She Begged, Then Regretted Chapter 1

To satisfy the director's sick fantasy, my wife told me she'd been forced onto the casting couch.

"Honey, you can't call the police," she'd sobbed, her body trembling. "It would ruin me! You have to help me!"

Her plan was for me to hide in a closet and gather evidence.

I looked at her tear-stained face, my heart a frozen stone in my chest. If I hadn't accidentally overheard that phone call three days ago, I would have been a puppet in her twisted little play.

She buried her face in my chest. "You're the only one who can save me, Cole. The only one who can save my career."

I stared down at her, my expression unreadable, until she looked up at me, a flicker of unease in her eyes. Only then did I speak, my voice flat.

"If it’s what my darling wife wants," I said softly, "then I'll play my part."

A tremor ran through her body. A complex, unreadable emotion flashed across her face.

If it’s a game you want, then I’ll play along.

But we’ll be playing by my rules.

* * *

Three in the morning. The digital lock on the front door beeped softly.

I sat in the dark living room, watching the figure stumble through the doorway.

She was barefoot, clutching a designer high-heel with a snapped stiletto. The collar of her couture gown was ripped halfway open, revealing a cluster of angry red marks just below her collarbone.

"Cole," she gasped the moment I flipped on the lights.

She launched herself at me. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared into a tragic mask. As she crashed into my arms, a foul cocktail of scents assaulted me. Her signature perfume was heavy, but underneath it, I could smell the acrid stench of tobacco.

And something else… a coppery, intimate odor that made my stomach clench.

But I didn't push her away. I just forced myself to remain calm. "Stella? What happened?"

Stella lifted her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "It was Vance, the director. He's insane! At the wrap party tonight, he kept forcing drinks on me, and then he dragged me into a private lounge…"

She choked on a sob, unable to continue.

I guided her to the sofa and went to get the first-aid kit. I used to be a medical examiner before I gave it all up to be her full-time husband. I have a professional's eye for injuries.

I knelt before her, tending to the scrapes on her knees. It was a dark, purplish bruise, swollen and raw from being rubbed repeatedly against a coarse carpet.

This wasn't from a fall.

It was pressure-induced purpura, the kind formed from kneeling on a hard surface for a prolonged period.

"He threatened me," she whimpered, her whole body shaking. "He said if I didn't do what he wanted, he'd blacklist me. Cole, I was so scared."

My hand, holding the cotton swab, froze just above her knee. I saw the marks on her wrists. They weren't the messy, uneven bruises of someone being dragged against their will. They were a pair of neat, symmetrical bands of red.

The kind left by restraints.

"He was like an animal," she continued, her tears splashing onto the back of my hand. "He ripped my dress in seconds."

"If I hadn't smashed a bottle over my own head and run for it, tonight I might have been..."

I glanced at her forehead. There was a slight red bump, but the skin wasn't even broken. It was the kind of minor injury you get from a bit of rough foreplay, not a desperate escape.

Does she really think I'm that blind? That stupid?

My fingers tightened, and the cotton swab snapped in two. I tossed it into the trash without a word and grabbed a new one.

"Cole, say something," Stella pleaded, cupping my face in her hands and forcing me to meet her gaze. "Are you disgusted with me?"

In the lamplight, her pupils were slightly dilated. I didn't see the relief of a survivor or the shame of a victim.

I saw a strange, unsettling excitement.

"No," I said, gently pulling her hands away. "I'm just thinking we should call the police."

The moment I said "police," her body went rigid.

"No!" she shrieked, then immediately softened her tone. "We can't. Vance has things he can use against me, and there were no cameras in that room. We'd never win, and my reputation would be destroyed."

"Then what do you want to do?"

Stella bit her lip, took a deep breath, and leaned in close, her expression one of grim determination. That nauseating mix of tobacco and sex filled my nostrils again.

"I want revenge, honey." Her voice dropped to a low, husky whisper. "A man like Vance... his biggest fear is having his reputation ruined. He told me he's coming to my hotel room again tomorrow night."

"This is my only chance."