Claimed by Three Billionaires

Italy, 1989 “You’re not going anywhere,” Edmund told me without raising his voice, without even looking at me. His tone was as flat as the sea that afternoon. No waves. No wind. No soul. “I didn’t ask your permission.” “That doesn’t matter. You don’t need to speak to provoke. Your mere existence is a constant affront.” He watched me from the far end of the deck as if I were a minor annoyance. As if his opinion were a universal truth. As if he had the right to dictate my fate… and I the obligation to obey. “Let’s go below,” he added, this time without smiling. “I want to talk to you. Alone.” And by “talk” he always meant a carefully planned session of punishment. Of control. Of measured destruction. Edmund Ravenshire wasn’t impulsive. He was meticulous, methodical, patient. Very intelligent. He never left visible traces. His blows didn’t touch my face or break my bones. He knew exactly how to break me. How to leave me on the edge of collapse so no one could accuse him. He only left marks where no one could see them. “Make it easy,” he said, approaching slowly. “You know how this ends when you resist.” “And if this time it doesn’t end?” “Are you suggesting you have a choice?” “I’m suggesting that this time… I don’t care if you kill me.” He slapped me so fast I didn’t see it coming. My head spun and dizziness arrived before the pain. But I didn’t fall. Not this time. “Are you defying me, Selene?” he asked with that poisonous tone he used when he teetered between pleasure and fury. “After everything I’ve done for you?” “Done for me? Locking me up? Torturing me? Making me beg for air? Don’t confuse sadism with care.” “I’m not a sadist,” he replied, though his eyes contradicted him. “I just enjoy order. And you… you were a chaos I took in out of pity.” I laughed. I laughed with the little strength I had left. “No, Edmund. You chose me because you knew no one would save me. Because you knew no one would believe me. Because I’m the lonely Ashford, the orphan, the one with nowhere to run when she screamed for help.” Then he smiled. Not because what I said hurt him. He smiled because he knew it was true. “And yet, you’re still here. Because you need me.” “No. I’m here because I’ve been surviving. But today… it’s over.” He tried to drag me toward the cabin. I resisted. We struggled. He was stronger, but I was fed up. And sometimes, fed up gives you strength. “Let go of me!” “Damn it, you behave like a stray b***h!” “And you like an elegant psychopath with a diploma!” The blow came straight to my stomach. I lost my breath. I doubled over. He shoved me against the wall. His arm around my neck. “I’m going to teach you to respect,” he said through his teeth. “This time you’ll understand who’s in charge.” His fingers squeezed hard, but not as hard as the last time. He was confident. He thought I would faint again as always, that I would get up with my voice broken and my will shattered. But this time, my hands did not tremble. I grabbed the metal pipe protruding from the edge of the mast. I lifted it without thinking. “You’re never going to lock me up again.” And I struck. Once. Again. And again. “Selene! What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted, staggering. “What I should have done the first night you put a hand on me.” When he rose, he stumbled, took a step back and the railing gave way under his weight. He didn’t scream. He just fell, and I watched his body disappear into the water so I waited. I looked for signs but there were none. I didn’t feel relief, nor guilt—just a strange calm. I breathed deeply and I was still standing. I was still alive and for the first time in years I was also free. I jumped into the water without thinking. I swam without looking back. I reached the shore while the sun had not yet set, and when I reached home I showered. When they asked me about Edmund, I simply said: “He went out sailing. He was upset. I don’t know when he’ll return.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. That night, when the clock struck midnight and there was no sign of him, a brutal storm broke over the city. Lightning tore the sky open, thunder made the windows vibrate, wind slipped through the house’s cracks as if searching for answers. I didn’t sleep. At dawn I feigned ignorance when my mother-in-law asked me, “Where is my son?” “I don’t know. He went sailing last night. He was upset. He didn’t come back.” “Didn’t that alarm you?” “It doesn’t surprise me. He hardly shares details with me. About anything. You know that well.” She fell silent; she knew what her son did to me. She knew about the abuse, but as long as appearances remained intact, she preferred to stay quiet. In the end, it was she who notified the authorities, not me. She led them to the area where Edmund used to sail. She cried before the press, asked for discretion, demanded time. I said nothing, didn’t appear in public, limited myself to caring for my child, to surviving and pretending. Days passed. Then weeks. When they found the yacht drifting near a nameless island, when they confirmed the engine had failed, that there were no signs of a struggle, no blood, no body… the official version was an accident at sea. My mother-in-law collapsed and I took advantage. That same night, while she cried in the family chapel and the staff avoided looking at me, I entered Edmund’s study. I took my passport, Theo’s, some money and the documents with my maiden name. I looked at my baby’s crib one last time and at that room where I had slept for two years with a man who never loved me, who only took me violently and by force. I closed the door without making a sound, without goodbyes. When I boarded the plane to New York, all I felt was fear. But still, I had to go on—for Theo and for me, for the Selene who would no longer wait to be saved. I was leaving behind a corpse without a body and he wouldn’t return. Or would he?