GwenThe heavy iron click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.I pressed my back against the mahogany door of Raymond’s bedroom, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The fabric of the dress he had forced me into, a thin silk, and a mocking shade of crimson, felt like ash against my skin. It was tight, designed to restrict my movement, a physical manifestation of the trap he had built around me.Only an hour ago, he had stood before me in the holding room, his eyes cold and hollow. “Have you thought about my proposal, Gwen?” he had asked, his voice smooth, devoid of any human warmth.I had looked him dead in the eye, swallowing the terror rising in my throat. “I would rather die than yield to you, Raymond. Never.”The penalty for my defiance was swift and agonizing. They had torn my baby from my arms. The sound of my child’s fading cries still echoed in my ears, a brutal rhythm that drove me into a frenzy.I lunged toward the tall, arched windows overlooking the
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