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Chapter 1
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2025-06-20 02:22:34David slid into the lecture hall like a shadow—precise, unnoticed, and exactly where he intended to be: two rows and three seats to the left of her.
Brielle.
She sat, as always, in the center row near the windows, her long blonde hair tucked neatly behind one ear as she whispered something to her roommate, Talia. The redhead laughed softly, nudging Brielle with her elbow. The sound didn’t carry, but David didn’t need it to. He watched her lips move, watched her eyes light up in that way they did when she was teasing—genuine, unguarded, a flash of sunshine through gray.
He had been studying her for weeks now. Not just in class, but outside of it. He knew she lived in Stevenson Hall. Knew she and Talia shared a dorm room on the second floor. Knew her favorite coffee order from the cart outside Royce Hall and that she always chewed the end of her pen when taking notes. He knew she kept her head down, but not because she lacked confidence—because she’d learned not to expect anyone to look up for her.
On Saturday nights—sometimes Fridays—she danced at The Grotto, the campus club barely disguised as respectable. What the rest of the world saw as carefree, David saw as something else entirely. A ritual. A shedding of weight.
She didn’t know she was dancing for him.
But she was.
He watched her from the shadows. Watched her move like she had no idea the effect she had, hips swaying, body caught in rhythm, innocent and dangerous at once. She moved like she was trying to forget something—or maybe trying to remember who she was before the world told her to shrink.
He wanted to see that look—that freedom—just for him. Undressed. Unashamed. Unafraid.
And one night, he decided he’d waited long enough.
She stood near the far wall of the club, half-hidden in shadows, watching Talia spin across the floor with some boy who didn’t deserve her time. Brielle held a drink in one hand, untouched. She didn’t look bored. Just… distant. Like her mind was somewhere else.
David approached with calm certainty, a single red rose in his hand. The kind with thorns still intact.
She saw him coming and blinked, startled. For a moment, she didn’t move. She just stared, expression unreadable.
"I just felt it was my duty," he said, voice low, smooth, deliberate, "to tell you how beautiful you are."
He held the rose between them, and slowly, carefully, tucked it behind her ear. His fingers brushed her skin, and she didn’t flinch. Her breath caught instead.
Her lips parted. "Thank you," she said, barely audible.
He offered his hand. Not demanding. Not pleading. Just there.
She hesitated—but only a beat—and placed hers in his. He led her to the dance floor, where the music swallowed them whole.
They danced in sync, her body gradually relaxing into his as the minutes passed. He didn’t grope, didn’t rush, didn’t break the illusion. He was patient. Charming. Curious. She smiled up at him, shy and unsure, and he pretended to be just as vulnerable.
After three songs, he leaned close to her ear. "Sit with me?"
She nodded.
He guided her to a table in the back, shielded from the crowd and the lights. She sat across from him, tucking her hair behind her ear again as he stared openly at her, gaze unreadable.
"I’m David," he said, though he already knew her name.
"Brielle," she replied, voice small but steady.
He smiled like her name meant something. "You really are beautiful. That wasn’t just a line."
She laughed softly, glancing down. "You’re very forward."
"Only when it matters."
They talked. About classes. Music. Books she loved. Places he’d traveled. He made her laugh three times—real laughs, not the polite kind. And when she said she needed to get home, he didn’t push.
"I’ll walk you," he said, standing before she could protest.
She agreed.
They walked side by side under the glow of streetlamps, the campus quiet and still. Their hands brushed once—then again—and then he took hers. She didn’t pull away.
As they reached the dormitory steps, he stopped her gently.
"I want to see you again," he said.
She looked up at him, unsure but smiling. "Okay."
"Tomorrow," he said. "Six?"
She nodded. "Room 214."
He kissed the back of her hand like a promise. "Until then."
Then he walked away, not looking back. Not needing to. She was already his. The story had already begun.
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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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