Chapter 4
We moved me to a safe house outside the city two days later.
A big ranch-style house on twenty acres, surrounded by trees, high fences, security cameras on every corner.
J’s men patrolled the perimeter 24/7.
No one was getting in without an invitation.
I spent the first week in bed, healing.
Sarah came every day to change my bandages, check my stitches.
The cuts on my back scabbed over, then turned into thin, silvery scars that crisscrossed my skin like a map of everything I’d survived.
J was there every day too.
He brought me breakfast, sat with me while we went through the evidence folder, made calls to lawyers and accountants and private investigators.
He never pushed me to talk about what happened.
But he never let me feel alone, either.
By the end of the second week, I could walk around the house without pain.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom one morning, looking at the scars on my back.
I used to hate my body.
Hated the bruises, the cuts, the way Ethan had made me feel ugly and worthless.
But now?
Now I looked at those scars and felt something else.
Pride.
I’d survived two hundred strikes.
I’d survived three years of hell.
And I was still standing.
A soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said, pulling a soft cotton shirt over my head.
J walked in, holding his phone.
“Ethan filed a missing person report this morning,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Told the police you have a history of mental instability, that you ran off with a man you met online. He’s asking for a restraining order against anyone who might be hiding you.”
I laughed.
A sharp, bitter sound.
“Mental instability. That’s rich coming from the man who beat his wife two hundred times for his mistress.”
J’s mouth tightened.
“Our lawyer already went to the police. Gave them the belt—we took it from the mansion, it still has your blood on it. Gave them the security footage from the foyer. Ethan thought he disabled the cameras the day of the wedding, but your dad had a backup system installed. Hidden. We have every second of that night on video.”
My breath caught.
“Every second?”
“Every strike. Every word Sophia said. Him kicking you. Them leaving you there to bleed.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed, hands folded tight in my lap.
“Good,” I said, quiet. “I want everyone to see what he is.”
J walked over, knelt down in front of me so he was eye level.
“We can do this two ways,” he said. “We can leak the video to the press, ruin him overnight. Or we can take the slow road. File civil suit first, freeze all his assets, then hit him with criminal charges. The slow road is harder. It means you’ll have to testify. Relive it all. But it means he goes to prison for a long time. Not just a ruined reputation.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Slow road,” I said. “I want him in a cell. I want him to feel as trapped as I did for three years.”
J nodded, like he’d known what I’d say.
“Then we start tomorrow,” he said. “First, we’re going to Houston. To see your mom.”
My heart skipped a beat.
I hadn’t seen my mom in six months.
Ethan had told me she was too sick for visitors, that the clinic didn’t allow family.
Another lie.
“Really?” I said, voice small.
“Really,” J said, smiling. “She’s been asking for you. I told her you’d be there as soon as you were strong enough.”
I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
He froze for a second, then wrapped his arms around me, gentle, careful not to hurt my back.
“Thank you,” I whispered into his shoulder. “For everything.”
May you like
He held me for a long time.
“Anytime, little bird,” he said, voice rough. “Anytime.”
