“You’re a fucking liar.” My hands encircle my throat as I force myself to breathe. I feel as though someone has pushed me from a helicopter without a parachute.

Judson has to be toying with me. There’s no way I’m married to him.

But the pressure in my chest reminds me anything could have happened while I was in the dark. I’m unable to hide from the truth: he brought me to this unknown place in the middle of nowhere, tucked me into bed, maybe even had sex with me, and I don’t remember a damn thing.

I shut my eyes, squeezing out tears, searching every corner of my mind for lost memories. I find none.

All I hear are voices mingled with laughter. My laughter? His? Oh, God. What if it’s true? What if he gave me a drug that made me bend to his will and also erased my memory?

Judson sweeps the palm of his hand over his thigh. “I have to say I’m disappointed at your lack of excitement. But I do understand you’re in shock right now. I’ll wait for you to recover. I pride myself in being a patient man.” He lifts a pitcher of water from the nightstand and pours some into a glass, the clear liquid swirling from the bottom of the glass to the rim.

I’m stiff as he props me up on more pillows and brings the full glass to my lips. “Drink this. We’ll talk more later.”

My tongue touches the water before my lips. I’m too weak and dehydrated to pretend I don’t want a drink, and he knows it. With shaking hands, I take the glass from him and drain it. The water is cool, refreshing. He refills the glass and brings it to my lips again.

With my immediate need met, my anger returns. When he reaches for the glass again, I hurl it toward the fireplace. It hits a standing lamp before falling to the carpeted floor with a thud. It doesn’t break.

Judson gets to his feet slowly, eyes on the fallen glass. He’s trying hard to control his emotions. Any moment now, he might hit me, or worse. But instead of touching me, he shoves his hands into his pockets, as though to restrain himself. When he turns to face me, his eyes are hard but not icy. His jaw is working as though he has a piece of gum in his mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you. But the worst thing you can do is push me to the point where I’m unable to control my actions.”

My eyes meet his. “I hate you.” I take my time with each word, so he understands every ounce of emotion behind it. Lashing out at him could be a mistake; I’m his prisoner and he holds the key. Still, my will to fight back refuses to be contained.

“I’m not your damn wife.” My fists tighten, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. The thought of losing my freedom to this man makes me want to jump out of bed and barrel into him, to wrap my fingers around his neck, to hurt him before he has a chance to hurt me further. But only my mind is fit for battle.

He reaches down to touch me again, and I slap his hand away so hard that he grunts and takes a step back. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “It’s clear our conversation today won’t go anywhere. In that case, this is what I suggest. You should eat something. And you’ll stay in here until you’re ready to behave.” He points to a round mahogany table between two cushioned chairs at one end of the room.

For the first time, I cast my eye around the space. It’s larger than the living room of my childhood home in Boston.

Heavy chocolate drapes hang at the frosted windows and spill to the carpeted floor. Through an open door, I spot a Jacuzzi-style tub.

The fireplace, thick carpet, and shaded lamps all contribute to a romantic atmosphere. Except nothing about this situation is romantic—not to me.

I ignore the pain splitting my head and my weakened body. I’m all adrenaline as I push back the covers and jump out of bed, then attempt to shove past him. He blocks me with a tight hand on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t try to run if I were you.”

“Let me go.” I yank myself away from him and use every ounce of energy to get to the door. I don’t even make it halfway across the room before he’s clamped his strong hands around both my shoulders. He spins me around and draws me to his body, holding me in place. His thudding heart makes his hard chest vibrate against mine.

I attempt to free myself, but my strength is no match for his.

“This is where you belong. Best you come to terms with it now.” His breath is hot on the top of my head. Instead of releasing me, he lifts me off the floor and tosses me onto the bed. I curl up into a ball. Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t give them permission to fall.

His eyes challenge me to do or say something to contradict his plans for me. “As I was saying, there’s food on the table. Eat, rest, and when you are ready to discuss our future calmly, I’ll return.” He crosses the room to the door, but turns back to face me before he opens it. “Until then, I’ll be watching your every move. There are cameras installed in this room.”

The door shuts behind him and I hear a key turn in the lock. Hot tears trickle down my cheeks. I don’t care about wiping them away. It’s not easy to hide a broken soul. All my life I craved freedom, which I earned by distancing myself from my mother. Now I’m about to lose it all over again, and this time it could be forever.

I spend what feels like a whole hour crying, screaming, throwing things, and trying to find a way through the barred windows and locked door. Without a clock, I have no way of telling how long he’s been away. Finally I fall silent, my body sore and drained of energy, my eyes swollen. He doesn’t return.