I was out of options. All I could do was dig out the photographs documenting our past—the love letters where we'd poured out our hearts, the gifts and keepsakes that held meaning only for the two of us.
But every item I pulled out, Sebastian burned.
Eventually, I grew desperate enough to put on lingerie and try to seduce him—anything to make the man who was supposed to be my husband stay home for just one night.
Sebastian did pause. For the first time in ages, he moved toward me.
But just as his lips were about to meet mine, he gripped my chin and smiled—a cruel, mocking twist of his mouth.
"Joy, you really are this pathetic, aren't you?"
"Too bad I have standards. I don't touch dirty things."
The next day, he brought Narelle to a charity auction. My intimate photos—the ones I'd sent only to him—had been printed out and placed on the auction block.
When I was dragged into the venue, the first thing I saw was my own image splashed across the massive screen.
Sebastian watched the color drain from my face, his smile wide and vicious.
"Like it, wife? Happy first anniversary."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Dozens of leering gazes crawled over my skin.
Narelle draped herself against Sebastian's chest, her delicate frame pressed into his arms as she giggled at me.
"With my sister's notorious reputation, Sebastian, this gift really does suit her perfectly!"
"Though, ever since you and I got together, you haven't touched her once, have you? Someone with her... appetites... no wonder she's throwing herself at you."
"I'm not a petty woman. She's still technically your wife, after all. Maybe you should satisfy her sometime?" She pouted, tracing a finger down his chest. "You wear me out every night—I can barely keep up with how insatiable you are..."
At her words, Sebastian's gaze landed on me. The desire I'd once prayed to see had curdled into pure disgust.
"Touch her? I'd rather not catch something."
He turned and nuzzled Narelle's nose.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I only want someone pure like you. Once the auction money comes through, I'll buy you that bag you wanted, hmm?"
Watching them wrapped around each other, I closed my eyes. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and despair—black and absolute—finally pulled me under.
My voice came out slow. Steady. Final.
"Sebastian. Let's get a divorce."
He glanced at me sideways. Then he laughed.
"Joy, what makes you think you have the right to ask me for a divorce?"
He rose, looming over me to drink in my anguish. His thumb brushed across my cheek, wiping away a tear with mock tenderness.
"Did you forget what I told you? I'm going to make you suffer for the rest of your life. And this?" He gestured around us. "This is just the beginning."
"As long as I don't sign, you'll never be free of this marriage."
To punish my disobedience, Sebastian moved Narelle into our home.
The living room. The kitchen. The bathroom. The storage closet.
Anywhere I'd been, I'd find them the next morning—used tissues and condom wrappers scattered across the floor.
I stopped sleeping. Entire nights passed with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. I saw doctors. I swallowed antidepressants, following their instructions to the letter.
Then one day, Narelle barged into my room, tablet in hand.
"Joy, after all these years, you're still this useless?"
"Watching you live like a dog every day... even I'm starting to feel sorry for you."
"Fine. I'll be generous and let you die with some clarity." Her smile sharpened. "That night—when you and Hubert were drugged? That was me."
She turned the tablet toward me.
On the screen, surveillance footage played in crisp detail: Narelle, tipping white powder into my glass.
