Chapter 4: The Frame

"You're awake."

The voice came from the foot of the bed, nothing like the drunk animal from last night.

I jerked against the silk ties binding my wrists to the bedposts, they held, my shoulders ached from the angle, my ribs ached from breathing.

Adrian sat in a chair he'd dragged from the corner. He was fully dressed now, charcoal suit that look like it could cost my life. The scratches on his face were covered with thin makeup but the bandage on his forearm, where I'd bitten him was fresh.

He held a phone in his hand, rotating it, end over end.

"Do you know what my father did this morning?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

"He announced the merger at market open," Adrian said. "Called it a 'strategic alliance through sacred union.' The stock jumped twelve percent. Board members sent flowers." He stopped rotating the phone. "To me, to us, to a marriage I don't remember consenting to."

"You knew I wasn't her," I said, my voice was a rasp. "At the courthouse, you pointed it out, you married me anyway."

He stood, crossed to the bed in three strides. Grabbed my jaw. His fingers dug into the bruises his mother had left.

"I was drunk," he said. "Cornered, you were sober. You walked in, you signed. You let me…" He stopped, his eyes flashed. "You let me touch you. All night, while I was too wasted to know the difference."

"I fought you," I said.

He laughed, it was a harsh, broken sound, he released my jaw and backhanded me, my head snapped against the headboard, the wood cracked against my skull.

"Not hard enough," he said.

"I was free," he said. "Six hours ago, I was free. Now I'm legally bound to a stranger because of a signature made in whiskey and blackmail." He turned to me. "Your father sold you, my father sold me but you?" He climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of my hips. "You showed up. You smiled. You signed."

"I didn't smile," I said.

He punched my ribs, yhe same spot from last night, the cracked bone screamed, i arched off the mattress, gasping.

"Details," he whispered.

His phone buzzed, he ignored it, it buzzed again, a call, then a text, then another.

He snatched it up, swiped.

"What?" he said. Then: "Send it."

A pause, a notification chimed.

He opened a video.

Lily's face filled the screen, she was in a concrete room, her blonde hair was matted, her wrists were bound with silk scarves my silk scarves, from my room at home, tears cut through the dirt on her cheeks.

"Adrian," she sobbed. "It was Elena, she locked me in the basement, she said she'd kill me if I told anyone. She wanted you for herself, she wanted everything…."

The video cut to surveillance footage, a timestamp. 6:47 PM, yesterday, a figure in a gray hoodie dragged Lily down a hallway, dark hair, my build, my height.

He looked at me, confusion in his eyes.

"You," he said.

"It's fake," I said. "Lily was never in a basement. She was at home, she cut my clothes off. You saw her watched them drag me to the car."

He threw the phone at my face, i turned my head. It caught my temple, the screen shattered against the headboard.

"Liar, you could still have her kidnapped and tortured regardless" he said.

He grabbed my throat, squeezed, not enough to kill. Enough to promise it.

"You locked her up," he said. "You stole her wedding. You trapped me and now you sit there with her blood on your hands and tell me it isn't real?"

I clawed at his hands, dug my nails into his wrists. Blood welled, he didn't let go.

"She's an actress," I choked out. "Your mother... planned the footage... cameras..."

He squeezed harder, my vision tunneled, sparks danced at the edges.

"Don't," he said. "Don't speak her name. Don't ever speak against my mother."

The door opened.

Mrs. Cross entered, cream silk, immaculate, she looked at her son's hands around my throat. At the blood on the sheets. At the shattered pitcher and the broken phone.

"Release her, Adrian," she said.

He didn't move.

"Now," she said.

He let go, i collapsed face-down on the mattress, sucking air in ragged gulps. My throat felt crushed. My vision swam.

Mrs. Cross walked to the bed, she picked up the broken phone. Looked at the video still playing on the cracked screen. Lily's tear-streaked face. The timestamp. The figure in the hoodie.

"Conclusive," Mrs. Cross said.

"It's staged," I rasped.

Mrs. Cross backhanded me. The impact snapped my head sideways. My mouth filled with fresh blood.

"Your father signed an affidavit this morning," she said. "Confirming your history of jealousy. Your instability. Your threats against Lily." She smiled. "The footage is merely corroboration."

She turned to Adrian. "The marriage stands. Publicly. The merger is live. Privately, we control the narrative. Six months. Three public appearances. Then a quiet divorce. No scandal. No payout. No claim to Cross assets."

Adrian straightened his tie. "And if she refuses?"

"Prison," Mrs. Cross said. "Kidnapping. Fraud. Assault. The footage alone buys her ten years. Your father has already spoken to the district attorney."

Adrian looked at me. His eyes were empty. Dead.

"Six months," he said. "Or a cell."

I coughed. Tasted copper. "Invisible," I said.

"What?"

"Your terms. Make me invisible. Make me nothing. It's what you're good at."

He leaned down, his face was inches from mine. I could smell his cologne.

"Done," he whispered. "For six months, you don't exist, no name, no voice.If I see you, hear you, or smell you in my house, I'll finish what I started last night, slowly and no one will hear you scream."

He straightened. "Take her to the east wing."

Mrs. Cross clapped twice, two guards entered. They untied my remaining wrist, hauled me off the bed, my legs buckled, they dragged me by the arms.

"Wait," Adrian said.

The guards stopped, he walked to me, looked at my torn shirt, the bruises, the blood.

"She doesn't get clothes," he said. "Not real ones. Servant uniform, gray, polyester, something that matches what she is."

They dragged me out, down the hall. My bare feet left streaks on the marble, past the portraits, past the dining room where I smelled coffee and bacon and life continuing without me.

They threw me into the small room, i hit the floor. My shoulder screamed, my ribs sang.

The door closed, the lock turned.

I lay there, the torn shirt barely covered me. Blood dried on my chin, hruises bloomed on my throat like purple flowers.

I heard a familiar Footsteps in the hall, the lock turned again, the door opened.

Lily stood there, white sundress, healed cheek. She held a gray uniform in one hand and her phone in the other, she smiled.

"Hello, spare," she said. "I brought you something to wear."

She dropped the uniform on the floor. It landed with a soft, heavy thud.

"Oh," she said, pausing in the doorway. "And don't worry about the basement, the rope was silk, very comfortable, the tears took three hours to perfect. Adrian's already sent flowers."

She blew me a kiss.

"The next six months are going to be so much fun."

She stepped back but she didn't close the door all the way, she left it open, an inch, a crack, a sliver of light cutting through the dark.

I stared at that gap.

A trap, it had to be but it was open and I was already invisible.

I reached for the uniform and waited.