I’m stuck in a nightmare, surrounded by darkness so thick its velvet cloak brushes my skin. It fills my lungs as I breathe it in. I’m naked but with the cover of darkness, I feel less so.

Confused as to why I’m naked, I turn in a half circle, trying to navigate my surroundings. Being in an unknown place, surrounded by unknown dangers hidden in the shadows. But my heart rate is even, calm.

I cover my body as best I can with my arms and hands. Then I wait, for what I don’t know. Soon a light cuts through the darkness, faint at first but strengthening to chase off the shadows.

I turn in a full circle, taking in the entire room. The rectangular, carpeted room has no doors or windows. I’m standing on one end of it and Damien on the other. I count his steps as he walks toward me, all thirty of them. His posture is confident, but the sadness in his eyes is palpable. Unlike me he’s not naked but dressed in jeans and a shirt so white it gives off a glow. In contrast to his well-groomed hair, his beard looks as though it has not been shaved or trimmed for weeks, giving him both a scruffy and put together appearance.

He steps closer. I don’t step away. Maybe I should fear him but I don’t. Soon he’s so close the heat of his body radiates through the space between us, caressing my naked body.

With a final step, he closes the distance between us. Now his breath is on my face. The flyaway hairs around my face sway each time he exhales.

With his body touching mine, my heart abandons its calm. My heartbeat throbs hard inside my ears.

He takes hold of my hands and lowers them to my sides, leaving me completely exposed. No words are exchanged between us. I don’t pull away when he cradles my chin with his manly hand. He lowers his lips onto mine. They’re velvet soft and taste of chocolate and wine.

My pulse shoots up the moment one of his hands meets the small of my back and we sway, dancing to a song only we can hear. He leads and I follow.

When he picks me up and lowers me to the floor, shivers race along my spine as my back sinks into the white carpet. His entire body merges with mine, his hands supporting his weight so he doesn’t crush me beneath him.

He kisses me again, harder this time, hungry for my kiss, for my soul. I return his kisses with the same hunger. Pushing down his pants, his lips stay on mine. He enters me with a force that drives a gasp from deep within my throat.

With him moving inside me, I feel strangely whole again, as though a part of me I didn’t know was missing has fallen back into place. With a loud groan into my shoulder, Damien rolls us over to bring me on top of him, putting me in control to follow my sexual desires.

I try to rock hard against him, aching to race toward the climax that’s building inside the pit of my stomach, but his hands keep me moving at a slow pace.

Frustrated, I bite my lower lip. I need all of him and fast, but I also want to enjoy every second. After what seems like an hour, his own impatience gets the best of him and he allows me to ride him faster, his hands tight on my hips as he guides me up and down his shaft. Then he takes back the control, flipping me onto my back, my legs over his shoulders. He’s so deep inside me, I’ve never felt fuller in my life. His deep strokes are almost unbearable.

I want him to stop and I want to tell him to never ever stop; to tell him that I want to stay glued to his skin forever, to keep him buried inside me for an eternity. My body does the talking, my inner muscles clenching tight around him, needing to keep him inside a little longer each time he plunges into me. Our sounds of passion weave into each other as we increase the speed of our lovemaking.

When my climax explodes inside me I swear I see broken stars falling from the ceiling and sprinkling our bodies, millions of sparks heating us up until we burst into flames. When his turn comes to let go, his hands tighten on my thighs, the rhythm of his breathing breaks, and his body vibrates against mine.

“Fuck, Ivy, fuck,” he growls, his sweat dripping onto my body. He doesn’t stop moving but wraps my legs around him. His lips meet mine in a warm kiss. I dig my fingers into his sweat-dampened hair.

For no reason, tears spill from my eyes.

“Hush, baby.” Our mouths part and he kisses my tears away, still moving inside me.

When the tears cease, he stops moving and lifts himself up, hands planted on both sides of my body. His gaze meets mine and I reach into the depth of his eyes, I see them change from warm, to cool, to hard cold ice.

Fear grabs hold of me and claws up my spine. The man I made love to is not Damien but Judson.

“You were fantastic, ma chérie,” he whispers and evil laughter pours out of him.

I try to get away but he presses me into the floor, keeping his head raised, his eyes on me. Trembling beneath him, I watch in horror as his face changes into various expressions and blood trickles from his eyes, nose and mouth, dripping onto my face.

As I watch in horror, his face transforms into a mess of flesh, blood and smashed bone. I turn my head in an attempt to look away but his hands clamp around my head.

A satisfied grin appears on his face. “Take a good look at what you’ve done.”

A raw scream explodes inside my throat and spills out of my mouth.

My cheeks are still damp from tears when I sit up in bed, a few minutes to 11:00 p.m.

My heart is beating so hard it takes a moment for me to hear Reese crying. I swing my legs out of bed and grip the side of the bed hard, pulling myself together for the sake of my little girl. For her, I’ll push through my weakness to be a better, stronger person.

On my feet I feel as though I’m walking on a cloud, woozy from the traces of shock left in my veins.

On my way down the short corridor to Reese’s room, I switch on all the lights and press my body against the wall for support.

The moment my six-month-old baby sees me, her tears stop. Her gummy, innocent smiles erase the nightmares and toxic memories, cocooning my heart with warmth.

The nightmares have become a constant part of my life, tormenting me almost every night. Sometimes I dream of Damien and sometimes of Judson. Some nights, like this, they both appear in my dreams. My mood is always left fragile for the rest of the day. If it weren’t for Reese reminding me of the good things in my life, I’d be a complete mess, firmly stuck in the past.

People tell me Reese is a miniature version of me, having inherited both my hazel eyes and my red hair. No one but my mother and Chelsea ask about Reese’s father. They know it’s Damien, but what they don’t know, is that the man they think is dead is alive. I want it to stay my secret. The only fear that eats me up is knowing one day Reese will be old enough to ask me questions I don’t want to answer.

Most of the time I do my best not to think of the future and instead focus on the now. But it’s proving difficult to live in the moment when the past haunts me every chance it gets.

“This has to stop,” I whisper while changing Reese’s diaper. I have to find a way to end it.

Lying in bed an hour later, on the pillow that’s still damp from my tears, I debate whether I should take up Marcus Jenkins’s offer, to put my emotions into words and pour them into the pages of a book instead of keeping them hidden inside my heart. But the fear of going back there again, reliving every dreadful moment, to look point blank into Judson Devereux’s bloody, disfigured face, scares the hell out of me. Though, what if that’s the only way for me to let go?

At 1:00 a.m., unable to get any sleep, I suck in a deep breath and switch the light back on. I remove the black and gold business card from my bedside drawer and pick up the phone. It’s late, but I doubt Jenkins will care. He’s been waiting for this call for months. The phone rings five times and I’m about to hang up and change my mind about the whole crazy idea, when his rusty voice fills my ear.

“I’m sorry for calling you this late.” I chew a corner of my nail.

“It’s never too late if you’ve got good news for me.” His voice is thick with excitement.

Getting me to write this book, telling my high-profile story, means lots of cash for him. At this point I couldn’t care less. He gets the money, I get my freedom. Win, win.

“I do.” I blow out a stream of air. “I’ll write the book.