The room is just a little chilly, but at least after my shower, it helps me to remember that I’m real. It’s not pain. It’s more like dipping my body in a cool stream to help me wake up. Except that I’m not sleepy, and the dream isn’t a dream. It’s a nightmare.

“Mrs. Waters, Mr. Jacob told me that you’re supposed to wear this,” Constanza, the maid, says. I’m naked from the waist up, my towel wrapped around my waist for convenience’s sake only, looking at the body that at one time had men drooling over me, saying nothing to Stanzie as I look at my breasts. They’d once been called ‘the two greatest pieces of evidence that God is a man.’ I doubt that the horny editor who penned that line to go along with my photo spread for that magazine would think of them that way now. Not with the scars that dot them or the deeper ones that cover my back.

I don’t hide my body here at home. Stanzie knows about my scars. They all know that my ‘loving husband’ beats me. They know that the big pucker-shaped star a little over my right nipple is from a cigar that he put out on my skin. They know about the longer ones where he’s beaten me with his belt. Dozens of scars. And not a single stitch in five years.

I don’t blame Stanzie, though. She’s just as terrified of Jacob as I am. An illegal immigrant who came to the city from Brazil on the promise of becoming an au pair, she lasted a week before Jacob raped her in front of me while I lay tied up and beaten half-senseless on the bed. She’s just as terrified of him as I am. Probably even more.

They all are.

Which is why none of them are willing to help me.

Instead, I continue to brush out my hair, one of the few things that Jacob hasn’t cut or abused since we got married. He likes it long, and despite all the other abuse I’ve received, my hair is still just as thick and strong as ever. I wish it would go brittle and break off more easily when he grabs it and drags me through the marble hallways of his mansion, but it doesn’t. I hate it, while at the same time, I take a little bit of perverse pride in it. At least from the neck up, I’m still the Sarah D. who used to make men’s knees weak. I’m still the girl who grew up in the suburbs and thought she had a bright future ahead of her, a girl with humor and happiness. At least it’s somewhere inside of me. It would be nice to pretend I’m still that girl, but at least I have my memories. Although lately, they’re slipping.

“Mrs. Waters?” Stanzie says again softly. “Are you okay?”

I set my brush down, nodding. “Yes, Stanzie. Would you help me, please? My back’s a bit stiff after yesterday’s workout.”

Workout. Stanzie doesn’t say anything about my obvious lie. She knows it’s because of Jacob, but lets me get away with it.

Instead, she goes over to my dresser, taking out the Agent Provocateur lingerie that Jacob insists I wear. He picks out everything for me, all of it being sexy and just walking the line toward slutty, AP lingerie and form-fitting dresses that are just a little too tight or a little too revealing so that I look the part of the gold digger tramp who’s fucking her way to her inheritance. I know better than to question him or to try to be anything different. I learned that long ago.

I slide on the thong panties that Stanzie has set out. I feel for her, but considering the number of times Jacob has screamed at her that he’s only treating her like garbage because of me, she might hate me just as much as she hates Jacob. Hates him and fears him.

Next is my bra, which thankfully, because of my scars, is more comfortable, with wider shoulder straps and padded, lined cups that make my breasts seem bigger to a casual observer. Jacob likes it when I look curvier when we go out. It hides the scars though. He’s careful to make sure that anything he does to me can be hidden to keep up appearances.

I don’t hear him. He can move like a goddamned cat when he wants to, but Stanzie and I both can feel his presence the moment he walks into my room. It was that presence that I was at first attracted to. I thought it was charisma, wit, and that quality that some people like to call ‘Alpha male-ness.’ I was drawn to that power. Of course, he’d been charming then, too. He’s a good liar, and it wasn’t until it was too late that I realized just how much of a monster he really is.

Stanzie stiffens, and even my fingers tighten a little before she can hand me the cocktail dress that I’m supposed to wear this evening for our event at the Philharmonic.

“Constanza. Out,” Jacob says, and she disappears like a ghost, without even giving me a glance of pity. It’s probably better for her that way.

I stand stock-still, frozen in place like a marble statue as my husband of five years, Jacob Waters, comes closer. I’m tall, but he’s still taller. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, although it looks like he hasn’t gotten his tie on yet.

“You certainly do look seductive tonight,” Jacob says, running a finger up my arm and over my shoulder. Coldness pricks my skin where he touches me, and I can’t help it. He starts walking a hand up my back as he draws closer and closer to the mark that truly broke me, and I shiver. I don’t think it’s fear, I don’t feel fear anymore. I wish I did. It’s just physical disgust.

“This one is so beautiful,” he whispers gleefully, tracing the deep fold in my skin. Belt buckles can do so much. “A harsh lesson, but you learned from it, more or less.”

More or less? Yeah, I guess I did learn my lesson. It was the time that I learned that trying to run from Jacob Waters was useless. It was the time I realized just how much of a monster he is and that the cops in this town are in his pocket. I’d gone to them after watching Jacob kill a man by throwing him off the balcony of his office building.

Not that it helped. The cops handcuffed me and brought me back to the mansion, dropping me off in the foyer and leaving the cuffs on before shaking hands with Jacob and leaving me to his lesson. So yeah, I did learn my lesson. If I’m ever going to escape, I’m going to have to this man.

Jacob grabs the back of my head and my throat, painfully twisting my head to the side to look him in his icy blue eyes that burn with gleeful madness. “Ooh, Baby was thinking naughty things.”

“No—” I start to reply, but Jacob doesn’t care. There’s no use. Pain shoots up and down my spine as he shakes me a few times by my neck, his face twisting into a mask of insane joy.

“Oh, yes, you were. I know what you’re thinking. I know exactly what you’re thinking every moment of every day. And you were thinking very bad things about your Daddy, weren’t you?”

His hand loosens a little on my throat, allowing me to take a breath that feels like pure moonshine being poured down my throat, and I sob. I can’t help it and I hate showing weakness, but the shame in the decision I made to get with him reduces me to crying again as Jacob eyes me carefully. Finally, he half drags me across the room toward my bed, shoving me back onto the bed as he reaches for his belt, undoing it but mercifully leaving it in the belt loops.

“Oh yes, you were naughty, and Daddy’s going to have to punish you,” Jacob rasps, his voice rising until it’s almost girlish, a far cry from the deep, powerful tones that the public knows him for. “Daddy’s going to have to punish you good.”

I start to cry. What’s worse, and what adds to my shame, is that my mind tells me that this is what I get. Everyone told me not to get involved with him, that he was trouble from day one. That this hell is all I get to look forward to for the rest of my miserable life until I find a way to kill him. If that day ever comes.

Jacob doesn’t take it further though, he’s content that he’s made his point, and I’m sobbing in shame when I feel temporarily relieved. “Oh, be quiet. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll send Constanza in to help you get ready for the night out. But just remember, I own you.”

He leaves, and in the temporary silence, I want to scream into my pillow in rage and helplessness, but my screams are silent. I know better than to disobey him.

It’s a death wish, but I can’t wait until I have the perfect opportunity to put him six feet under. I’ll go to Hell a happy woman if I can send him there just a few seconds before me.