Chapter 2

I'd lost count of how many times I'd heard those words since I was rescued from child traffickers at the age of seven.

Back then, I'd thrown myself into practicing the piano, day and night, hoping for a single word of approval from my mother.

Instead, she'd looked at my trembling fingers with nothing but disdain.

"Worthless. You couldn't compare to Aaron if you tried."

She was right.

How could a little beggar who'd survived on spoiled leftovers ever compete with the son she'd kept by her side, showered with love and given every opportunity money could buy?

No matter how hard I worked, it would never be enough.

I knew they all hated me.

My mother hated that I'd survived while the son she'd treasured above everything else had been diagnosed with a heart condition and told he wouldn't live past twenty-nine.

Whitney hated me because my existence had kept her from marrying her childhood sweetheart, Aaron.

The Novak family's tradition dictated that the eldest son married the eldest daughter of the allied family. No one had the power to defy it.

I'd asked to leave countless times. Every single time, they'd refused.

I didn't know how much time had passed before my mother finally stormed out, still cursing under her breath as she dragged the others away.

Aaron glanced back at me. A smug smile curled across his lips as he silently mouthed two words.

I knew exactly what he was saying.

"Dirty freak."

My body went rigid.

The next second, I scrambled to my feet and stumbled into the bathroom.

Standing beneath the shower, I scrubbed my skin so hard it turned raw and red. The wounds that had only just begun to scab split open again, blood streaming down my body as searing pain flared from every inch of skin.

But it still wasn't enough.

I still felt filthy.

So filthy.

After what felt like forever, I looked up at my reflection. Blood diluted by water swirled toward the drain.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

It was pointless. I'd already been dirtied beyond redemption.

When I finally climbed into bed, Whitney walked into the room. She stopped when she saw the empty nightstand. "You didn't get me any water?"

I lowered my eyes. "I forgot."

She had a sensitive stomach.

For the past twelve years, ever since I'd learned she was destined to become my wife, I'd placed a glass of warm water on her bedside table every single night before bed. It had become second nature.

Even without looking up, I could feel her staring at me.

A long silence stretched between us.

Then we spoke at the same time.

"Take your clothes off. Mom said we have to have a son this year."

"I want a divorce."

Whitney froze halfway through unbuttoning her blouse. Her expression darkened.

She strode over, grabbed my chin, and forced me to meet her eyes. Her voice was laced with anger.

"You disappear for three days, come home acting like you've lost your mind, and now you're asking for a divorce? Is there someone else?"

Then her gaze turned ice cold. "Listen carefully, August. In my life, there's only being widowed. There will never be a divorce."

She shoved me away, turned on her heel, and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

I quietly pulled the blanket over myself and closed my eyes.

It didn't matter anymore. All I wanted was to stay alive.

As long as I lived, that was enough.

Soon, I heard Whitney and Aaron's laughter drift in from the room next door. Whether it was intentional or not, their voices seemed to come from the wall right beside my bed.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my chest.

My mind drifted back to the first night after I'd been kidnapped. One of my captors got drunk and accidentally left his phone on the table.

Whitney's number was the only one I remembered. Without hesitation, I called her.

The phone rang for more than ten seconds. The instant she answered, she hung up.

That had been the closest I'd come to being rescued and the fastest my hope had ever been destroyed.

In that single second before the line went dead, I'd heard her laughing with Aaron, exactly like she was now.

It didn't take long for the kidnappers to realize the phone was missing. One of them glared at me with drunken fury and sickening lust.

Blow after blow rained down on me. They shattered my fingers one by one, shocked me with a stun gun until I lost control of my bladder, and filmed obscene videos.

...

That night was a nightmare I could never bring myself to relive.

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself.

Even now, I could still remember every ounce of the despair and every shred of the terror.

Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I felt the mattress beside me sink.

The moment a hand slid around my waist, my body locked up. I bolted upright, gasping for air, my face drained of color.

Whitney hurriedly switched on the bedside lamp. Seeing how pale I was, something unreadable flickered across her face.

"Since when did you become such a light sleeper?"

The old me had always slept soundly beside her.

She used to tease me, saying I must've been a pig in my previous life.

I'd never minded. If anything, I'd been happy she'd joked with me at all. Now, all I felt was cold.

Once I realized where I was, my rigid body slowly relaxed. I closed my eyes.

How could I not become a light sleeper?

For those three days, every time I drifted off, they threw insects, rats, and snakes onto my body. They drank, watched me scream in agony, and laughed as if it were the greatest entertainment in the world.

"No... I'm just tired."

I clutched the blanket and curled myself into a tight ball at the very edge of the bed.

Only there did I feel the slightest trace of safety.

Whitney remained seated beside me, silently watching.

After all, I used to be the one constantly clinging to her, desperate for her affection. She probably couldn't understand why I kept pushing her away now.