One of the women—a bleached blonde with a sneer to match—looked me up and down.
"So you're the homewrecker trying to climb the ladder?" She let out a sharp laugh. "How pathetic."
"Caught red-handed by the wife and tossed in here with the rest of us." She clicked her tongue. "Absolutely shameless."
My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
"I'm not a homewrecker!"
But my denial only made them laugh harder.
The next second, the blonde moved first.
She shoved me—hard.
Something snapped inside me. I lunged at her, eyes burning, and we collided in a tangle of fists and clawing hands.
Her friends jumped in immediately, yanking my hair, landing blows wherever they could reach. More fists rained down on my body, my face.
Pain radiated through my limbs, but the ache in my chest cut deeper.
The guards finally heard the commotion and rushed in, pulling us apart. We were all written up and warned—next time, the consequences would be severe.
After that, they didn't touch me again. But the mocking glances never stopped. The snide comments. The whispered insults.
I ignored all of it. Found a corner. Curled up. Waited.
Five days.
Five days I survived.
Walking out of that detention center, every step sent pain shooting through my battered body.
Miles was standing at the entrance.
When he saw me, he froze.
Then he rushed over, reaching for me but hesitating—like he was afraid of hurting me further.
"What happened? Where did these injuries come from?"
I didn't look at him. Didn't answer. Just kept my eyes down and walked forward, one agonizing step at a time.
How did I end up like this?
The man I'd loved with everything I had for four years—how could he let me fall this far?
What a joke.
He followed behind me, his footsteps quickening, his tone sharpening with impatience.
"Marilyn, how long are you going to keep this up?"
I stopped dead in my tracks. Slowly turned to face him.
"Miles. Am I the one causing problems here?"
His mouth opened. Closed. Not a single word came out.
The silence stretched on until he finally managed:
"You should have told me you were coming."
"And about Stacy—I can explain everything."
Before I could respond, he kept going.
"My mother has always wanted me to marry someone from a suitable family. Stacy fits the bill."
"What you saw between us? It's all an act for my family. Once this charade is over, I'll marry you. I promise."
My gaze dropped to the bracelet on my wrist. I said nothing.
I stared at it for a long moment. Then I slipped it off.
"This one is fake, isn't it?"
Miles's eyes darted away. He stumbled over his words.
"When we get married, I'll give you the real one."
"The one Stacy's wearing—my mother forced it on her. There was nothing I could do."
Before I could refuse, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the car.
"Hospital first. We'll talk about everything else later."
I sat in the passenger seat, every part of me resisting.
But I knew I couldn't gamble with my own body.
At the hospital, X-rays, examinations, one procedure after another—by the end, I didn't even have the strength to lift my arm.
The doctor returned with the films.
"Two broken ribs. Multiple soft tissue contusions. You'll need to stay for observation."
Miles took the X-rays, his brow furrowing. When he turned to me, guilt crept into his voice.
"Marilyn, I'm sorry. I let you suffer like this. I'll make it up to you—I promise."
