I gripped Mae’s wrist tightly and dragged her into the nearest bathroom, barely able to contain my rage. The sound of the bustling reception outside faded as I slammed the door shut, my chest rising and falling with furious breaths.
"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice came out in a harsh whisper, shaking with restrained fury. "Mae, you almost died—do you have any idea what Bryant is capable of?"
Instead of looking guilty, Mae sighed, annoyed, like I was the one being unreasonable. "Relax, Geoffanie. Bryant won’t hurt me. He never planned to."
Her words felt like a slap. "What?"
She crossed her arms, unfazed by my reaction. "It was all a setup. The whole thing—the kidnapping, the threats—it was planned. We planned it."
The blood drained from my face. "What are you talking about?"
She met my gaze with zero remorse, her next words slicing through me like a knife. "Bryant and I worked together. The original deal was for them to take me, but in the end…" She shrugged. "You were the better prize."
The room spun.
A deep, crushing silence settled between us before I finally spoke, my voice barely a whisper.
"You… let them take me?"
Mae didn’t even flinch. "You don’t get it, do you?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Do you know what it’s like to be compared to you all my life? You, the perfect daughter. You, the one with a bright future. And me? The disappointment. The girl who got pregnant at eighteen and had to—"
She stopped herself.
But I knew.
My breath hitched. "Mae… what did you do?"
Her lips pressed together, her chin trembling slightly. Then she whispered, almost too quietly, "I got rid of it."
My whole body went cold.
A sickening, twisting pain coiled in my chest as the reality settled in.
She… she had an abortion.
"You were pregnant, and you—" My voice broke.
"I had no choice!" she snapped, finally showing emotion. "I had no future! I had nothing! But you—" She let out a bitter, breathless laugh. "You had everything. And I was sick of it. So when Bryant gave me a way out, I took it."
My palm connected with her cheek before I could stop myself.
A sharp, echoing slap filled the room.
Mae’s head snapped to the side, but she didn’t look surprised. If anything, she looked relieved.
"You… you let Dad believe you were dead," I choked, my vision blurring. "Do you know what you did to him? He stopped eating, Mae! He almost had a heart attack from the stress!"
For the first time, Mae hesitated. Guilt flashed in her eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. She straightened, regaining her composure.
"He’ll be fine," she muttered. "Because now, I’ll be the one to take over the company."
I stared at her, feeling my heart shatter into pieces.
This wasn’t the sister I grew up with.
Mae smirked and reached for the door handle. "Good luck with Bryant," she said, her tone almost teasing. "You’re going to need it."
And then, she walked away.
She left me standing there, alone, broken, and trapped.
I had survived the wedding. But surviving Bryant was an entirely different battle.
For the next few months, I lived under his roof, bound to him in a marriage that felt more like a prison sentence. Bryant controlled everything—where I went, who I spoke to, even what I wore.
He was different now. More possessive. More ruthless.
It wasn’t like before—when we were engaged and my parents had forbidden our wedding. Back then, I loved him. Or at least, I thought I did.
Now, love had no place between us.
And the worst part? He knew it.
At first, I thought Bryant only wanted control. But then, I noticed the way his eyes darkened whenever another man so much as looked at me. The jealousy. The anger. The obsession.
The breaking point came when he introduced me to the world as Mrs. Geoffanie Harlow.
That night, I saw his true nature.
We were at a gala—another event where I had to smile and play the role of the perfect wife. I was used to being stared at; I had once been a beauty queen, after all. But I didn’t expect Bryant to take it so… personally.
He saw every glance, every lingering look from businessmen and socialites alike. And he hated it.
"You enjoy the attention, don’t you?" His voice was low, dangerous, as he pinned me against the wall of our bedroom later that night.
I swallowed hard. "Bryant, you’re overreacting."
His jaw clenched. "Am I?"
That’s when I knew—I needed to understand exactly who I had married.
And so, I followed him.
That night, when Bryant left the house, I hid in the backseat of his car. My heart pounded as the vehicle moved, the city lights flashing through the tinted windows.
After nearly an hour, we arrived at a warehouse.
Bryant stepped out, his movements calculated and confident. I waited a few seconds before slipping out, keeping to the shadows.
And then, I saw it.
A man—a reporter.
I recognized him instantly. He had been at the gala earlier, staring at me a little too long.
Now, he was on the ground, bloodied and beaten.
Bryant’s men stood around him, mercilessly landing blow after blow.
My stomach churned.
This was about me.
This man was being tortured because he had dared to look at me.
I couldn’t stay silent.
"Stop!" My voice echoed through the warehouse as I stepped forward. "Bryant, stop this!"
The men froze, their fists mid-air.
Bryant turned slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something terrifying. "What the hell are you doing here, Geoffanie?"
My breathing was ragged. "You… you can’t do this."
His jaw twitched. "Go back to the car."
I shook my head. "Not until you stop this."
His patience snapped. "You think I’ll let another man look at what’s mine?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. "You think I’ll let them admire you like some prize?"
Before I could reply, a sharp, searing pain tore through my abdomen.
I gasped, clutching my stomach.
Bryant’s expression changed instantly. "Geoffanie?"
A wave of nausea hit me. The pain was unbearable.
His arms were around me before I collapsed. "Get the car!" he barked at his men.
Everything blurred.
The last thing I saw was Bryant’s face—his mask of control replaced by something I had never seen before.
Panic.
Fear.
Regret.
When I woke up, the hospital room was dim. My body felt weak, empty.
Bryant sat beside my bed, his face pale, his eyes red. He had been crying.
My throat was dry, my voice hoarse. "Bryant… what happened?"
His hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, but it shook.
And then, he shattered.
"The baby," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "The baby… didn’t make it."
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Tears welled in his eyes, pure devastation etched into his face. His shoulders trembled, his grip tightening on the edge of the bed as if he was holding himself together by a thread.
"I—I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I couldn't… I couldn't do anything."
