The Fake Mistress (English)

Chapter 5

"Joaquin, what is your problem?! You're hurting me!"

I thrashed against his grip, but his fingers were an iron vise around my arm. He dragged me forward with violent, giant strides, turning my arm into a crushed tube of meat. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting like I had committed some unforgivable crime?

"Lov, people are staring," I pleaded, my voice trembling as I tried to keep pace with his frantic speed. "Whatever I did wrong—even though I know I didn't do anything—we can talk about it at home."

He didn't slow down. He didn't say a word. Instead, he squeezed harder, a silent punishment that made me wince. I could already feel the heavy, dark bruises forming beneath my skin. From the side, his jaw was locked tight, muscles twitching like coiled serpents.

"Joaquin, my arm hurts! Please, you don't have to do this—I’ll come with you willingly. Just let go!" Tears pricked my eyes.

I knew my husband. When he retreated into this suffocating silence, he became a ticking bomb. I had glimpsed his monster once before, and I had spent our entire marriage praying I would never see it again.

We passed my coworkers, their eyes wide with unspoken questions. I swallowed the agony, plastering a fragile mask over my face to keep us from becoming the office scandal. Near the main entrance, I caught sight of Riva waiting for a cab.

"Hey, sissy!" she called out brightly, but her smile died the moment her eyes dropped to Joaquin’s brutal grip on my arm. Worry flooded her face. I offered her a quick, tight nod, a desperate silent signal: I’m okay.

By the time we hit the parking area, he yanked open the passenger door and shoved me inside like a piece of unwanted trash. Before I could even adjust myself, he slammed the door shut—a violent noise that echoed off the concrete like a gunshot, drawing startled looks from bystanders.

He marched around to the driver's side, radiating lethal intent. I clutched my arm. The skin was inflamed, a harsh, angry red. Frustration boiled up beneath my fear. I was losing my patience—what kind of invisible ghost was he fighting? I had been begging for an answer, but he acted completely deaf, wearing the grim sneer of a betrayed man.

I rubbed my throbbed skin and looked at him. Darkness consumed his face. His lips were drawn into a thin, bloodless line; his brows locked together in a permanent scowl. His eyes burned with an open flame of rage. But why? Was it for me? I hadn't done anything.

My mind raced back to the lobby—he had seen me stepping out of the elevator with Alexander. Was this poison called jealousy?

Before I could process it, he slammed his foot on the gas. The car surged forward like a missile, tearing through the streets as if death itself were chasing us. Panic seized my chest. I hadn't even strapped in yet. With trembling hands, I yanked the seatbelt across my chest and held my breath.

"Joaquin, stop it! Slow down or you're going to kill us!"

He responded by flooring it harder. The engine roared, forcing me back into the seat as the world outside turned into a terrifying blur. His silence was louder than the engine, his eyes fixed on the road like a killer tracking prey. The ten-minute drive felt like a slow descent into hell.

He screeched to a halt right in front of our house, abandoning the car by the curb instead of pulling into the garage. He threw his door open and stepped out without a backward glance. Shaking, I unbuckled myself and reached for the handle, but before I could step out, his arm reached in and yanked me forward.

I stumbled hard, my feet tangling beneath me as he dragged me up the walkway. On the front steps, my knees gave out, and I barely saved my face by jamming my hands against the railing.

He kicked the front door open, dragged me inside, and slammed it shut with a deafening boom. Panic turned into cold horror when he threw me into the bedroom. He threw me onto the bed with such terrifying force that my face slammed hard against the wooden headboard. The tears I had been fighting finally broke, blurring my vision.

Clutching my throbbing cheek, I glared up at him through the haze. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Joaquin didn't answer. He just let out a cold, hollow smirk, climbed onto the bed, and brought his hand flat across my face.

Crack.

