Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Everything Ashland told me is running through my mind.
He's going to kill you, Bianca. It's what he does.
I lift my chin and take a deep breath.
“Have you ever been married before, Marcus?”
“What?” he says, too late, too slow, caught off guard.
“I heard this crazy rumor,” I say, trying to pull my wrist away, but he still holds tight. “I heard that you’ve had some ex-girlfriends who… well, had some terrible things happen to them. Is that true?”
“Of course it isn't,” he says, but his grip tightens. “Where did you hear that from?”
“Oh, just rumors,” I whisper. “I'm sorry, I don't—” Because he's hurting me now. Tears prick my eyes when he nearly crushes my wrist. It feels like it's going to break.
“Let go of me,” I hiss.
“Who told you that?”
“If it's not true, why are you so fucking defensive?”
“Language,” he says, and he twists my arm so hard that I scream—catching the attention of several people around us.
“Stop being so fucking dramatic,” he says, but he lets me go so people stop staring at us.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
I'm not going to marry this monster.
There has to be another way, a way out.
“Of course,” I say with a small smile, rubbing my wrist beneath the table. “I'll never do that again. And why would I ever think that you're anything but a good man?”
Fire rises in the back of my throat, and my belly churns with nausea. I'm lying with every single breath I have.
I reach for my glass and take a sip, acting like I’m shaken before I let it slip. It splashes across the table and onto my dress, and I leap from my seat, feigning shock and surprise.
“Oh gosh, I'm so sorry,” I stammer, hoping he'll believe me.
His eyes narrow at me.
“You should be more careful,” he says with a frown.
“It's fine. I'm going to step out and clean myself up a bit. I'll be right back.”
I grab my clutch and head toward the restroom. Two waiters are already at the table, helping to clean things up.
Marcus stands and… follows me.
I pretend I don’t see him, go into the bathroom, find an empty stall, lock the door, and take my phone out with trembling hands. I start searching.
Marcus Crowning wives. Marcus Crowning marriage.
Why haven't I done this before? Why did I wait till now?
Why have I been lying to myself?
Why did I think Ashland lied to me?
I see one thing after another. A mysterious death no one can explain. But when I click on the link, it's gone. An article that existed has been scrubbed from public view.
Oh god, I'm going to be sick.
I hear frantic pounding outside the stall door.
“Bianca, are you alright?”
How am I going to get away?
“I'm fine,” I say too loudly, my voice shaking.
He would take them, and when they no longer served him, he would get rid of them.
Just like me. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year—I don't know.
But Marcus doesn't like me and never has. He’s going to get rid of me just like he got rid of them.
I have to get away from him.
I flush, buying time, and when I open the door to the stall, Marcus is standing there.
“How did you open that?” I say. “It was locked.”
“You must have forgotten to lock it,” he says, lying and gaslighting me. How long has he been gaslighting me? “Wash your hands, Bianca,” he says, his lips in a thin line.
I walk to the sink and wash my hands with trembling fingers as I try to formulate a plan to get away.
“You've embarrassed me enough for one evening,” he says in a snarl. “Let's get you home and cleaned up.”
But I already felt his hands around my wrists—and it doesn’t take much to imagine those same hands around my neck.
He isn't bringing me home tonight, is he?
No. I have to get away from him.
I dry my hands and make my plan. I nod to him and walk out the exit.
“We're done eating for tonight. Let's go back to the car,” Marcus says, his hand gripping my wrist again.
To the left is the dining room, with patrons and the exit to the parking lot, where a valet has parked his car.
To the right is the kitchen. It's busy and bustling. I see a woman with her soft brown hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her eyes meet mine. She takes one look at Marcus, his hand on my wrist, and the panicked look on my face—and we have a silent conversation, woman to woman.
“Help,” I mouth to her silently. “Please.”
Her eyes widen. She nods and lifts a huge butcher knife from the table in front of her, walks toward the refrigerator, then jerks her head for me to come.
My heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy, then I make my move. In seconds, I stomp on his foot with my heel. He howls and releases me. I feel the ghost of his hand on the back of my dress just as she steps in front of him, blocking his path. She holds the knife like a shield.