Scars of the Billionaire's Bride

                  Sarah's POV

 "Tell me, Sarah, did Austin beat you up again?" Anita asked, her tone curious.

"Can we talk some other time," I replied. "I'm running late for a meeting."

I walked towards my car without waiting for her to say more.

The last thing I wanted was to talk about my issues with my husband.

I opened the door and entered, but before I could drive off, she opened the Passenger's seat and sat down beside me.

I didn't say a word, I started the engine and drove off.

She turned to face me but I looked away, pretending not to see her.

"You can't hide the truth from me you know. We've been together for years and you know I care about you. So tell me the truth."

I bit my lips, holding back tears as memories of how I had an argument with Austin and he slapped me hard across the cheek, I remember seeing stars.

He has previously argued and shouted at me but last night, for the first time. He slapped me, and it was a slap I could never forget.

"You're right," I said, finally, my voice low. "Austin did that."

Anita's eyebrows furrowed in anger. I knew that look, I had seen it several times.

"Have you reported to the police?" She asked.

"I did, but Austin threatened to use his influence to make sure they don't believe me, and they lock me up."

"Don't be foolish, Sarah. Are you going to wait until you're dead before you make a good move to deal with that bastard?" She blurted out, her voice loud.

 "Drop us at the nearest police station, let's get this matter over with, once and for all," she ordered, leaving no room for argument.

I quickly shook my head. "Anita-" I started.

"No, Sarah," she cut me off. "We need to let him face the consequences of his actions. This is domestic violence."

I swallowed, part of me just wants to keep my mouth shut and just let her do her thing, but Austin's threat kept on playing on repeat in my head.

"Anita, I do want Austin to pay for his domestic violence. But he is a billionaire, his father is one of the most powerful families in the country, and I am just a poor orphan."

Anita shook her head, "If you continue to wallow in self pity, and allow fear to stop you from doing what is right. He's probably going to kill you one day, you hear?" She yelled, her brows furrowed in anger.

Her words sank into me.

My hands trembled slightly and I squeezed them together on the steering.

“You don’t understand,” I whispered. 

Anita’s jaw clicked. “Then make me understand,” she said, softer now. She reached across and took my hand, not the gentle hand-hold of acquaintances, but the iron grip of someone who’d seen too much and decided enough was enough. 

Her fingers were warm and steady, as if she were anchoring me to the moment.

The rain started then, thin at first, drumming a nervous pattern against the windshield. 

I could feel the imprint of Austin’s hand on my face when I blinked. A flash like a white star across my vision.

“Listen,” Anita said. “We’ll do this right. We document everything, we make copies, we go somewhere safe afterwards. I’ll be there every step. You are not alone.”

Every rational part of me wanted to believe her. Another part, small, feral, frightened, imagined the consequences. 

His father’s men. The reporters bought with favors. The police taking his side. The house that had been my whole life suddenly turned into a trap I couldn’t escape.

“But he said—” My voice failed. The words sounded childish even in my head.

“He said a lot of things,” Anita cut in. “Men like him think threats are iron. They’re often cheap words. He has money. He has influence. He doesn’t have the right to use them like a club.”

 Her eyes were fierce, and beneath the fury there was a plan, a practicalness I could almost see spooling out like rope, a hot, safe thread.

Anita reached into her bag, pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “I am texting Miriam,” she said. “She’s a powerful solicitor who is also my step sister. And doesn't take nonsense."

I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat.

"Good, she's online, she just texted back. She’ll meet us at the station in twenty minutes. If you want, we can go with her. If you don’t… then we make a different plan. But we do not do nothing.”

My chest felt tight, like someone had folded me small and slid me into a pocket. I wanted to tell her that Miriam wouldn’t help, that anyone who stood in Austin’s path would learn the hard way.

 But when I opened my mouth the words wouldn’t come, the fear had a chokehold.

Anita watched me with a patience I hadn’t expected. “Sarah, come on. You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. You’re smarter than this pain wants you to be. You deserve better than this.”

“Okay,” I said, but it was barely a breath.

“Okay?” Anita squeezed my hand. “That’s not an okay. Say it clearer.”

“Okay.” The second time was louder. The rain was heavier now, blotting the world into a watercolor blur.

 My reflection in the rearview was pale and stunned, a stranger’s face I wanted to scrub clean.

My stomach did a slow, sinking roll as we pulled up to the station. The station steps looked enormous; the wide glass doors looked like the entrance to a place that could either become a refuge or another courtroom where he bought silence.

We parked. I turned off the engine and sat for a beat, looking at Anita.

 “If it helps,” she said quietly, “we’ll ask for a domestic violence officer. We’ll let Miriam handle everything. We’ll take pictures. We’ll make sure you’re safe afterwards. If you want to go back at any point, we leave. I promise.”

I opened the door before I could talk myself back into the car. And came out of the car.

The air hit me cold and smelled like rain and the city, and for a moment I thought I might run.

Anita was already beside me, her coat flapped open, her mouth set. 

She linked her arm through mine as if I were a friend she’d loved for years, not a woman she’d just decided to save.

We walked up the steps together.

At the top, the automatic doors whirred. A secretary glanced up, then down again at a screen. 

“Name?” the woman behind the counter asked, without looking up.

“Sarah… Mccall.” My voice echoed too loud in my ears.

The woman typed. “Reason?”

I met Anita’s eyes. Anita gave me the slightest nod. Behind the counter, the keys to my courage clicked into place, one by one. “Domestic violence,” I said.

Just then, my phone started ringing. I checked the caller and my heart sank. It was Austin. He knew I was here.