Chapter 3: The Unthinkable Proposition

Frieda’s POV

Michael coming home was very hard. He arrived late at night, not through the front door, but the secret staff door in the back. 

He wasn't walking, but he wasn't completely broken either. He was sitting in a big, fancy electric wheelchair. He looked pale, exhausted, and very, very angry.

The house felt heavy and crowded with him back in it. I spent the next day trying to look like a good, caring wife. 

Michael kept talking quietly and angrily into his phone, ordering people around. He was either totally silent or yelling with jealous rage. He watched me all the time, as if he thought I would run away the second he closed his eyes.

It was good that there was now a big space between us. The idea that he could never touch me again was the only thing that kept me from going crazy. I felt almost light and free for a short time.

But that feeling didn't last.

The next afternoon, Michael told me to meet him in the library. The room was dark. It was full of tall shelves with books that looked like nobody ever read them. It smelled like old leather and dust.

Two men were already waiting by the big fireplace. They looked exactly the same. They were the same height and built like hard rocks. They had twin faces, handsome but scary. They wore simple black suits that looked even more frightening than Michael’s expensive clothes.

Michael didn't even say hello. He just pointed a hand at them.

“Frieda, these are Garrett and Alvin. They are my security friends. They will live here forever, to keep me safe.”

I knew right away they were dangerous. The air around them felt heavy.

I looked closely at the twins. They looked identical, but their eyes were different.

The one on the left, Garrett, nodded politely. His face looked tense. His eyes, a warm brown, looked quickly at mine, as if saying "sorry" before looking away. He looked like he really wished he wasn't here.

The one on the right, Alvin, did not nod. He gave me a slow, animal stare. He looked over my body like he was checking something he already owned. 

His mouth slowly curled into a mocking smile that didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were cold, like a calculator, and full of a quiet, mean wanting.

Michael watched us look at each other. A happy, twisted smile spread across his face. He rolled his wheelchair closer to the fireplace.

"Now, we have a simple problem to talk about," Michael said. His voice was flat and cruel, like he was just reading a boring report.

"The doctor said I need a very long time to heal. I can no longer take care of your needs, Frieda. But the public must still see the picture of the 'perfect corporate wife.' You must look well, happy, and loyal."

I stared at him. Is he divorcing me? Is he sending me away? I hoped so hard.

He kept talking, ignoring my shocked face. "My friends here are professionals. They are very capable. And they are, let's just say, ready to take on the job of looking after your... needs."

The words hit me like a punch. The library, the air, the beautiful books—everything started to spin.

He was suggesting something terrible. He was telling me to give myself to his "friends." To these two strong, scary strangers.

"You will give yourself to the twins, Frieda," Michael ordered. His eyes were shining with a horrible pleasure. 

"They will share you. It proves your loyalty to me, and it makes sure you don't look outside the mansion for what you need. It keeps the image perfect. It keeps you silent."

I was filled with fear and disgust. I was completely trapped. If I said no, I would ruin the last good thing my family name had left. But my body screamed to fight.

I stood up straight, trying to make my voice strong even though my hands were shaking. I grabbed the only weapon I had: my title as his wife.

"Michael," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "If this is what you need to protect your company and my name, I will do it. But I have rules. I am your wife, not just a toy. I choose when and where this happens. I choose the place. You will not choose the time."

It was a small fight, but it was all I could do to buy time and grab back a tiny bit of power.

Michael leaned back and laughed—a short, cold sound. He loved the horrible game of power. "Very well, Frieda. I like your sudden bravery. I accept your rules. Now go. You will be told when to meet them."

I nodded, feeling sick, and turned to leave the room. But as I reached the door, Alvin M. Bobbitt stepped right in front of me.

His perfect, scary face was only inches from mine. His cold smile got even wider, holding a deep, ugly understanding.

I looked hard at the only difference I could see between the brothers. There was a faint, white jagged scar above Alvin's left eyebrow, almost hidden in his dark hair. I stared at it.

My blood turned to ice. A clear, painful memory ripped through my mind. I was a small child, hiding in a dark closet. There was a boy, laughing, shutting the door on me.

I saw that same scar, that same mean smile. It belonged to a boy named Alvin who had been cruel to me every summer at my grandmother's house. My childhood bully.

I wanted to scream his name. I wanted to tell Michael what he had done to me years ago. But my voice was gone. I just stood there, frozen, staring into the eyes of my terrible past.

Alvin didn't just remember me; he knew exactly who I was. His smile widened just a tiny bit more, proving every bad thing he had ever done.

He doesn't just remember me; he knows who I am, and his smile tells me he remembers every mean thing he ever did. And Michael brought him here.