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Prisoner of Shame Chapter 37
Four Years Later…Brielle stepped out of Michael Trevors’ law office with the sun warming her cheeks and something even rarer pulsing in her chest—relief. Not joy. Not yet. But the quiet, quaking breath of a woman who had just crossed the last bridge behind her and tossed the match without flinching.She didn’t drive back to the mansion. She didn’t even glance in that direction. Instead, she turned the wheel toward Rovello Drive. The house her mother had died in. The house David had gutted and rebuilt just to appease her grief. Now it was hers, in full. She had the deed. Her name. Her autonomy. And she wasn’t going back.Not this time.Her fingers trembled as she pulled into the driveway, but her spine held straight. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from something she hadn’t felt in a long time.Finality.David would be livid. She knew that. He would twist and scream and try every tactic in his arsenal. But it was too late. She had been planning her escape in silence for years—whi
Prisoner of Shame Chapter 36
David hadn’t moved from the chair beside her bed.Not once.His eyes were bloodshot, his body heavy with exhaustion, but still he sat—like a sentinel, like if he looked away for even a second she might slip away again. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He just watched her, holding her hand when the nurses weren’t, brushing strands of hair from her face when they stuck to her damp forehead.The beeping of machines filled the silence like a steady heartbeat.Then—her fingers twitched.Her eyelids fluttered.David jolted upright, his heart catching in his throat. “Brielle?”She blinked groggily, the fog of sedation thick in her eyes. Her gaze drifted around the room in slow confusion until her body seemed to remember before her mind could catch up.Her hands flew to her stomach.“David?” Her voice cracked like old porcelain—thin, trembling, jagged at the edges. “Is the baby okay?”He didn’t speak.Didn’t need to.Grief was already carved into every line of his face—etched deep in the shado
Prisoner of Shame Chapter 35
David awoke to a sound no man should ever hear.A scream. Ripped from the throat of the woman he loved like it had claws—wild, primal, full of terror.His eyes snapped open, body reacting before mind caught up. The sheets were twisted around his legs, her body writhing beside him. “Brielle?” he rasped, already reaching. “What is it? Talk to me—”But she didn’t respond.She couldn’t.She was sobbing, thrashing, clawing at her thighs like she was trying to tear something out of herself. Her nails raked the sheets, legs kicking, mouth open in a soundless wail now—one that had stolen her breath.David reached for her again—and froze.His hand met something wet.Something thick.Sticky.Warm.He yanked it back like it burned him, staring at his fingers in the dim light. They were smeared in red.His stomach dropped through the floor.“Fuck—no, no, no—”He lunged for the bedside lamp, and when the light flared to life, the room shifted.It was no longer a bedroom.It was a crime scene.The
Prisoner of Shame Chapter 34
Brielle ran her hands over the crib’s edge, fingers tracing the curve of the polished mahogany like it might unlock some secret if she touched it just right. The wood was rich and dark, smooth beneath her fingertips. Heavy. Grounding.“What about this one?” she asked softly, barely above a whisper—as though speaking too loud might shatter the fragile calm she’d found in this sea of lullaby colors and curated softness.David stepped beside her, his presence large and sure, eyes appraising the craftsmanship. “Mahogany,” he murmured. “Solid. Timeless.” He gave it a firm push, testing its sturdiness. It didn’t budge. “It’s perfect.”He didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take the complete set,” he said with quiet finality, flagging down the clerk without looking away from the crib.“There’s also a wardrobe, sir,” the clerk added helpfully, sensing a sale worth chasing. “A rocker. Side table. Matching dresser—”David’s gaze cut sharp. “I said complete. That means everything. Deliver it all.”He didn’t
Prisoner of Shame Chapter 33
A few weeks later, Brielle stood beneath a soft canopy of white lights, the garden wrapped in late-spring hush and rose petals. Guests murmured and smiled, their chairs lined in two neat rows across the manicured lawn of the Knightwood estate. Music drifted in the background—light, classical, delicate.Her dress was simple. Ivory satin, soft and flowing. Not too tight, not too bold. She hadn’t wanted a veil. Hadn’t wanted anything that would make the moment feel more permanent than it already did. Instead, she wore her hair down in loose waves, a single pearl pin tucked behind her ear.Her smile was soft. Almost convincing.Her heart was anything but.Her arm was threaded through Xander’s—his face unusually solemn, the tension in his jaw betraying what he didn’t say. He knew this wasn’t the fairy tale it appeared to be. But he walked her down the aisle anyway, silent and protective.David waited for her at the altar, his black suit crisp and tailored. His eyes never left her. When the
Prisoner of Shame Chapter 32
Brielle’s heart sank as the voice on the phone confirmed it—she was pregnant.The words echoed in her ears long after the call ended, blurring into the silence like smoke curling beneath a closed door. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. A stranger. A vessel.She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, legs trembling so violently she had to grip the sheets to keep from sliding to the floor. A baby. His baby.There would be no clean escape now. No final page. No slamming the door and never looking back. Whatever she felt about David—rage, fear, confusion, twisted loyalty—it didn’t matter. This child was a tether. A permanent thread binding her to the man who’d first broken her... and then insisted on loving every cracked shard.Her breath hitched. A baby. She hadn't planned for this. Hadn’t even dared to dream of motherhood. Not like this. Not with him.And yet…Beneath the dread was something gentler. A flicker of warmth, terrifying in
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