chapter three
1493 Words
CHAPTER THREE
She forced herself to meet his eyes, searching for remorse—for anything.
There was none.
"Stop crying," he muttered, voice flat. "It’s getting annoying."
Her heart clenched.
"You’re… a monster," she whispered.
Drake exhaled, rubbing his temple again as if she were some problem he needed to get rid of.
"I'm tired, Naomi," he said. "I'm done playing this game with you. If you keep acting like this, I might start hating you more than I already do."
Naomi inhaled sharply.
She knew their marriage was nothing but an arrangement—a contract. She had known from the beginning that there was no love between them.
But hearing him say it like that—so coldly, so effortlessly—shattered something inside her.
"Why did you even marry me?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Drake ran a hand through his hair.
"You already know the answer to that," he said. "Business. That’s all this has ever been."
Her chest ached.
She felt like she couldn't breathe.
For the past two years, she had tried to convince herself that he wasn’t heartless. That maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for them.
But there wasn’t.
There never had been.
Drake turned away from her, already walking toward the bedroom.
"Go to sleep, Naomi," he muttered. "This conversation is over."
"But I love you Drake"
Naomi barely had time to react before the second slap came. The sharp sting spread across her cheek, her head snapping to the side as she stumbled backward, her body colliding with the hard wooden floor.
The taste of blood filled her mouth. Her head was spinning, the ringing in her ears muffling everything else.
Drake’s voice cut through the haze like a whip.
"What did I say about interrupting anything I do? Are you stupid or just acting like it?"
Naomi blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as she tried to focus. Her body trembled from shock, from pain. She lifted her gaze to look at him, but the weight of his glare made her chest tighten.
His words clawed into her, ripping through whatever remained of her dignity.
She was bleeding. She could feel the warm trickle running down her face, pooling at her lips.
Her fingers pressed against the cut just below her eye, and she winced. It wasn’t just the pain that made her heart hammer wildly—it was the sheer cruelty in his voice.
"See, let this get into your head," Drake continued, his voice low and chilling, "I could never love you. So don’t try to earn something you cannot afford. Or else…" He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. "I will do worse to you."
Her breath hitched.
Something inside her shattered at those words.
Had she really believed, even for a second, that he could care? That maybe, just maybe, she could hold onto the love she had once dreamt of?
The reality crashed down on her like an avalanche.
Drake was never going to love her.
And he would never let her go.
Her fingers curled into fists against the floor, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream, to cry out, but all she could do was nod weakly, as if that would stop the storm raging in front of her.
Her body trembled violently, not just from the pain but from the terrifying certainty that this wasn’t the worst he could do.
She had to get out.
But how?
Drake exhaled sharply, his anger still radiating off him. Without warning, he reached down, grabbing her roughly by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
A pained gasp left her lips as her bruised body protested the movement.
"Naomi," his voice was calm now, almost too calm, "you have to obey my every command, so I am not forced to do these things to you. You are just causing this to yourself."
She clenched her jaw.
So it was her fault now?
She bit her lip, holding back the bitter laugh that threatened to escape. If she laughed now, he would just hurt her again.
He carried her effortlessly back to their bedroom, his grip firm, unyielding.
The walls blurred past her, her mind screaming at her to fight back, to do something—anything.
But she was exhausted.
When he threw her onto the bed, her body bounced slightly before sinking into the soft mattress.
Drake didn’t spare her another glance. He turned, walked out, and slammed the door shut behind him.
Leaving her alone.
Again.
Naomi didn’t move at first. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, her breath uneven, her chest rising
She stood there, frozen, watching him disappear behind the door.
Something inside her snapped.
She could not stay here anymore.
Not for another night.
Not for another moment.
If she stayed, she would lose herself completely.
Wiping away her tears, Naomi straightened her spine.
Enough.
She was going to leave.
The next morning, Naomi sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing over the bandages she had wrapped around her injuries.
Drake hadn't called a doctor.
Of course, he hadn't.
She had treated herself, using the first-aid kit tucked away in the bathroom cabinet.
The bruises were turning an ugly shade of purple.
Her lip was split.
And her heart—her heart felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together with nothing but regret.
She could not stay here.
With each second she remained in this house, she was one step closer to losing herself.
Her breath was quick, her hands clenching into the silk bedcovers.
It was now or never.
Slowly, she got out of bed, her legs weak beneath her.
The floor was cold under her bare feet as she walked toward the window, her fingers reaching for the latch.
Locked.
She had anticipated that.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She turned toward the bedroom door, hesitating for only a second before moving forward, pressing her ear against the wood.
Silence.
Nothing.
She reached for the handle, twisting it carefully.
To her surprise, the door creaked open.
Her pulse skyrocketed.
Drake had left it unlocked?
Too easy.
She didn’t waste time.
Slipping into the hallway, she moved as fast as she could, her breath shallow, her steps silent.
The house was a maze of endless hallways and doors.
Her fingers grazed the wall, steadying herself as she approached the grand staircase.
Just a little more.
If she could just reach the front doors—
"Woman."
Her blood went cold.
Drake’s voice.
Smooth. Velvet.
But laced with unmistakable amusement.
A breath hitched in her throat as she turned sharply—only to trip, her feet catching on something, sending her forward.
She barely had time to react before strong arms caught her.
Trapped.
No. No. No.
She struggled, gasping, her hands clawing at his grip, but it was useless.
He held her too tightly.
His breath brushed her ear.
"So eager to leave?"
Panic surged through her, white-hot and paralyzing.
"Let me go," she whispered, her voice trembling.
He chuckled.
A deep, rich sound that made her stomach twist in fear.
"Hmm…" He tilted his head, considering. "No."
Her fingers dug into his arm, desperate. "Please, Drake."
His grip tightened.
"I thought you went to work."
His lips curled. "I did." He tilted her chin up, his touch deceptively gentle. "But I turned back when I saw you trying to escape. Did you really think I would leave you here without cameras?"
Her heart stopped.
Security cameras.
He had been watching her.
Before she could react, he effortlessly lifted her off the ground.
Naomi screamed, thrashing, her nails scratching at his arms, but it was useless.
He carried her with infuriating ease, moving toward the bedroom.
No. No. No.
She kicked. She fought.
It didn’t matter.
Within seconds, she was back in the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind them.
She panted, chest rising and falling rapidly as she glared at him with everything she had left.
Drake leaned in, his lips a mere inch from her ear.
"Don’t make me come after you again."
The threat sent shivers down her spine.
He stepped back, his expression unreadable, and closed the door with a soft click.
A heavy silence followed.
Naomi’s body shook.
Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.
She had tried.
She had failed.
She was trapped.
Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.
Then—
"I want a divorce."
The words left her lips before she could stop them.
Drake stilled.
The air in the room shifted.
His head turned slowly, his eyes darkening with something unreadable.
If she could go back in time and take those words back… she would.
Because the look in his eyes made her feel like she had just signed her own death sentence.
And this time, she wasn’t coming back.
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- Writer
