Chapter 3

Ava forced a smile, a grotesque imitation of defiance.

"Is that all, Liam? I was expecting worse from you."

His eyes narrowed. He grabbed her throat, his fingers tightening, cutting off her air.

"Don't push me, Ava."

She clawed at his hand, vision blurring.

He released her abruptly. She gasped for air, coughing.

"You will suffer," he promised, his voice low and menacing. "For every day Chloe is gone, you will pay."

As she stumbled, he caught a glimpse of the raw, chafed skin on her neck, not just the ligature marks but older, deeper scars.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded, yanking her chin up.

Ava' s mind raced. She couldn' t tell him about Serenity Pines.

"Just... souvenirs from my travels," she lied, her voice raspy. "Some places have very... exotic practices for fun." She tried to make her tone suggestive, provocative. Anything to distract him.

Liam' s face darkened further.

The thought of her with other men, enjoying herself while he mourned Chloe, while he believed Ava was responsible for that loss, was unbearable.

He dragged her from the office, down a private corridor, and into a small, sparsely furnished room. A service room, rarely used.

He threw her onto a narrow cot.

"You want to play games, Ava? Fine."

His assault was brutal, impersonal. He treated her like an object, a thing to vent his rage upon.

Ava closed her eyes, enduring it. This was part of the price.

When he was done, he stood, adjusting his clothes, his face cold.

"Cassandra is carrying my child," he repeated, the lie twisting the knife. "She' s my future. You are my past, a debt to be collected. This is your retribution, Ava. You' re a tool. Nothing more."

He looked down at her, broken and bruised on the cot.

"You have a choice," he said. "Stay here, be my tool. Or I can send you back to wherever you crawled out from. And I assure you, they' ll be much less... restrained."

The unspoken threat of Ethan Cole, of Serenity Pines, hung in the air.

Ava shivered. She couldn't go back there. Her body wouldn't survive it. Her mind was already fractured.

The pain in her chest, the burning in her lungs, was a constant reminder of the ALS.

She had so little time left.

To fulfill her donation agreement. To visit her parents' graves. To ensure the stipend money reached the Bronx youth shelter.

She had to endure Liam.

"I'll stay," she whispered, the words tasting like ash.

He nodded, a cruel satisfaction in his eyes.

"Good. My engagement party is next week. You'll help Cassandra. You'll be at her beck and call."

He turned and left, the click of the door echoing in the silence.

Ava lay there, trembling, every inch of her body aching.

Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up.

She went to the small adjoining bathroom, turned on the tap, and began to wash.

The water ran pink.

As she cleaned herself, she saw them. The marks of her captivity.

Not just the fresh bruises from Liam, or the ligature marks.

But the older scars.

The ones she had carved into her own skin.

Liam. Liam. Liam.

His name, etched into her arms, her thighs, her stomach. Hundreds of times.

A desperate mantra in the face of unspeakable torture.

A testament to a love he now despised.

A secret she would carry to her grave.

And soon, beyond it.