Chapter Four That’s him

Charlotte’s POV

I hit the wall hard, and my head hurt so bad everything started getting blurry.

Bruce kicked the apartment door closed behind us.

“You filthy slut!”

His voice rattled the walls.

My cheek burned where he’d hit me. I pressed my hand against it, staring back at him.

Bruce looked really tired. His eyes were red, his shirt was all wrinkled, and a half-finished beer sat on the table. The whole place smelled like alcohol and smoke.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He barked out a laugh. “What’s wrong with me? You vanished all night!”

“I was working.”

“At a bar that shuts way before midnight.”

I swallowed, just for a second, but he saw it.

His eyes narrowed.

That little hesitation—he knew.

Bruce stepped in, slow and deliberate. He was looking at me like he had all the answers already.

“Where were you, Charlotte?”

“I told you. At work.”

He glared. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t come home.”

“And you didn’t call.”

His jaw twitched. “Why the hell would I? You’re the one who left.”

I let out a shaky breath. “You could’ve just texted, you know.”

He snorted. “Texted? I had to cook my own damn dinner.”

Did I hear him right? That was what he cared about?

“You’re mad because you had to cook?”

Bruce yanked the beer bottle off the table and jabbed it in my direction. “You think this is funny?”

“No. I think you’re losing it.”

His face went dark.

Before I could move, he clamped his hand around my arm and slammed me back into the wall.

“You think you can disrespect me?”

“Let go, Bruce.”

He leaned close and sniffed. His lips curled.

“You smell different.”

Those words hurt more than his slap.

I froze.

He leaned even closer. “You smell expensive.”

My stomach knotted. Hotel soap—that’s what it was. The Royal Crest. Why hadn’t I just showered before I left?

“Who was he?” Bruce’s voice dropped low.

“There’s nobody.”

His grip cut deeper into my arm.

“Charlotte.”

“I said, nobody.”

“You think I’ll buy that?”

I pressed against his chest, shoving him away. He staggered—more surprised than hurt.

For a second, everything went quiet except for the TV muttering in the background.

Bruce just watched me now. Not shouting. Not moving. Studying. That was always the worst.

“You slept with someone.”

I looked away.

Bruce gave a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Unreal.”

“Bruce—”

“So you actually did it.”

Tears prickled at my eyes. Not because I was sorry. Just because I hated all of it. Hated that rent and hospital bills boxed me in like this. Hated that Bruce never helped, not with the bills, not with anything, but still acted like I owed him something.

“You don’t get to judge me,” I snapped.

His face shifted so fast it scared me.

“What’d you say?”

“You heard me.”

“You wanna start this right now?”

“You blow every cent I earn,” I shot back. “You drink all day, scream at me every night, and I’m still the villain?”

Bruce started pacing toward me. Too slow. That was scarier than when he yelled.

“You think you’re better than me because some rich guy paid you for one night?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“No—”

He cut me off. “You smell like another man.”

The room felt tiny. I shrank back, pressing flat to the wall. Bruce smirked when he saw.

“There she is,” he said quietly. “Back to being scared.”

My eyes stung.

“I’m tired, Bruce.”

“Tired?” He spat the word like a joke. “Imagine how I feel, knowing my girlfriend’s out getting passed around.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Oh really?” Bruce’s laugh was cruel. “Tell me what did, then.”

I kept my mouth shut.

The silence hung heavy.

He grabbed the remote and jacked up the TV volume until music pounded through the walls.

My heart hammered harder. I knew that look. I’d seen it before. Right before bruises. Right before the apologies and flowers—paid for with my money.

Bruce loosened his belt, metal clinking as it slid through his hands.

“You know what your problem is?” He sounded calm now, which was even worse.

I shook my head, desperate.

“Bruce, please—”

“You forgot your place.”

“Don’t do this,” I begged.

“You talked back tonight.”

“I’m sorry.”

He wound the belt around his fist. “Saying sorry doesn’t fix disrespect.”

