One Fake Headshot, Our Final Farewell

Chapter 5 Tried to Fight Back

The ridiculous scenes played out more than once—so many times that I was already exhausted.

"You're right," I said, holding his gaze. My voice was calm but sharp. "I found myself some clean college boys because you disgust me. Happy now?"

He snapped—like I'd hit a nerve. He started muttering to himself. "No one in the Harding family takes used goods. How dare you? How dare you!"

Then he slapped me to the floor.

My ears rang; my cheek burned. But I sneered. What an i***t—he actually bought it.

Robert flew into a real rage. He stormed into the bedroom, pulled a pistol from the drawer, and clicked the safety off. The barrel pointed straight at my heart.

He pulled the trigger—but turned the gun aside at the last second. The bullet whizzed past, hitting the ground just inches from me.

Dust flew; my face went pale. I was so terrified, so frozen, that I almost forgot how to breathe. Then, out of nowhere, I saw it—the memory of when I was eight. My parents had taken my sister and me abroad. With no bodyguards, we were ambushed by a pack of ruthless kidnappers.

My family had stepped in front of me to take the bullets.

The bloody images crashed over me. My legs gave way. I hit the floor, choking for air.

Robert thought he'd made his point. Satisfied, he put the gun away.

His voice dripped with condescending pity. "Don't even think about running. You haven't paid for your sins yet. Don't talk to me about being a maid—I could make you the Harding family's dog, and you should be thankful for it."

There it was again—that same line.

Ever since I married him, this had been my life.

Day after day, the blame, the humiliation, the mind games—I'd heard it all so many times I'd lost count.

Under that suffocating weight, my vision went black. I passed out cold.

Right before I blacked out, I thought I saw a flash of panic on his face.

I heard him rambling. "I'm sorry. A doctor. Go get a doctor!"

When I woke up, it was the same old hospital bed. The scrapes on my arm from the fall had been bandaged neatly. The wound still ached. Robert sat by the bed, staring at me with a complicated look.

I closed my eyes and said, weak but clear, "Let me go, Robert. This way, neither of us is going to make it."

He jerked his head away and didn't say a word. He just slammed the door on his way out.

Finally, I got some quiet.

Two more days, and then all this suffering would be over.

When the guards forced me into the club, I tried to fight back.

"Mr. Harding's orders, Mrs. Harding," they said. "Please don't make this hard for us."

The moment they shoved me into the private room, I saw them—a bunch of men lounging on the couches, grinning.

Their eyes crawled over me, hot and taunting.

Robert sat at the far end of the couch, Loretta tucked tight against his chest.

The two of them were glued together, as if I didn't even exist.

When she saw me walk in, Loretta flashed a brilliant smile, a hint of triumph in her eyes. "Monica, you finally made it. Mario just got back from abroad—he's been dying to meet 'Mrs. Harding.'"