Chapter 12
Rebecca’s fingers moved across the screen. “And that didn’t raise any flags?”
“I was twenty and stupid. I thought it was romantic. Like something from a movie.” Elena’s laugh was bitter. “He was charming. Attentive. He made me feel special — like I was the only person in the room who mattered.”
“When did that change?”
“The day after our wedding.”
The memory came back sharp-edged, the way it always did. Bali. The honeymoon suite. She’d been standing on the terrace in the morning light, and his phone had rung, and she’d said, take it outside, you can enjoy the view — and he’d looked at her like she was an idiot.
Why would I take business advice from someone whose only job is to look pretty and keep quiet?
“And it escalated from there,” Elena said. “Slowly. So slowly I didn’t notice I was disappearing. First he asked me to quit my job — I was teaching fourth grade, he said it was beneath the wife of Marcus Martinez. Then he suggested I cut ties with my friends, because they were bad influences. Then he started controlling the money, the schedule, what I wore, what I ate.”
Her voice cracked.
“By year three I was a ghost. Just this hollow thing that smiled for photos and stayed silent at dinners.”
“Did he ever hit you?”
“No.” Elena shook her head. “Marcus is too smart for that. He controlled me without ever leaving a mark.” She stopped. “Except once. Two years ago, I tried to leave. Made it as far as the driveway. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside. The bruises lasted a week. He took me to his personal doctor and told him I’d fallen down the stairs. The doctor didn’t even examine me. He just nodded and wrote me a prescription for anxiety medication.”
Rebecca’s face had gone very cold.
“That doctor’s name.”
“Dr. Richard Ashford.”
“He’s going to wish he’d actually examined you.” She typed it. “What else. Affairs?”
“Veronica’s the current one, but she isn’t the first. Amanda, three years ago — his assistant. Before that, a woman named Claire.” Elena trailed off. “I stopped keeping track. He wasn’t even discreet about it. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to feel powerless.”
“Why did you finally leave last night?”
“The placeholder comment was the last straw. But honestly — I’ve been dying inside for years. Last night I just decided I’d rather die free than live in his cage.”