own outfit. To show Chadwick... Wait. That's not it. I want to prove to him that I can do all that and appease him on my own. I don't need anyone doing that for me just to make him happy and to ease his mind. That's my damn job.

I especially don't need one of his friend's wives making me look like them—like a snotty billionaire's wife. I've been with Chadwick long enough to know how he expects me to look when I'm in his presence and standing at his side. I wouldn't dare screw that up for him or for me.

I'm sick and tired of being smacked around for no reason.

Not wanting Marla's help, I avoided looking at her as I waved her off. "That's all right. I can do my hair and makeup." Particularly right now. I don't want her seeing my busted-up lips and the freshly new shiner highlighting my eyes—compliments of Chadwick.

I'm sure that's why he sent her to help me—to make her believe I've upset him again.

The thing is. I didn't do or say anything to upset Chadwick. He just decided to use me as his personal punching bag after receiving a phone call earlier that a company he was a silent investor in filed for bankruptcy, informing him that his personal assets are subject to seizure and sale to pay debtors and legal claims.

"Seraphine, look at me," Marla sternly commanded.

I shook my head.

She sighed. "What did he do this time?"

"Nothing," I lied, looking down at the makeup I'd lined up nicely on my vanity table, wondering which concealer would best cover Chadwick's angry hands.

"Did he hit you again?"

I didn't want to discuss what happened earlier with her and let out a long breath of annoyance. "Please. Just leave. Let me get ready on my own," I begged, avoiding her question. The last time Chadwick hit me, leaving bruises all over my body, she insisted... no, demanded that I leave him and that she'd help me flee.

It sounds promising, but the problem is that she and her husband are close with my husband, so I have a hard time trusting her whenever she brings up helping me leave Chadwick.

"He did, didn't he?" she pushed, slowly stepping closer to me. "He made you his stress reliever again. Didn't he?" Like the last time, Chadwick left bruises all over me; she pressed me for answers until I caved and told her everything.

"It's no big deal," I quietly said. "It's just a broken lip and black eye that can easily be covered."

As if she cared what Chadwick had done to my face, a heavy sigh left her lips as she continued heading to me. As soon as she stood behind me, my belly instantly twisted into knots when I felt the heat of her stare bore into my flesh.

"Seraphine, listen to me. I have a friend who can help you. I've known him for a long time. He's a good guy who'll help you escape this situation. He'll hide you. Protect you. He'll do everything so you'll never have to see or deal with Chadwick again. He's very reputable and prestigious."

I would love to. But... "I can't leave Chadwick," I whispered, closing my eyes—wishing she'd leave me be so I could finish getting ready. "... hide from or divorce him," I went on, visioning what the consequences would be if I were to do what Marla begged me to do.

If I left Chadwick, he'd find and kill me. It's not an assumption, it's the goddamn truth.

He's threatened me with it before, and he had a severe and scary look on his face when he explained how he'd end my life in detail if I ever left or defied him.

"This has gone on long enough. You need to get away from Chadwick before you're dead from his hands," she pleaded, still unsure if her demand was genuine. She rested her hands on my shoulders and looked at me in the mirror. "Please. Let me help you get ready. I don't want to see him raising another hand to you in front of all his guests tonight—you know he'll devise an excuse to do just that. Especially if you send me away, refusing my help to ready you for his party."

My eyes shot up to hers. "He wouldn't dare raise a hand at me in front of government officials," I retorted, even though in the back of my mind, I knew he would.

"The hell he wouldn't," she countered angrily. "I've witnessed him slap you around in front of his guests many times. He doesn't give a shit who's nearby when he raises a hand to you... Christ, Sara, he smacked you in front of law enforcement before and got away with it!"

That's because he's friends with that officer. The man befriends everyone just to get away with the shit he does. He's a smooth talker. He smooth-talked me anyway, making him look like someone he isn't. Chadwick said and did all the right things for five years to make me believe he wasn't a bad guy so I'd marry him. The second I said I do was when the fairytale I assumed I'd have ended and my nightmare began.

For six years, I've been living in hell.

Marla's right. If I deny her helping me get ready to satisfy Chadwick, he'll lose his temper, and I'll have even more bruises.

I looked at the makeup I planned on using, then at the mirror, studying my face, lips, and the black and blue coloring around my left eye.

Fine. Marla won this argument since I didn't wish my husband to lose his temper and embarrass me in front of his guests. Looking at Marla, I sadly sighed, "Fine, you win. You can help me look like the perfect wife who does no wrong."

Marla spun my chair around, and the second she got a clear glimpse of what Chadwick had done, she grimaced.

Instead of saying anything more, her eyes wandered to the makeup I had set out, hoping to hide the ugly markings. She grabbed the concealer and coned sponge and then started my makeover.

Smokey eyes, perfectly shaped colored-in eyebrows, cheeks highlighted with pink blush, and my lips lined with bright red lipstick is the look Chadwick demanded I show off his guests with tonight, along with the black sequin evening gown he chose—hanging on a garment rack beside the closet. He also ordered my hair straightened and side-swept elegantly over my left shoulder.

The soirée my husband is hosting tonight is because of a multi-billion dollar deal he secured with the government. So, since most of our guests attending are government officials, I was told I needed to be on my best behavior, look my best, and act like a billionaire's wife would instead of acting like the bitch I'd been lately.

His words, not mine.

As much as I'd love to act like a bitch toward him for everything he does and says to me, I won't. I can't. It'll cost me a stint in the room he enjoys locking me in.

