Chapter Two. The torture

Chapter Two

“Still refusing to confess, Mrs. Harrington?”

The policeman standing across the table didn't look moved.

I lifted my bruised face. “I have nothing to confess.”

Cold water splashed over my face.

I gasped as it ran down my bruised body, seeping through my thin gown and into the open wounds on my arms. The horror of what they're doing sent cold chills through me. They can kill me and bury me in a shallow grave; nobody will hear of it.

“You're making this harder than it needs to be.” He sighed and dragged a chair closer.

“I didn't try to kill Vincent,” I insisted, even though I knew no one would believe me.

“Then explain the evidence.”

“I can't explain something I didn't do.”

He slammed a thick file onto the table.

“You signed the documents. You used Vincent Harrington’s house as collateral. The men you hired confessed.”

“I didn't hire anyone!” I screamed through my tears.

His expression hardened. He leaned closer, his voice a bit lower.

“Plead guilty. Serve your sentence. Your husband is willing to forgive you if you cooperate.”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“Forgive me?”

The policeman stared at me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. They were trying to beat me into compliance. I would never admit to a crime I didn't commit for the sake of my daughter.

Talking of my daughter, my breasts ached. They were painfully swollen, and milk had soaked through the front of my gown. A sharp ache tore through my chest.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Think about your daughter before you continue being stubborn.”

My fingers curled into fists. He sensed that my child was my weak point.

“You can beat me until I stop breathing.”

I looked straight into his eyes.

“But I will never admit to a crime I didn't commit,” I defended, my back aching against the metal chair.

My mind went back to everything that had happened.

He came home one night, looking exhausted.

“You know you can tell me,” I tried to probe him.

“Not a problem you can solve,” he snapped irritably.

“At least I can share your burden with you.”

“My company was going under. I needed thirty million before it got really bad. I can't tell my dad.”

I stared into his hurtful eyes. Vincent had not given me any reason to doubt him. My heart melted. All the time I was accusing him of negligence and late nights, I thought he was cheating. He was a man fighting his demons alone.

As a good wife, I swung into action. I sold my inheritance, my gold and diamond jewelry. I was signing documents upon documents without properly checking them, desperate to raise money for him. I was able to scrape together 15 million.

I was grinning from ear to ear, waiting to hand over the check to him. If he had fewer financial issues, he could come home more often and spend time with me.

On February 13th, I saw a red Hermès bag packaged in a box with sweet notes in his closet. My heart leapt with joy. I shed tears of joy—maybe he had found out about all the sacrifices I had made for him and chosen to surprise me.

He was in the bathroom showering when his phone beeped with notifications.

I picked up his phone. The name was saved as Piper with a love emoji. The woman had shiny blonde hair and dreamy blue eyes.

I saw a message:

“I thought you said you would divorce her. Be ready to lose me if you can’t.”

Vincent: “She’s pregnant. I need more time. You know you’re everything I want.”

I didn't stop, I continued scrolling, Everything I knew about Vincent and our union was a lie.

He had bought a hotel resort for his girlfriend to pacify her, using the company funds, and was trying to replace the money before they could find out.

His mistress had given him an ultimatum to divorce me, but he was pleading for more time because I was pregnant.

A message popped up. I read through a blur of tears,

“I need you right now. I’m crashing out.”

Vincent stepped out of the bathroom. His eyes sharpened with anger when he saw me with his phone. He stormed toward me and snatched the phone from me.

“Get your fucking hands out of my personal affairs, you moron,” he grated, his eyes flickering with annoyance.

He hurriedly put on his clothes. I watched him rush out of the house to be with another woman.

Right there, my water broke. I went into labor from the shock and heartbreak.

I let out a loud cry. Louis, our housekeeper, rushed me to the hospital.

Throughout my stay in the hospital, no one visited—not even his family.

The metal door opened, pulling me back to the cruel reality. A policeman entered the room.

“He’s here.”

Vincent stepped into the dimly lit room. The scent of his cologne filled my nostrils.

He stood in front of me. My body quivered with fear. He wasn't the safe place I used to know.

“Why are you here?”

I forced myself to look Vincent in the eyes. I wanted him to see the pain he had caused me.

