Chapter 4 - The Heart vs the Mind

2 years ago – Saturday 29th February

Valentina

I woke up later than normal, the sun already high in the sky.

I blushed as last night came rushing back. Nashian had been an absolute animal.

He had taken me three more times. In the shower, strapped to the bench and finally on the giant four poster bed.

Each round had been more intense than the last, until writhing and screaming with overstimulation, I finally passed out.

Knowing Nash, he probably just continued. But afterwards…this is when I know Nash cares even if he never says so. He took the time to clean me up, carry me back to my room and tuck me in.

Our normal routine is a lazy Saturday. I get the day and then he goes out with friends or to attend functions in the evenings. I don’t get to ask where he goes or with who.

And I especially don’t get to ask to accompany him. The contract was clear about that. It hurts, off course it does but those are the terms.

I don’t mind what time he returns as long as I get Sunday. But today, he promised he would run his errands early and the evening was mine. The Leap Day flip I had asked for.

I had a leisurely bath, my body needed the pampering. Evidence of our night was mapped all over my body. Fingermarks on my hips, my inner thighs red, bite marks and hickeys peppered from my neck to my breasts.

To me, every red, blue and purple bruise was a testament of his need for me and I wore them proudly.

After washing away the night’s excessive debauchery, and a hot cup of coffee, I felt ready to tackle the day ahead. The house was quiet without Nash. I used the time he was away to prepare us dinner.

Prawn and chicken satay with saffron rice. A tossed green salad. An expensive bottle of Chablis chilling in the fridge. Chocolate mousse and strawberries for dessert.

As I put the finishing touches to the dining table, I stood back and lit the candles. Perfect…it needed to be perfect.

I thought of the titanium promise ring hidden in my bedroom vanity drawer and a small smile graced my lips.

I'd secretly designed and had it custom made with my first big paycheck because I wanted it to mean something real.

Not marriage. Not pressure. Just a promise of us. Just...hope.

Hope that one day I wouldn't spend holidays alone. Hope that maybe eventually he'd let me see his real home, meet his friends, his family. Hope that we could share each other’s successes and burdens.

Or just maybe hope that I could stop feeling like a hidden secret packed away until weekends.

I slipped into my room and donned the burgundy Victoria Secret corset with a matching thong that may as well have been tooth floss for all it covered.

The boned corset hugged my curves perfectly, lifting my lush breasts high like a sacrificial offering, nipping in my already tiny waist.

I stood in front of the mirror and the woman staring back looks like a stranger wearing my face. Burgundy lace, boning that holds me together, and hope that’s already cracking at the edges.

*This is a mistake.* my brain tells me, sharp and clinical. *You’re his weekend getaway - Fridays to Sundays. That’s it.* I shake my head but she voices my innermost doubts.

*Weekdays are for his real life. For his boardrooms and his planes and the world he doesn’t let you into. You can't pick up the phone and call him on the weekday, that is an intrusion. Texting him is a burden. Showing up together anywhere public is a rule you’re not allowed to break.*

I try and shut out that voice. I smooth my hands down the boning of the corset. The pain grounds me.

My pulse is racing. I love him. And my heart has a say, softer, desperate. "People change. Feelings change."

And tonight’s different. It’s Leap Day. Tonight I choose, I take charge...For once. One night where I am more than the sub waiting at the playroom door.

But my brain has archived our pain and ruthlessly pulls out a memory. My throat closes when I get a flashback of the hospital. Nine months ago. The allergic reaction that nearly killed me.

I remember that Monday morning. I had woken up sore, feverish. I struggled to swallow my coffee, it felt like shredded glass going down. Then that strange leg pain, the rash starting on my arm.

I had dialled his number with shaking swollen fingers, my vision tunneling. He didn’t answer. I dialled again...more frantic now. He still didn't pick up. Not one call.

My chest was locking, every breath felt harder to take. I started to panic, the diziness winning. I could feel myself getting hotter, weaker.

In desperation, I shot off two messages. One to him and one to Livvy. Livvy responded immediately..."Hang in there Val. On my way now."

The last thing I saw before the phone slipped from my fingers and I lost consciousness was his return text. "Stop calling. Am busy. If you really sick, am sending my assistant."

*My assistant.* Like I was a missed meeting. Like I was a file to be delegated.

I press my palm to my sternum like I can hold the memory in. *See?* the scared part of me whispers. "He didn’t come. He didn’t even try. Why would tonight be any different?"

The other part of me, the one that’s stupid and loyal and hopeless, answers back. "Because he still sent someone. Because he had me admitted to a private hospital. He cared." That’s something.

"It’s not enough either." my subconscious snapped back.

I thought of the titanium promise ring hidden in the vanity drawer. I designed us a matching set because I wanted to believe in “us” even when he wouldn’t say the word. I clenched my hand into a fist until it hurts.

"He doesn’t even know when your birthday is.", My subconscious taunts, cruel and relentless. "He’s traveled to Tokyo, Dubai, London for business, but the only thing he’s ever brought you back is lingerie."

The voice rattled off every transgression cruelly, bitterly. "He’s never taken you to dinner as his girlfriend. He’s never introduced you to a single friend. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. Not unless it’s Friday and he’s confirming the time."

The words cut. Not just because of their bare cruelty but because they’re true.

But my heart is stubborn, wording it's own argument. Love...true love can't be weak. "Then tell me why he looks at me like I am his oxygen when the door closes. Why he cleans me up after? Why he tucks me in like I am precious? He chose me for twelve months. He could’ve had anyone."

The voice tuts, mocking *He chose you for weekends Valentina...* she corrects. 'There’s a difference.*

My reflection blurs. I’m not crying. I refuse to cry before I even try. My hands are trembling but I force them steady.

Brave isn’t the absence of fear. Brave is knowing every reason you should stop… and doing it anyway.