He was Never Hers

ChapterTwo

“Amaya, please!” I screamed as she plunged the knife into my tummy over and over. Blood spurted everywhere, and when my hands touched the warm liquid trickling from my gashed belly, I screamed again.

I woke up with a start, sweat covering my forehead. The nightmare lingered on the brink of my consciousness as the fog of sleep slowly cleared.

For a while, I stared around, bewildered by my surroundings, wondering if this was yet another bad dream.

Then, in a flash, I remembered. My hand signing court marriage papers.

I flung the duvet off my body and rushed into the bathroom. If I didn’t get ready and hit the road within thirty minutes, I’d be late for work again.

As I bathed, my mind kept drifting back to the ominous dream. It made the juices in my belly sour.

Fifteen minutes later, I was done bathing in record time. My vast closet—easily the size of three rooms—was full of every kind of clothing imaginable: office wear, evening gowns, dinner party dresses, gym gear.

Heck, I didn’t even own this many clothes when I was my own boss. Is this what it feels like to be a billionaire’s wife?

I met Eduardo downstairs, spooning his coffee, leaning against the kitchen sink, smiling gently down at Selena, the housekeeper I had been introduced to yesterday.

His usually dark orbs, filled with hate and power, now exuded kindness, and his facial features looked soft as he silently listened to whatever Selena was saying.

A look of affection passed between them.

“Where are you going?” His gaze darkened instantly upon seeing me.

“I have a job,” I gritted, matching his fierce glare without flinching.

“I am very much capable of taking care of your needs,” he said, his voice dropping a notch, eyes flaring with fire. “It’s part of the conditions. You don’t work for the three years you’re under me.”

“f**k you,” I shot back flippantly, padding my way to the door. Who the f**k does he think he is?

I could feel the intensity of his glare pelting my skin as I turned the knob—but it was locked.

My eyes landed on his mocking smirk.

“Alexa, open the door,” I commanded the house automation system.

“Access denied,” Alexa replied, and my blood boiled.

“Open the door now, Eduardo.”

“Trying to control me in my house, little wife?” His tone was full of condescension, deliberately enunciating “little.”

My house. It was my house before you took it away from me, you sadistic pig. It’s only a matter of time—I’ll take it back, too.

“Remember what I told you yesterday. You dare not defy me.” His fists tightened around the mug he was holding.

“You go where I want you to go. You stay where I tell you to stay. You do as I say.”

“And if I do not?”

“You face the goddamn consequences.”

—

I sat at the edge of the bed, anger bristling through my entire body, stewing in the pain and embarrassment of Eduardo humiliating me in front of the housekeeper.

The stupid housekeeper who had witnessed the heated exchange between husband and wife, yet stood there instead of leaving—soaking it all in.

I waited until he was gone, and when the housekeeper wasn’t looking, I swiped the keys and bolted out to the garage.

I climbed into a pink Porsche, praying that three years of not driving hadn’t made me rusty.

Sputtering the engine to life, I sped erratically out of the garage.

Upon reaching the multi-complex where I worked as an executive assistant, I flew up the stairs, taking three steps at once as I rushed toward my boss’s office.

A rap on the door, a grunt to come in, and I let myself into the now-refurbished office.

My boss gasped on seeing me. “Mrs. Armani, what are you doing here?”

My heart missed a beat. So the word wasn’t lost on her too.

“I came to work… late, ma. I… um… came to report myself.”

She looked at me inquisitively as she carefully flipped through the files on her desk.

“There’s no space for you in our company, Mrs. Armani.”

I hated that title—Mrs. Armani—with a passion.

“I don’t understand, ma.”

“You’ve been fired—”

“What?! I’m—”

She raised a finger, and the words died on my tongue.

“Your husband, Sir Eduardo, gave instructions that we should terminate your employment.”

My mood plummeted instantly.

“Your belongings are already packed and waiting for you in the lobby. Thank you for your services to this company.”

“Ma, you have to reconsider,” I begged. I didn’t want to be locked at home, reduced to Eduardo’s pet slave or s*x toy.

She didn’t even look up from her laptop. “I can’t rebel against your husband. That’s a death wish I wouldn’t even wish on my enemy. We promise to give glowing recommendations about you to any company willing to hire you.”

I stormed out and slammed the door, my face burning with fury.

Five years down the line, and he was still a control freak.

As I turned toward the elevator, my phone buzzed violently in my purse. I yanked it out, and one glance at the screen made my blood run cold.

You took my car. There will be consequences.

It was Eduardo.

The housekeeper must have told him about my escape.

I clenched the phone tightly in my fist. It buzzed again.

Attached to the message was a live photo of me—an overhead shot taken as I stepped into the elevator. Did he have surveillance tracking my every move now?

The caption read:

Careful, little princess. You don’t know what might hit you.

I frowned as I read the seco

nd message:

Nice shoes, by the way. Shame if you had blood on them.

My blood turned to ice.

It wasn’t from Eduardo.