His eyes stopped at the bruises around my wrists. Something flickered across his face. Guilt? It disappeared so quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

“Untie her,” he instructed. The policemen obeyed immediately.

They untied my hands. Pain shot through my wrists as the ropes fell to the ground.

He pulled a folded document from his coat and placed it on the table.

“Sign it.” His voice held a cruelty I had never felt before.

“This paper is your freedom. You will be released once you sign it,” he snapped,

For a second I remember the man he used to be, I shove it aside accepting my reality.

“That's all you have to say? After everything they have done to me?”

His jaw tightened.

“You brought this upon yourself,” he said coldly. He sounded bored, completely unbothered about the pain he subjected me to.

I stared at him in disbelief. Tears plopped onto the paper. My tears refused to stop, and I hated it.

“You actually believe I tried to kill you? After everything we have been through? You know me more than anyone else,” I cried. I tried to change his mind, I know he was falling for some manipulation.

“I thought I did.”

His words hit harder than the torture. His expression remained cold.

“Vincent”…I pleaded

“Enough of this pretense. Sign the goddamn paper!” he yelled at me. I saw his jaw tighten, his fists clenched in impatience.

I swiped my tears away. My shaky hands reached for the paper. My eyes drifted toward the first line.

From today onwards, Ava should no longer bear the Harrington surname. (Divorce agreement)

Fine. They could keep their name. I had no interest in holding unto a name that caused me so much pain.

I continued reading.

The undersigned shall never disclose any information regarding the Harrington family and its affairs.

Cold goosebumps slithered through my spine.

They wanted to silence me, control the narrative, and tag me as a criminal for the rest of my life.

My eyes froze on the final clause. I read it again and again.

No.

Vincent remained silent. My hands began to shake.

“No…”

I looked up at him.

“What does this mean?” I screamed, my voice cracking.

“You know what it means.”, he said with a terrifying calmness.

“You want me to give up my daughter?”

His face hardened. “She'll remain with the Harrington family.”

“She is my daughter!” I forced out, through my aching throat, my chest felt so tight that I could barely breathe.

“I can't have my daughter raised by a convicted criminal”

It felt like a blade twisting directly into my chest.

“I was framed! You knew this.

“Vincent…”

For the first time, desperation crept into my voice.

“Please.”

His menacing gray eyes met mine. There wasn't an atom of pity in them. Instead, his eyes held pure disgust.

“Ava, listen…”

“I would rather die…”

My fingers curled around the paper, shredding it into pieces. The paper scattered across the floor.

Vincent stepped toward me, crouching down until his face was level with mine. He hooks a thumb under my chin, forcing me to meet his fiery gaze.

“You ask for a death wish when you think you can steal from me. You've made your choice.”

I lifted my tear-filled eyes to his.

“You will never make me surrender my child.”

He stood up and shoved a brown envelope toward the policeman.

“The rest of the documents are here if she changes her mind, but for the meantime, be brutal. She's a criminal and should be treated as one.”

“Bye, Ava.”

He threw out the instructions and stormed out of the room.

They wanted me to sign a restraining order against their family, and give up custody of my daughter. No visitation rights. I wouldn't be allowed to try to claim her in the future.

I'm a mother. I waited so long for my child. How could they strip me of everything, including the right to be a mother?

I bit my lower lip so hard that I could taste my blood.

The Harrington family had taken so much from me.

The cops began their torture. The painful stings of cords fell hard on my skin.

But it wasn't as painful as what I was feeling.

Give up my daughter?

I'd rather die.

A few hours later…

Inspector Joe, one of the policemen, called out.

He folded his whip and turned to glare at him for interrupting him.

“Someone is here to see her.”

“Who?” he shouted.

The cop whispered something to him. He nodded and signaled them to let someone in.

I heard the metallic clink of the iron door. I didn't bother to raise my head. If Vincent had come again to change my mind, I was ready to die rather than sign the paper.

A strong feminine perfume wafted through the air.

“Poor Ava. Look what they've done to you,” the woman sneered.

“If only you had listened to me.”

My breath caught in my throat.

It can't be…

“Victoria!” I screamed.