chapter 9

The Rope and The Truth

Silence swallowed the room whole the moment Sandra’s voice cut through it with a single word NEVER.

The wine glass shattered at her feet, crimson liquid spilling across the marble floor like a wound that had finally burst open. Shards scattered, glittering under the chandelier light, but no one moved to clean them up. No one dared.

Ryan stood stiff, his body frozen as if his muscles had forgotten how to obey him. His eyes were wide, fixed on Sandra with a look he couldn’t name. Shock? Fear? Something heavier.

What happened to the crying, emotional Sandra I once knew? The thought slammed into him, unbidden. This… this isn’t her. This is the first time I’m seeing the other side of her.

He whispered it under his breath, but the room was so quiet that Sandra heard every word. Three years of being ignored had made her senses sharp. She could hear the thoughts he tried to hide behind his cold stare.

Their gazes locked. For the first time in three years, they weren’t looking through each other. They were looking at each other. Really seeing each other.

Ryan saw defiance in her eyes. He saw the pain he had inflicted, reflected back at him. He saw a fire he had never noticed before a fire he himself had been feeding with every insult, every cold shoulder, every night he chose Jasmine over her.

Sandra saw regret in his eyes. Buried deep. Buried too late.

She smiled, but it wasn’t the smile of a wife. It wasn’t soft, or forgiving, or hopeful. It was the smile of someone who had nothing left to lose.

Haven’t you done enough? she asked, her voice low but steady. It didn’t tremble. Not this time. What else do you want, Ryan Beat me Push me? Strangle me?

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she laughed. A loud, broken laugh that echoed off the cold, empty walls of the Smith mansion. It wasn’t a laugh of amusement. It was the laugh of a woman who had finally given up on being understood.

You know what? she continued, her voice rising, raw and trembling now with years of suppressed pain. No matter what other punishment or humiliation you throw at me… it won’t be worse than the three years I’ve spent here. Three years. Wasted. In vain.

Ryan’s hands clenched at his sides so tightly his knuckles turned white. He thought back to the nights she cooked his favorite meals and he didn’t touch them. To the mornings she greeted him with a soft ‘good morning’ and he walked past without a word. To the birthdays she celebrated alone while he took Jasmine out for dinner. To the way she still kept his shirt ironed and his room warm even after he told her she meant nothing to him.

She’s right, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, quiet but undeniable. Every single word is true.

A sliver of regret pierced his chest, sharp and unfamiliar. It felt like guilt, and he hated it. He hated that she made him feel it.

But before he could form a response, before he could even open his mouth, Jasmine’s sobs shattered the moment.

She collapsed to the ground with a theatrical cry, clutching her arm as if it had been broken. She’s just covering up for herself Jasmine wailed, tears streaming down her face, her makeup smearing. Look, honey I’m injured You can’t let her get away with this

Ryan turned instantly. The flicker of regret in his eyes vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. His gaze fell on the red mark on Jasmine’s arm a mark that wasn’t even bleeding, just slightly red from where Sandra had brushed past her.

Without a glance at Sandra, he rushed to Jasmine’s side. He knelt down, his voice gentle for the first time that night. Are you okay? Did she hurt you?

Jasmine nodded, sniffing dramatically. She pushed me. She’s jealous. She’s always been jealous of us.

Ryan’s jaw tightened. He rose slowly, his back now turned to Sandra completely. His steps were quick, heavy, as he stormed up the staircase without looking back.

For a moment, Jasmine’s tear-streaked face twisted into a smirk. She looked at Sandra with pure malice, her eyes gleaming with victory. I won, that look said. I always win. You’re nothing to him.

Sandra didn’t flinch. She didn’t cower. She stood tall, her shoulders squared, her chin lifted. Three years of humiliation had hardened her. She had already endured the worst. What more could they do? What more could he do?

Then she saw it.

A red rope in Ryan’s hand as he came back down the stairs.

Her heart stopped.

Is that… is that for me?

The thought hit her like ice water, freezing her blood. She knew the answer before he even spoke. She knew, no matter how much she cried, no matter how much she bled her truth to him, he would never choose her. Never acknowledge her. Never see her as anything more than a contract. A mistake. A burden. A liability.

She was already lost in that thought when Ryan grabbed her arm. Rough. Merciless. No gentleness, no hesitation.

He dragged her across the floor toward the stone pillar in the center of the living room the same pillar she had leaned against countless times while waiting for him to come home, hoping he would notice her, hoping he would stay.

Sandra struggled. She twisted. She fought. But Ryan was stronger. Always stronger. Always in control.

He tied her wrists to the pillar with the red rope, looping it tightly around her body. Not just her hands her waist, her shoulders. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe properly. The rope bit into her skin, rough and unforgiving.

The rope was red, the same color as the wine that stained the floor. The same color as the blood she felt pooling in her heart.

Laughter filled the room. Jasmine’s laughter. Cold. Cruel. Triumphant.

There, Ryan said, his voice steady but empty, as if he were talking about an inanimate object. He turned to Jasmine and handed her a small leather whip, the kind used for decorative riding crops. Honey… she’s all yours now.

Sandra’s breath caught in her throat.

He handed me over. Just like that. Like I’m an object. A toy. A punishment to be passed around.

Jasmine stepped forward slowly, savoring every second. She ran her fingers along the whip, letting the leather brush against Sandra’s cheek, just hard enough to sting.

Hahaha, Jasmine laughed again, louder this time, the sound echoing like a taunt. Who is his real love now, huh? She caressed the whip against Sandra’s skin, her eyes gleaming with malice. You? Or me

Sandra lifted her chin. Blood trickled from her wrist where the rope cut into her skin, but she didn’t cry. Not anymore. She had cried all her tears three years ago, alone in her room, when Ryan had first told her she was nothing more than a repayment for saving his life.

She smirked.

No matter what you do, Sandra said, her voice calm but sharp, cutting through Jasmine’s laughter like a knife, a dog will always eat leftover food.

Jasmine’s smile faltered.

I am the real one here, Sandra continued, her eyes never leaving Jasmine’s. You only get in when I choose to leave. And I’m choosing to leave now.

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. Fury flashed across her face, contorting her features. What? she hissed, her voice rising. How dare you

Her hand rose, whip ready to strike. The leather whistled through the air, aimed straight at Sandra’s face.

STOP

The voice was thunder. Commanding. Absolute. It shook the walls.

Everyone froze.

Jasmine’s hand hovered in midair, the whip suspended inches from Sandra’s cheek. Ryan stopped mid-step. Sandra blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes.

Who dares to touch her? the voice echoed again, deeper this time, filled with authority.

The heavy double doors to the living room burst open with a loud crash.