Married to a Narcissist Billionaire

Emily’s pov This isn’t the life I dreamed of as a kid. I always believed that love was about sharing equally, giving, and receiving. But that was just a fairytale, a wish I never thought would actually come true. At just 19, my father arranged my marriage to Mark, he insisted it was the only way to settle his debts, otherwise, he’d end up in jail. I felt I had no choice but to sign the contract and become Mark’s wife. He set the rules: no leaving the house, no making friends. Four years later, I still can’t believe I’ve managed to survive this chaotic situation. Every morning, I prepared breakfast for Mark, who never acknowledged my efforts, but honestly, it didn’t matter. I had no voice, I was his wife. “Your food’s ready,” I called out, placing his plate on the table. He didn’t even respond, as usual, Mark was already dressed in his black suit, his hair perfectly styled, he barely glanced at me before diving into his meal. “A friend is having a birthday party tomorrow,” he said in his usual cold tone. “Call the stylist to fix your hair.” “I’d rather go to the salon,” I replied, my voice trembling, “I’m tired of being cooped up inside, I want some fresh air.” “Fresh air?” He looked at me as if I were out of my mind, “With this big house, you can’t find fresh air here?” I sighed. “It’s not just about the air, Mark. I need to get out.” “Don’t you dare leave this house,” he snapped. “Call the stylist here. I’ll get you a dress when I come back.” Without another word, he grabbed his briefcase and walked out. I sat there, staring at the empty room. “I can’t keep doing this, it’s killing me,” I murmured to myself. But I knew better than to argue with him, Mark’s voice held a power that made me freeze whenever he spoke. I could never challenge him. I picked up my phone. “Hello, Rose. How are you?” Rose was the stylist. “Good day, ma’am. How can I help?” she answered. Is it possible for you to come today? I have something really important to attend to tomorrow.” “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m tied up today. Can we reschedule for tomorrow? I’ll be there by 6 AM,” she suggested. “Alright,” I replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over me, “Just make sure you’re here early.” I was actually glad she couldn’t make it today, This would give me some much-needed time for my blog. I’d been running an anonymous blog for the past two weeks, and it was going really well. Mark had no idea about it, my plan was straightforward: make some money and find a way to escape. I wasn't sure how I had managed to keep it a secret, but I was determined to keep it going, the best part? The viewers sent me money, and their encouraging words kept me motivated. Mark usually got back by 4 PM, so I had plenty of time. I quickly slipped into my usual black gown, the one Mark had never seen me wear, tied my headscarf, and put on a nose mask. I knew my hair could give me away if I left it down. Where’s that handkerchief? I thought, searching around. I used the small handkerchief to alter my voice. It was tiny, just the right size to fit in my mouth. Feeling ready, I set up my camera, arranged the background with a black curtain, and turned on my laptop. My heart raced, but I was used to this by now. Every morning, I spoke to strangers, sharing my thoughts and my reality. As the stream went live, I adjusted my nose mask and cleared my throat, like I was gearing up for a concert. “Hey, everyone,” I said, my voice soft and calm. “It’s been a while. Hope you all are doing well. I’ve been away for two days.m, Sorry about that, life just happens sometimes.” The views started climbing, and soon, they hit 10,000. Comments began flooding in. Some names were familiar, they were my top gifters, and their support kept me going. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet for too long.” “We miss you! Is everything alright?” “I’ve been waiting for your next stream. What’s been going on?” I smiled, pretending everything was fine. I miss you all. I’m really sorry for making you wait so long; I promise I won’t let another day slip by without reaching out. The notifications kept buzzing on my laptop, and one caught my attention: “Are you really stuck in a marriage you can’t escape? If you need help, just say the word, "We're here for you.” Another popped up right after, “Does he hit you? Talk to us, I’ll take care of him for you.” I couldn’t help but smile for a moment, it felt like there were real people out there who genuinely cared and wanted to help me. “Yes,” I whispered, almost too softly. “I’m trapped in a marriage, but I can’t leave just yet. It’s... complicated.” But he doesn’t hit me. Then another message appeared, even more intriguing than the rest: “What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you since you got married? We’d love to hear your story.” I hesitated, staring at the screen, Should I really dive into this tonight? Taking a deep breath, I replied, “The worst?” My voice was steady, almost like I was confessing something. “Well, the worst…” But before I could finish, the door swung open with a bang. I froze. Mark. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. I quickly ended the live stream, my heart racing. Why was he home so early? Did he forget something? Mark stepped closer, his face twisted with anger, “I asked you a question, and you'd better answer it.” I tried to respond, but he cut me off. The slap came so fast I didn’t have time to brace myself, and the sting on my cheek made me feel dizzy. “So, you want to humiliate me?” he yelled. “You think I mistreat you? Is that what you’re telling everyone?” Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn’t find the words. What could I possibly say? “How long have you been doing this?” he demanded, his anger palpable, “If I hadn’t forgotten my file, I might never have found out what you’re doing behind my back.” Mark grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me toward the bed. “You’ll pay for this.” He reached under the bed and pulled out tools I had never seen before. My stomach churned an egg at the sight of them. “I promised I wouldn’t use these on you,” he muttered, “But you’ve gone too far this time.” I flinched as he handcuffed my wrists to the bedframe, his grip cold and unrelenting. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking with fear. Mark’s anger had turned into something darker, something I didn’t recognize. It was like a beast had been unleashed inside him, and I was trapped in its path. “You’re my wife,” he said coldly. “I don’t ask much, just that you follow simple instructions.” He fastened a choker around my neck and shoved a gag into my mouth, I couldn't speak anymore. I struggled, but all that came out were muffled sounds. “You’ve been a naughty girl,” he muttered, his hand striking me with a whip. He pushed my legs aside and sank his head inside me, he sucked out my juice like he had never done before I made a deep, long sound of suffering, His fingers squeezed tightly over my thigh and he fixed his c**k inside me, he went harder and harder, till I couldn't feel my legs. He pulled out, removed the gag from my mouth, and his c**k this time in my mouth, I kept gagging with a lot of silver gushing out of my mouth.