Chapter Four: Chains of Contempt

The study door clicked shut behind Alex, leaving me alone in the dim light. My legs wouldn't hold me anymore. I collapsed into the leather armchair, the fabric creaking under my weight like a protest. My hands still trembled from touching his sleeve, from the way he'd recoiled as if I were poison. Blame. That's all he saw in me. A convenient target for every shadow in his life.

I couldn't sit still. Not with the locked drawers staring at me like accusations. If secrets were killing this family, I needed to know them. Before they killed me too.

I stood, heart pounding, and approached the desk. The top drawer was unlocked, papers, pens, nothing. The bottom one rattled when I tugged. Locked. I scanned the room, eyes landing on a letter opener on the shelf. Sharp enough? My fingers closed around it, cold metal biting into my palm.

I wedged it into the lock, twisting gently at first, then harder. Sweat beaded on my forehead. What if he came back? What if this was a trap?

A soft snap. The drawer gave way.

Inside: files, old photos, a keychain with a faded charm. I pulled out a folder labeled "Incident Report." My breath caught. Police documents. Sketches of a mangled car. Witness statements, none. Cause: undetermined brake failure.

Just like Lucas.

Deeper in, a photo slipped out. The sister, Anna, according to the back. Smiling with Alex and Lucas, arms linked. They looked happy once. A family.

Footsteps in the hall. Heavy, deliberate.

I shoved everything back, slammed the drawer, but the lock wouldn't catch. Panic surged. I dropped the letter opener, kicked it under the desk.

The door opened.

Alex froze in the threshold, eyes narrowing on me. "What are you doing in here?"

I straightened, forcing calm. "I... I was waiting for you. To talk."

He stepped inside, closing the door. His gaze swept the room, landing on the desk. The drawer, slightly ajar. "Liar."

Before I could react, he crossed the space in two strides, yanking the drawer open. Papers spilled. His face twisted, rage, raw and unfiltered.

"You broke into my desk?" His voice was a whipcrack. "After I told you to stay out?"

"I needed answers," I said, backing up. "This isn't an accident. Someone's doing this. And you're too blind to see it because you'd rather hate me."

He grabbed my arm, fingers digging in like iron. Pain shot through me, but I didn't pull away. Not yet.

"You think you're clever?" he snarled, face inches from mine. His breath was hot, laced with whiskey, I hadn't noticed before. "Snooping like a thief in my own house? This is my family. My pain. You don't get to touch it."

"Let go," I whispered, but my voice shook.

He didn't. He tightened his grip, shoving me against the wall. My back hit hard, knocking the air from my lungs. "You're nothing here. A wife in name only. A tool my father bought to seal a deal. And now you're trying to play detective? To what? Prove you're innocent? Or cover your tracks?"

Tears stung my eyes. Not from pain, from the venom in his words. "I'm not covering anything. I saved Lucas. I called for help."

He laughed, bitter and broken. "Saved him? You were there when it happened. Just like you were probably involved with Anna. Your family, always scheming. Debts paid with blood."

"That's not true!" I pushed against his chest, but he was solid, unyielding. "My father would never,"

"Your father sold you to us." His free hand slammed the wall beside my head, making me flinch. "And now you're mine to deal with. If you think you can wander this house, dig into things that don't concern you, you're wrong."

He released my arm, but only to grab my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were storms, grief twisted into fury. "From now on, you stay in your room. You eat when I say. You speak when I allow. You're not a guest. You're a liability. A slave to this marriage until I decide otherwise."

Slave. The word hit like a gut punch. I twisted away, but he pinned me harder, his body pressing against mine. "Stop," I gasped. "You're hurting me."

"Good." His voice dropped, cold as ice. "Maybe then you'll learn your place."

I slapped him. Hard. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

For a second, shock registered on his face. Then rage exploded.

He backhanded me, swift, brutal. My head snapped sideways, cheek burning like fire. I tasted blood, coppery and sharp. Stars danced in my vision.

I slid down the wall, knees buckling. Tears streamed hot down my face. "You... you hit me."

He towered over me, breathing ragged. Regret flickered in his eyes, brief, gone in an instant. "You pushed me."

"No," I choked out, touching my swelling cheek. "You chose this. You chose to hate me without knowing me."

He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Get out. Before I do something worse."

I scrambled up, legs unsteady, and fled. The hallway blurred through tears. I made it to my room, locked the door, sank to the floor.

My body ached, arm bruised, face throbbing. But the real pain was deeper. Manipulation. He'd twisted everything: my help into suspicion, my curiosity into betrayal. Pushed me to the wall, literally and figuratively. Used me as an outlet for his demons.

Slave. The word echoed, humiliating, degrading.

I curled into myself, sobs wracking my chest. How had it come to this? Married to a monster who saw me as less than human.

But even through the hurt, anger simmered. He thought he could break me? Control me?