Chapter 8 The Breaking Point

When Jeanne opened her eyes again, she found herself locked inside the car. With the back of her neck still sore, she reached toward the glove compartment and felt around until she found the safety hammer. The moment she gripped it, the car door swung open. Darren stood outside, his face grim. "Where are you going?"

Jeanne ignored him and tried to climb out, but he grabbed her arm and threw her back into the seat. Leaning against the car door, his jaw clenched so tight that the veins in his neck bulged, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "I told you—you're not going anywhere. You stay with me."

She glared up at him, refusing to speak. He stared back, then suddenly tore open her clothes.

Cold air rushed in, and Jeanne trembled. "Darren, what the hell are you doing?!"

He said nothing, only moving his hands roughly, stripping her clothes away before crushing his mouth against hers. His grip was hard, unrelenting, his body heavy with fury. It took Jeanne a second to realize what he was about to do. She fought with everything she had, but he held her down like a vice. "Let me go! If you do this, I'll hate you for the rest of my life!"

Darren acted as if he couldn't hear her. No matter how she kicked, screamed, or bit his shoulder, he didn't stop. Eventually, Jeanne's strength gave out. Her voice broke into sobs. "Darren… not in the car… This is my race car…"

Her plea was cut off by a cry of pain. His movements grew harsher, his breath hot against her ear, his tone disturbingly gentle. "Jeanne, this is your punishment. Still want to run?"

Jeanne bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her tears hit the black leather seat, spreading into dark stains. Alyssa had already destroyed her leg; now Darren was determined to destroy the rest of her.

…

Over the next few days, he went mad. He dragged her to the racetrack and violated her in every single car she had ever driven. Jeanne went from begging him to stop to cursing him with everything she had, until in the end, she went numb.

She stared blankly at the ceiling, unresponsive, her body limp beneath him like a doll with no soul left to break. When he finally finished in the last car, Darren pulled her into his arms. "Still want to leave me, Jeanne?"

She shook her head mechanically. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to die.

Finally, Darren took her home. The moment she stepped inside, Jeanne saw the untouched cake on the coffee table and felt sick just looking at it. She quietly went to her room and reached for the door lock, but Darren blocked her.

"Jeanne, you're being a naughty girl," he murmured, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and locking her to the bedpost. He pried a razor blade from her palm. "Be a good girl. Don't make me angry. Otherwise, you'll be the one to suffer."

Jeanne glared at him, but before she could say a word, the door opened. Alyssa strolled in, waving something in her hand. "Darren, which one looks better for the wedding?"

Jeanne's eyes widened. It was her national championship medal—and the pendant her mother had left her.

"Darren!" she screamed hoarsely, her voice breaking. "That's mine!"

Darren, triumphant, knelt by the bed and tapped the pendant. "I know it's yours." He looked up at her with a cruel grin. "Try killing yourself again, and I can't promise where these things might end up."

Jeanne clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, her eyes burning with hatred.

"Hate me?" Darren arched a brow. "Then, stop thinking about leaving. Otherwise, there are worse things waiting for you."

At first, Jeanne thought he was just threatening her—until that night, when he dragged her out of bed and forced her to kneel by the edge. He grabbed her chin and turned her face toward the center of the room.

There, Alyssa sat half-dressed in his lap.

"Angry? Disgusted?" Darren's voice dripped with venom. "Look at her! Don't close your eyes!"

He said it was punishment for her disobedience. But Jeanne simply stared, numb and hollow, not even blinking. Her heart had already died—what else was there to care about?

To keep her from trying to die again, Darren began rationing her food and water, giving her just enough to survive but not enough to fight back. In the end, he hung the pendant around Alyssa's neck, stroking her hair as he said, "If you still want to run, this pendant will belong to her forever."

The night before the wedding, Darren didn't touch Jeanne for once. He lay behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder, whispering softly, "Don't hate me, okay, Jeanne? I just love you too much. After the wedding with Alyssa is over, once things settle with the Fosters, I'll take you to City Hall and we'll get our real marriage certificate, alright?"

Jeanne kept her eyes shut, silent.

…

The next morning, Alyssa walked in wearing a pure white wedding gown. She leaned forward, deliberately flashing the pendant at Jeanne. "You're so pathetic, Jeanne," she said with a smug smile. "I warned you to leave while you could. This pendant is so tacky, but Darren insisted I wear it as part of my dowry."

She didn't know Jeanne had already lost the will to live. A pendant meant nothing anymore. Even if Darren brought out her mother's ashes to threaten her, she wouldn't flinch.

So, when Darren and Alyssa left arm in arm for the wedding, Jeanne turned to the side and, with the only hand she could still move, reached for her wrist. She bit down hard. There was no pain, only the warm trickle of blood seeping out.

The blood had just begun to stain the sheets when a crash shattered the quiet. The bedroom's floor-to-ceiling window exploded inward, glass scattering across the floor. A body landed first—a decoy corpse—followed by a man stepping through the shards.

Theo stood among the wreckage, his handsome face calm and determined. He reached out a hand to her. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you out of here."