Chapter 3
1461 Words
Su Ran POV
“Delete those photos right now!”
I scream the second the screen lights up with my own naked body sprawled across his desk, eyes glassy-eyed, wrists bound with his tie, legs spread wide while he stands between them grinning at the camera. The pictures flip one after another like a slideshow of my worst nightmare.He sits in his leather chair, thumb scrolling slow, calm, amused. “Behave for three years and maybe I will.”
“Delete them!” My voice cracks. I lunge across the desk to grab the phone. He lifts it out of reach with one hand and catches my wrist with the other.“Sit down.”
I yank against his grip. “You drugged me, you bastard! I didn’t even know you took those!”
“You passed out after the charity gala. I carried you in here, stripped you, tied you up, and took a few souvenirs. You slept like a baby the whole time.” He turns the screen so I can see the next photo: my own face slack, drool on my chin, his fingers inside me. “Crystal clear 8K. The internet would love these.”I slap him. He doesn’t blink, just tightens his fingers until my bones grind together. “That’s one mark against your three years, wife.”
I try to pull free. “Name your price. Anything. I’ll sign whatever you want, just delete them.”
“Already got everything I want. Your name, your body, your future. These are just insurance.” He releases my wrist and keeps scrolling. Another photo: me on my knees, mouth open, his come on my face. “Look how pretty you are when you’re quiet.”My stomach flips. I swallow bile. “You’re sick.”
“Old news.” He pockets the phone and stands. “Dinner’s in twenty. Wear the red dress. Smile for the investors.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He grabs my chin, forces me to look at him. “You’ll walk in on my arm, laugh at their jokes, and let them kiss your cheeks. Or these photos go to every board member before dessert.”I jerk my face away. “You’d ruin your own reputation too.”
“I’m the victim of a leaking phone, darling. You’re the slut who got off on it.” He smiles. “Guess who they’ll believe.”I want to claw his eyes out. Instead I stand there shaking. “Three years?”
“Three years of perfect obedience. No screaming, no running, no suicide attempts. You give me a child, smile for the cameras, and maybe, maybe, I delete them on the day the kid turns one.”
“And if I say no?”
He pulls the phone out again, thumbs flying. “Say it. I’ll hit send right now.”I close my eyes. “Fine.”
“Louder.”
“I said fine!”
He cups his ear. “Fine what?”
“I’ll behave for three years.”
“Good girl.” He kisses my forehead like I’m a child who just recited her ABCs. “Red dress is on the bed. Heels are in the box. Don’t make me come find you.”He walks out. The door clicks shut. I stand frozen until I hear his footsteps disappear, then I run to the bathroom and throw up until there’s nothing left.I wear the red dress. It’s backless, tight, screams money and s*x. He waits at the bottom of the stairs, eyes raking over me like he’s already f*****g me again.
“Turn around,” he says.
I turn.
“Perfect.” He offers his arm. I don’t take it. He grabs my hand, tucks it into the crook of his elbow, squeezes once in warning.In the car he rests his hand high on my thigh the entire ride. I stare out the window and count streetlights so I don’t scream.
“Smile when we arrive,” he reminds me.
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder.”The gala is all crystal chandeliers and fake laughter. Cameras flash the second we step out. He keeps his hand on the small of my back, fingers pressing whenever I forget to smile.
“Mrs. Li, you look stunning,” some investor says, kissing both my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I answer through my teeth. Li Jingting’s fingers dig in deeper.He parades me from group to group, introducing me as his beautiful wife, his perfect wife, his treasure. Every time someone compliments the dress he says, “She picked it herself,” and the lie tastes like rust in my mouth.Halfway through dinner he leans over, lips brushing my ear. “You’re doing well. Keep it up and maybe I only send the photos to one person tonight instead of a hundred.”
I grip my fork so hard the metal bites my palm. “Stop threatening me.”
“Stop giving me reasons.”After dessert he drags me to the dance floor. The orchestra plays something slow and sickening. He pulls me close, hand splayed across my bare back.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
“Never.”
He chuckles. “Your pulse is racing. Afraid I’ll show everyone what a good little slut you are when you’re drugged?”
I step on his foot with my heel on purpose. He doesn’t even flinch, just spins me out and back in tighter.When we finally get home it’s past two. He unlocks the bedroom door, pushes me inside.
“Strip.”
I stand there.
He pulls out the phone, opens the gallery again. “I said strip.”
I reach behind for the zipper, let the red dress pool at my feet.
He steps closer, thumbs the screen. “On your knees.”
I sink down.
“Hands behind your back.”
I obey.
He takes a new picture. Flash.
“Insurance update,” he says. “Now crawl to the bed.”I crawl. The marble is cold against my palms and knees. He follows, loosening his tie.
When I reach the bed he grabs my hair, yanks my head back. “Say thank you for the lovely evening.”
“Thank you for the lovely evening,” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“Thank you for the lovely evening, husband.”
He smiles, pushes me face-down onto the mattress. “Night’s not over yet.”He f***s me slow this time, almost gentle, like a reward for good behavior. I bite the pillow so I don’t make a sound. When he finishes he stays inside, kisses the back of my neck.
“Two years, eleven months, thirty days left,” he whispers.
I close my eyes and start counting backward from a thousand so I don’t lose my mind.Morning comes. He’s already dressed for work, knotting his tie in the mirror.
“Pill,” he says, holding out the blister pack.
I take it, swallow dry.
He nods approval. “Tonight we have dinner with the Chens. Wear the black dress with the slit.”
“I want to see my mother this weekend.”
“Earn it.”
“How many more perfect days?”
“Tonight will make three. Keep counting.”He leaves. The door locks behind him. I sit on the edge of the bed in his discarded shirt and stare at the new bruise blooming on my thigh shaped exactly like his fingers.I pick up the bedside phone, dial the hospital.
“ICU, Mrs. Su’s room.”
The nurse answers soft. “She had a stable night, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and hang up before I start crying.I walk to the full-length mirror, lift the shirt, look at every mark he left last night.
Three years.
One thousand and ninety-five days.
I touch the darkest bruise and mouth the words I can’t say out loud yet.
I will survive you.
Then I will bury you.He comes home at seven sharp. I’m already in the black dress, hair perfect, makeup perfect, smile welded on.
He stops in the doorway, eyes narrowing. “Too perfect. Take it off.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He loosens his cufflinks. “I want you naked when I walk back in here in five minutes.”He leaves. I strip, fold the dress neatly, and wait on my knees in the middle of the rug exactly like he taught me last week.
He returns, phone in hand, flash ready.
“Smile, wife.”
Flash.
Another photo for the collection.
I keep smiling while something inside me dies a little more.Two years, eleven months, twenty-nine days left.
- Writer
