Chapter 3

Back at Dominic’s sprawling estate, I sat on the sofa, lost in thought.

Dominic rarely came home this early.

He stood by the foyer, his gaze locking with mine.

It was like looking at my past self.

After work, I’d sit in the living room, waiting until deep into the night, just for my husband to finally come home.

I’d smile, stepping forward, attentively taking off his coat and even his shoes and socks.

“Honey, are you tired today? I learned a new massage technique, do you want me to…?”

For years, beyond teaching at the dance studio, my entire world revolved around him.

A constant cycle, yet I never received even a flicker of warmth from him.

Now, stepping away and looking back as an outsider, I realized how incredibly foolish I’d been.

Seeing my lack of reaction, Dominic frowned.

“What are you thinking about? Running away?”

I found it almost amusing.

“If I wanted to run, what would you do?”

He strode towards me, urgently pushing me onto the sofa, expertly changing the subject.

“You don’t like our son? Then let’s have a daughter. Daughters are sweeter, they can keep you company. Maybe then things will be better for you here.”

When I first married into his family, the household staff saw how coldly Dominic treated me.

They took my gentle nature as a sign of weakness, piling all the unpleasant chores onto me.

In those years, I deeply loved Dominic and never once complained to him.

He saw my predicament but simply didn’t care.

My thoughts snapped back to the present as my nightgown was torn away.

His kisses landed on my skin.

Fierce and dominating, carrying a clear sense of punishment.

No matter how he tried to provoke me, I felt nothing.

It turned out, when you no longer loved someone, your body just… shut down.

Dominic seemed to lose interest and got off me.

“Amelia, I know your body. This isn’t how you react.”

He gripped my chin, scrutinizing me.

“Tell me, have you been with another man?”

Dominic was a notorious womanizer, but he had a twisted sense of ownership. He couldn't stand the idea of any woman *he'd touched* being desired by another man.

There was a security guard at the dance studio who enjoyed watching me dance. Dominic caught him once, and the studio owner fired him that very day.

Dominic even had him arrested on false accusations of harassment.

I bit down hard on my lip, then laughed through the humiliation.

“Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking. I’ve slept with every single man at that dance studio. Are you going to have them all arrested too?”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed, his voice rough.

“Is that so?”

Suddenly, he scooped me up, carrying me towards the bathroom.

He actually suspected me!

“Since you’re so dirty, then let’s get you cleaned.”

He tossed me into the bathtub, aiming the spray nozzle at my face as icy water poured down.

Goosebumps erupted all over me.

I struggled, but couldn’t push his hand away.

Under the shock of the cold water, my PTSD flared.

Images of my parents’ plane crash, when I was thirteen, flooded my mind.

I trembled uncontrollably, curling into a ball in the corner.

Dominic again thought I was faking it.

“Amelia, don’t forget why you married me. You’re not here to enjoy life; you’re here to atone!”

That same broken record, words he’d spat at me countless times before.

It was our usual dynamic.

Almost every single word he uttered was laced with malice.