His Madness, Her Marriage

From the back cover

Six years of my life, six years of unwavering devotion, all shattered in an instant.

My fiancé, Mark, stood on a brightly lit stage, his arm wrapped around my supposed best friend, Tiffany, proudly announcing their engagement.

My presence was mandatory, a cruel reminder of my indentured servitude at his company.

He spotted me, his smile vanishing, and his voice, laced with contempt, cut through the applause, ordering me to prepare serving trays.

A wave of humiliation washed over me as I stumbled, nearly falling at his feet, only to be met with his ugly laugh and a sneer from Tiffany.

I forced a brittle smile, offered them wishes for eternal happiness, and then turned away, my resignation already processed, my freedom merely hours away.

But my escape was brutally cut short.

A blinding pain exploded at the back of my head, and I awoke tied to a chair in a dark room.

Dave, Mark' s slimy friend, emerged from the shadows, his touch reptilian as he confessed his twisted desire and revealed a chilling truth: Mark himself had orchestrated my abduction, wanting me "taught a lesson."

My heart plummeted into an icy abyss as Mark' s cold, ruthless voice played from a voice recorder, confirming his betrayal, accusing me of hurting Tiffany.

I was silenced, my blouse torn, as the small red light of a camcorder flickered in the corner, Mark' s chilling words echoing: "Chloe, Mark said he wanted to record this as a keepsake."

No matter how I struggled, terror deepening with every passing second, it was an eternity, my hope draining away.

After it was over, and I was left a broken rag doll on the floor, I stumbled back to the hotel, holding onto the last shred of my dignity and the severance package that promised my freedom.

Mark and Tiffany were there, a picture of domestic bliss, his cruel words slicing through me like knives: "You really are cheap, anyone can have you."

They had thrown away my belongings, calling them "awful," and then Mark, with a deranged twist, forced me to cook for them.

The familiar sting of Mark' s demands felt like a replay of a nightmare I couldn' t escape, a constant humiliation.

I cooked, served, and watched their nauseating display of affection, then quietly asked about my luggage, only for Tiffany to feign illness, accusing me of poisoning her with chili.

Mark, blinded by rage, physically assaulted me, splashing scalding sauce across my chest, then forced me to eat meat, knowing my pain and my vegetarian vow-a cruel reminder of the child he had lost, the child I buried alone.

But in the depths of my despair, a lifeline emerged-Ethan, my childhood friend, calling, his gentle voice a beacon in the dark: "Tonight at 11 PM, I' ll be waiting for you at the pier."

My heart, long dead, stirred.

This was my chance, my last hope to escape the nightmare of Mark and claim the new life awaiting me.