"Good decision." I still don't trust her, so I'll just quietly sit like a good girl and allow her to beautify me like I'm some excited teenage girl getting ready to surprise her prom date. She squeezed a small amount of the concealer into the sponge and carefully applied it over the dark colorings surrounding my eye. "He got you good this time," she murmured. "Your other eye is starting to color as well."

Even though she sounded genuine and as if she cared, I said nothing.

He struck my face hard, and the swelling and coloring of my eyes were becoming noticeable. Still, I could've covered the markings on my own, but whatever. This is my life, and Chadwick's the one I promised to love forever, through good times and bad. Vows he throws at me every time we're in a disagreement or while he's hitting me. This is one of those bad times I'm supposed to let it go, smile like nothing is wrong, and love him no matter what's happening.

There was someone else before Chadwick who promised to love me and give me the world. I would've much rather have married him, but, unfortunately, he must've realized I wasn't his type or fell out of love with me because he left the apartment we shared in the middle of the night one night without as much as leaving me a note of where he was going, and I hadn't heard from or seen him since.

And to this day, I'm still bothered by his leaving—I gave him everything—literally everything.

I have questions, and even though I shouldn't feel this way, I want answers. It would be nice to know what I did wrong for him to leave, which drove me into the arms of a monster—a villain I didn't see coming.

Marla gently applied the foundation over the concealer, being careful not to cause me any pain, as she covered the ugly markings that had my eyes beginning to look like I was a damn raccoon.

"So that you know, I'm not as close to Chadwick as you think I am. It angers me that my husband insists on remaining friends with the hothead," she murmured, confessing as she lined my eyes with eyeliner. "I've never understood their friendship, and I absolutely hate how he turns a blind eye when it comes to your..." she cleared her throat, "so-called random injuries."

Marla may sound sincere with her words, but I still feel she can't be trusted. Her husband, Caleb, is way too close to Chadwick, and whenever they come over to visit or we go out, she acts like she's Chadwick's best friend.

Sure, it could be an act to satisfy Caleb, but I still need to be careful. I don't know who to trust anymore. Everyone I've ever trusted has broken that faith.

Marla eyed me with concern as she capped the eyeliner, and I looked down, not wanting her to catch on that I didn't believe a word she said. "I'm serious about that friend of mine, Seraphine. All you need to do is say the word, and I'll get a hold of him. I could have you in his care by the morning." She lifted my chin, asking that I look at her when I refused to look at her. When my eyes locked with hers, she added softly, "You need to get away from him. Your relationship with Chadwick isn't healthy. It's disturbing."

My husband isn't the guy he promised me he'd be. I know this. But I fear for my life. Because of the fear he instilled, I need to stay where I am and continue being the good wife I vowed to be.

"Thanks for your concern, Marla. But I'll be fine."

A look of disappointment quickly appeared, a frown followed, and she shook her head. "The next time he takes out his frustrations on you, it may cost you time in the hospital. Or worse. A forever bed inside a coffin, six feet below the ground we walk on."

I know she's right, but I refused to give in and acknowledge her fears. I have to stay strong. And I have to get down to Chadwick before he does believe I've left. "I'm running out of time for when he wants me to stand by his side," I whispered. "We better hurry."

Marla looked pained by my response and nodded. She spun my chair so my backside would face her and began straightening my hair. "I don't know why he always wants your beautiful curls hidden—such a shame."

"He claims they're unruly and inelegant."

"He's an asshole," she groaned.

While she clamped the flat iron on a chunk of my hair to straighten my curls, I stared into the mirror, ensuring the embarrassing markings were entirely covered and hidden, and the look Chadwick demanded I have, she did. And they were. But I was noticeably wearing heavy makeup—which might upset Chadwick. Even though this is his fault, the heavy makeup will cause me to be a whore to him all over again.

Marla squeezed some serum into her hand, rubbed her palms together, and then distributed it throughout my hair, giving it a shiny, sleek look before spraying my hair in place. "Thank God this hairspray isn't like the Aqua Net from the eighties. My hair would stay in place for a week," I joked, trying to make light of the situation.

A hint of a smile played on her lips, but she still kept a straight, concerned face.

"Why don't you get your dress on so I can complete the look to satisfy your jerk of a husband?"

Maybe I'm wrong, and she's being truthful when she says she doesn't like Chadwick. She seems sincere, but I still need to keep my guard up. My life has been one massive disappointment ever since my sisters and I moved from France to New York sixteen years ago; I don't need to make it worse than it already is. So, I kept my thoughts to myself and did what she asked.

She finished my look, sprayed makeup sealer on my face, and stepped back to inspect me further. The longer she quietly studied me, the more my belly twisted and turned, nervous she'd see what Chadwick would accuse me of—a slut. "I don't look like a whore, do I? Because if I do, you won't see me the rest of the night—he'll lock me in that room for God knows how long."

She gripped my shoulders and stared into my eyes, groaning, "If he calls you a whore, I don't care if it upsets Caleb or you; I'll deck the asshole myself. Just please remember, I know someone who'll help you escape this ridiculous abusive marriage and protect you from him. He's trained for shit like this."

"I'll keep that in mind," I answered to satisfy her. Just because it's what left my lips doesn't mean I'll actually listen. The last thing I want to do is to give Chadwick a reason for me never to see my family again and for them only to see me as they say their goodbyes—right before they lower me six feet below the green blades of grass.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!🤞🤞