The impact echoed in my ears. A blinding numbness washed over my cheek, accompanied by a sharp ringing that rendered me temporarily deaf. My head snapped to the side. The metallic tang of rust filled my mouth, and when I wiped my lips, my fingers came back smeared with crimson.

"You're asking me what my problem is?! You don't know?" He released a bitter, manic laugh that made my skin crawl. "You! You are the problem, you w***e! Is this what you do at the office? You make a fool out of me, Kathryn?! Is that guy your lover? Answer me!"

He punctuated every word by jabbing his stiff index finger violently against my temple, shoving my head back with each blow.

"I'm not cheating! I did nothing wrong, Joaquin!" I sobbed, shielding my head.

"Alexander is just a coworker! Why are you doing this? Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"Don't lie to me! I saw the way you were looking at him!" he snarled, his hand darting out to snatch a handful of my hair. He yanked it backward, pulling my scalp so tight I screamed in agony. "What, am I not enough for you?! Is he better?! Is his d**k bigger than mine?! Tell me if I'm not f*****g enough for you!"

"Joaquin, stop! Please, no more!" I begged, my voice breaking into pathetic whimpers. "I swear I didn't do anything! Please, just stop!"

I was innocent, but the psychological terror was suffocating me faster than the physical pain. This was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. I knew his temper was a dark place, but he had never crossed this line. Never like this.

His hand suddenly let go of my hair. I collapsed forward, keeping my head tucked low, too terrified to look at his face. Tears streamed down my cheeks in steady rivers, dripping onto the bedsheets.

Through my blurred vision, I saw him standing over me. Then came a sharp, metallic sound—the slow, deliberate unbuckling of his leather belt. I wiped my eyes and slowly forced my gaze upward.

The man standing over me was a stranger. His features were twisted into a ghoulish mask of fury, looking less like my husband and more like a creature possessed by something evil. My stomach turned in absolute dread.

As the belt whipped free from his pants loops, he stepped closer. I scrambled backward, making a desperate dash for the open bedroom door, but he caught me by the hair again and threw me back down like a ragdoll.

"Joaquin, please! No!"

I scrambled into the corner of the bed, curling into a tight ball and hugging my knees to my chest. He stepped up, raised the folded leather belt high into the air, and brought it down hard across my bare legs.

The strike burned like liquid fire.

"Stop! Have mercy! Joaquin, stop it!"

I threw my arms out frantically, trying to shield myself as the leather rained down indiscriminately. He didn't care where it landed—my arms, my back, my ribs. The agonizing pain mounted until my brain began to go numb. A hot trickle of blood began to seep down my forehead, running a warm path across my cheek.

"What now? Are you still going to make a fool out of me, Kathryn?! Are you going to keep f*****g around?!" he roared, his chest heaving as he finally lowered his arm.

I shook my head frantically, my whole body trembling in the wreckage of his assault. "I-I'm not cheating on you... Alexander is getting married," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. "We don't have a relationship... please stop... it hurts so much..." Silence fell over the room, broken only by his heavy, ragged breathing.

The belt hit the floor with a soft thud. Suddenly, Joaquin dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands frantically reaching out to cup my blood-stained cheek.

"What have I done? I'm sorry, Love... I'm so sorry," he wept, pulling my limp body into his chest.

A bitter rage flared beneath my shock. Sorry? What good is your goddamn sorry now? It was as if he had just snapped out of a dark trance, suddenly horrified by the monster left in his place.

My body continued to violently shiver from the sheer trauma. He pressed desperate, frantic kisses all over my face—my cheeks, my bloodied forehead, my temples, my swollen lips—begging for forgiveness over and over. But his kisses felt like acid on my skin. He wasn't my husband anymore. He was a demon.

The room began to spin. The sharp edge of pain dulled into a heavy, suffocating weight, and a thick darkness crept into the edges of my vision.

"Love! Stay with me! Wake up, Love! s**t!"

His panicked voice was the last thing I heard before the blackness swallowed me whole, plunging me into absolute peace.