Meera

I washed my hands and walked out. Feeling a little content, I knew I shouldn't have said that, but it was fun—until…

Until I saw my own husband, the same man who told me to behave, now cozily laughing with Hannerina. They were standing so close that he didn’t even realize he was putting on a show of our marriage in front of others.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, as if my feet were glued to the floor. Why would he do something like this in public? No, he can't make a joke out of me—or himself—in front of the world.

I cursed myself for being a bitch to Mrs. Decker. Karma was already hitting me back. I needed to stop this. I had to stop this. I couldn't bear it.

My body loosened when I saw Derek, my husband's best friend, joining them. I could clearly see the irritation on Hanne-bitch-rina’s face. Good.

I thought about going over to them, but I didn’t. I already felt out of place. These people were making me feel out of place.

Even though these parties weren’t new to me, they always made me uncomfortable. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t belong with these people.

So, I decided to sit on an empty sofa, resting my back against the soft, fluffy cushions. The Beckmans sure had great taste in home decor—this was the best I had ever seen.

Cozy and homely.

I sipped my fruit punch, the cold drink soothing my nerves and calming me instantly. I was still enjoying it when I felt the sofa dip beside me.

"Enjoying your fruity drink, huh?"

A deep, familiar voice made my breath hitch. I turned my head, and my eyes widened—whether in shock or happiness, I didn’t know.

"Ian—" I choked, my vision blurring with tears.

"Meera—" he whispered, and without wasting another second, he pulled me into a tight hug.

Tears spilled from my eyes, but I didn’t care. I could feel several eyes on us, judging, but I just didn’t care.

My best friend, my Ian, was here. I hadn’t seen him in so long—how could I not leap into his arms?

He was as important to me as my husband.

He was my lifeline, my soulmate.

I pulled back slightly and touched his face. He chuckled, wiping away the water dripping from my nose.

"You're still the same," he said, making me roll my eyes.

"Come on, it's only been six months. No one changes in six months—at least, I don't."

I lied.

Because I had changed—so much that I couldn’t even describe it.

"How was rehab?" I asked, desperate to know. Had he truly rid himself of that toxic influence? Or was he still struggling?

Ian had left for rehab to detox and heal. And now, he looked healthier than I had seen him in years.

He looked beautiful.

Handsome.

Strong.

His warm brown eyes, the ones I loved, had regained their old innocence.

He looked like my Ian again.

"Well, I'm at a party, and I’m not drinking," he said with a smirk.

I nodded, praying it would stay that way.

I could feel my husband’s gaze on me, but at that moment, all I cared about was Ian.

"Let’s go outside. It’s suffocating in here," he suggested.

I was already on my feet. Yes, please. Get me out of here.

The occasional chilly breeze felt good against my skin. Even though England wasn’t as hot as other countries, global warming was doing its best.

"So, how’s your marriage going?" Ian asked.

I sighed.

I didn’t know what to say about my marriage. Was there even anything to say?

"I'm getting what I deserve," I answered curtly, refusing to give him the details.

I didn’t want him getting into trouble with my husband because of me.

He pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head.

"You deserve the best, Meera. Only the best. And I’m always with you, remember that."

I smiled up at him because I knew—no matter what—I would always have him.

I was still in his arms when, suddenly, I was yanked back with force, my back slamming against a hard chest.

Abram.

"Mr. Knightly, I must take my wife home now. She doesn’t like being outdoors this much," he said coldly.

Gripping my hand tightly, he led me away.

Ian started to protest, but I shook my head, silently pleading with him to stop.

His hesitation was brief before he let me go.

And just like that, he was out of sight.

Abram threw me into the car with such force that my head banged against the hard window.

Pain shot through me, and my eyes watered from the impact.

"Abram, it’s not what you think. I swear," I pleaded, but he only glared at me with deadly eyes.

Why was he angry?

I hadn’t made a scene when he was chit-chatting with that actress.

Then why was he doing this to me?

"Abram, he’s my best friend—nothing more," I whispered, my voice trembling.

But he didn’t listen.

Fear crept up my spine.

A fear of what he might do once we reached home.

Slowly, I reached out to touch his shoulder.

Before I could react, he shoved me down against the seat, his large hand gripping my jaw.

His eyes burned with hot, unrelenting anger as he hovered over me.

I struggled, but he was stronger.

Then, without warning, he leaned down—his mouth on my neck.

He bit me.

Then sucked.

A sob wrecked through me.

"Abram, please—" I begged, but he continued, sucking on the same spot, marking me.

Finally, he released me, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered something that shattered me to my core.

"You are a whore."

Love Pia