My alpha, My addiction

I had never begged death to knock at my door until this nightmare began. When I first met Eric, he was different—gentle and attentive. He made sure I lacked nothing; having grown up without love, I felt protected and secure with him. My mother died when I was born, and as for my father, I never knew who he was—and I assume he wanted nothing to do with me, as no one ever came for me during the seventeen years I spent in the nuns' orphanage. After finishing high school, I had to leave the orphanage, as I was old enough to fend for myself, though I continued my university studies with the congregation’s financial support. After earning my bachelor’s degree in marketing, I had to stop my education to look for a job. That was when I met him: Eric Wilson—handsome, intelligent—everything a naive young woman, unaware of life’s dangers, might dream of. He was the company’s deputy director; his father wanted to ensure he was capable before handing over the reins. He was drawn to me from the moment we met. Two months into my internship, he asked me to be his girlfriend—an offer I readily accepted, never realizing that, in doing so, I had just sealed my own fate.

Three months into our relationship, he suggested I move in with him. He argued that his wife didn’t deserve to live in such a small apartment located in a dangerous neighborhood. I hadn’t been complaining—it was all I could afford on my intern’s salary—though, in truth, I would have preferred to live somewhere less dangerous. I accepted his offer, and a few days later, we moved in together. His apartment was large and luxurious—so much so that I was afraid of damaging anything inside—but Eric reassured me. After we moved in, my life became a true fairy tale, before eventually turning into a nightmare. We would go to work together, have lunch as a couple during our breaks, and he would shower me with flowers and gifts. He was so attentive that other women who wanted him made me pay for it in every way they could; they were jealous. Everything changed one evening when he came home drunk. He forced himself upon me and struck me with such violent punches that, by the next morning, I couldn’t even recognize my own reflection in the mirror. The following day, he apologized, blaming it on the alcohol, and took me to a private hospital. I forgave him because I loved him deeply and because he promised it would never happen again. If only I had known what was in store for me, I never would have forgiven that piece of scum. He would hit me for no reason, without the slightest concern for my pain. I ended up quitting my job because he didn’t want anyone at the office to see my horrific scars. The beatings grew more severe with each passing day. Hospital visits ceased, and a doctor would occasionally come to the house to examine me. I no longer went out; everything was purchased by Eric, the maid, or his bodyguards—men as pitiless as he was. This ordeal lasted for two years—two years of pain, suffering, and abuse. But this time, I had no intention of letting that wretch end my life. I had to get out of there.