vomit

Chapter 10

All eyes snapped toward the voice.

The room, thick with cigar smoke and judgment, fell silent in a way that felt unnatural, like the moment before a storm breaks.

A tall young man in a black suit stood just inside the threshold, posture straight, hands resting at his sides. His hair was neatly trimmed, his expression unreadable, but there was urgency in the way his shoulders tensed.

Greetings, young mistress, he said, his voice low and respectful. He bowed deeply, then moved forward in long strides, dropping to his knees beside Sandra.

Ryan stepped in front of him before he could touch the ropes.

And who the hell are you to interfere in my matter? Ryan’s voice was ice over steel. His eyes narrowed, calculating. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready.

The young man didn’t flinch. He looked up, meeting Ryan’s glare without fear, only purpose.

With all due respect, young man, can you move out of the way?

Stop it, Charles, Sandra’s voice cut through the tension, hoarse but firm. Go back. I’ll come back myself.

Charles hesitated for half a second. Then he bowed low again, forehead nearly touching the floor.

At your command, he murmured.

He turned to leave, but Ryan’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip.

Not so fast, Ryan growled. Who are you? And what business do you have with my wife?

Charles didn’t answer immediately. He met Ryan’s furious gaze, then let out a quiet smirk. With a sharp twist, he pulled his hand free, rubbing his wrist once before standing.

His eyes flicked to Sandra, then back to Ryan.

Who must he be? Ryan muttered under his breath, the question more to himself than anyone else.

A memory flashed Sandra’s guarded phone calls, the way she’d freeze whenever certain names were mentioned, the way she’d look at him sometimes like she was memorizing his face before saying goodbye.

Yes, Sandra.

He turned, walking toward her with measured steps, hesitation warring with anger in every movement.

Can you explain what just happened? he demanded, pointing vaguely toward where Charles had stood. His finger trembled, not from fear, but from the effort of keeping his rage contained.

Sandra didn’t panic.

She didn’t speak.

She just stood there, wrists still bound to the pillar behind her, rope biting into her skin. Her chin was lifted, her eyes locked on Ryan’s.

No begging. No excuses.

Only a silence that felt heavier than any confession.

Ryan searched her face for answers. He looked for guilt, for fear, for the lie he was sure he’d find.

But all he saw was exhaustion. And something else something like grief.

Sandra, he said again, quieter this time. Say something.

She maintained her stance. Not a single word escaped her lips.

Fine, he said, voice hardening as he nodded once, sharply. You don’t want to say a word, right?

He turned away, walking toward the bar with deliberate slowness, each step a warning.

Sandra’s heart skipped.

No. No, no, no.

She shook her head slightly, panic finally breaking through her mask as Ryan reached the table where the wine sat. The glass glinted under the dim light, the dark liquid inside swirling with menace.

Her eyes dropped to her stomach.

I don’t want to lose my child, she thought, the words a silent scream in her mind.

Not like this. Not because of him.

Ryan set the wine down with a hard thud. His face was a mask of fury, jaw clenched, eyes cold.

For the last time, he said, voice low and dangerous, who is that man?

Sandra’s lips parted, then closed.

She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Only a dry, broken sound caught in her throat.

She closed her eyes for a second.

Should I tell him? Should I let him know about my condition?

No, she decided instantly. He doesn’t deserve to know. Not after this. Not after he dragged me here to humiliate me.

But she couldn’t drink that wine.

The smell alone made her stomach twist.

It’ll affect the baby. It will.

Her mind fractured into a hundred thoughts, each one sharper than the last. The room felt like it was closing in. The whispers of the onlookers, the clink of glasses, the weight of Ryan’s stare it all pressed down until it felt like the world had stripped her of everything but sorrow.

Then a sharp grip on her jaw snapped her back to reality.

Her eyes flew open.

Jasmine.

Standing in front of her, holding a cup of wine that smelled twice as strong as the one on the table. Her smile was cruel, triumphant. Her eyes flicked to Ryan, who sat back in his chair, watching. Not stopping. Not even flinching.

Sandra’s heart broke all over again.

Slowly, she bowed her head, tears spilling down her cheeks despite herself.

Hahaha, Jasmine’s laugh rang out, loud and ugly in the quiet room. What a pity. Today I have you, and you aren’t getting away.

She grabbed Sandra’s jaw harder, forcing her head back.

You must drink it, whether you want to or not, bitch.

Sandra thrashed, twisting her head side to side, trying to avoid the rim of the cup. Wine spilled down her chin, burning against her skin. Her lungs burned from holding her breath. Her hands, tied behind her back, pulled uselessly against the rope.

Furious, Jasmine yanked the cup away and threw it down. The glass shattered, sending shards scattering across the floor.

Sandra gasped, sucking in air like she’d been drowning. Her chest heaved, shoulders trembling.

Honey, Jasmine cooed, turning to Ryan with mock innocence, she still doesn’t want to talk.

Ryan stood slowly.

Every step toward Sandra felt like a countdown.

He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could see the storm in his eyes, the way his nostrils flared with barely contained anger. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her face up to his.

For a second, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Then Sandra felt it.

The sour, acrid smell of wine still clinging to her throat.

Her stomach rolled violently.

Aaahh

She couldn’t hold it back.

She doubled over as much as the ropes allowed and vomited.

It splattered across Ryan’s shirt, his pants, his shoes. The bitter smell filled the air, mixing with the alcohol and sweat and tension.

The room went dead silent.