Tears started rolling.

“I was stressed. I didn’t mean it,” I whispered.

He stepped closer. “One more time, Charlotte—who touched you?”

I stared at the floor. “Bruce—”

The belt snapped through the air. I flinched.

“WHO TOUCHED YOU?”

And then—

Applause blasted from the television. Bruce glanced over, distracted for just a second. That second changed everything.

Because there he was on the screen.

Jace.

Standing on stage in a black suit, camera flashes bouncing off him. He looked nothing like the guy from last night whose hands had left bruises along my waist. Now he stood tall, cold, totally in control.

Bruce frowned, eyeing the screen. “You know this guy?”

I stared at Jace—the billionaire, the man who tossed ten thousand dollars at me like it was nothing, the guy whose real name I shouldn’t have known.

My lips parted.

And for the first time that night, an idea sparked in my head. A dangerous one. But maybe the only one that could get me out.

Bruce kept watching me. “You know him?”

I jabbed my finger at the screen. “That’s him.”

Bruce froze.

“What?”

“That’s the guy from last night.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

Bruce slowly turned toward the TV.

The reporter droned on about the Norman family and some scandal, but Bruce didn’t care. His eyes locked on Jace, on his suit, the flashes, the bodyguards. Greed started replacing rage in Bruce’s face. That scared me even more than the belt.

“You slept with him?” His voice was thin—almost shaky.

I nodded.

He stared back at the TV, thinking hard, before finally facing me.

Suddenly, the whole apartment felt different. The anger was gone, replaced by something colder.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Bruce let the belt drop onto the couch. He smiled. Nothing friendly about it.

“You slept with Jace Norman.”

I wiped at my tears. “Yes.”

He moved closer to the TV. “That family is worth billions.”

I hated what he was thinking. I hated it instantly.

“Bruce—”

“He paid you?”

I didn’t answer.

“How much?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand.”

His head snapped toward me; his eyes wide. “For one night?”

I never should’ve answered.

He straightened up, almost vibrating. He didn’t look at me like a girlfriend anymore. He looked at me like a lottery ticket.

“You still have the money?”

“No.”

“Where is it?”

“I deposited it.”

His mouth twisted. “You what?”

“I put it in the bank.”

“Without telling me?”

“It’s my money.”

He let out a nasty laugh. “Your money?”

“Yes.”

“You got that money because of me.”

Disbelief flooded me. “What?”

“If I didn’t keep you around, no one would even notice you,” he said. “You’d still be broke, some nobody bartender.”

I almost laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

He shook his head. “What’s unbelievable is you ending up in bed with Jace Norman.”

He checked me over head to toe, then looked back at the screen. That’s when it hit me: Bruce didn’t care that I’d slept with someone else. He cared because Jace had money—real money.

“So what happened with him?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You expect me to buy that?”

“It was just one night.”

“One night doesn’t get ten grand.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Bruce.”

He studied me for a long time, then that cold smile came back.

“You’re going to see him again.”

My stomach dropped.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not.”

“You already did once.”

“That was different!”

“How?”

“I needed money.”

“And now we need more.”

We.

Bruce stepped right in front of me. “You owe me, Charlotte.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

His face hardened. “You believe that?”

Instant regret.

He grabbed my chin hard. “You’re going back to him.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I said no.”

“You think a guy like that spends ten thousand dollars on a girl one time and then just forgets?”

“He told me to leave.”

Bruce grinned. “They always come back.”

On the TV, Jace stood beside his dad, all smiles and perfect suits while the crowd cheered. A shiny, untouchable family—suits, watches, lies.

Somehow, I’d gotten pulled into their world without even meaning to.

Bruce finally let go of my face.

“You’re going to make yourself useful to me for once.”

I stepped back, keeping distance. “No.”

He just smiled, cold and sure. “We’ll see.”

That ten thousand in my bank account suddenly didn’t feel like freedom at all.

It felt like a trap. Like the start of something much, much worse.