The Betrayal

Ava stood in stunned silence as the door swung shut behind Jackson and his staffer. Her fingers clutched the plush lapels of the robe he'd hastily wrapped around her, still bearing his imprint of scorching body heat.

One minute, he'd been poised to undress and ravage her like a pagan savage staking claim. The next, every alpha instinct had pivoted toward defending his realm against some mysterious threat from this Harrison Drew person.

She shivered, feeling whiplash from the tornado of lust and confusion currently upending her world. Part of her was deeply rattled at how easily Jackson could discard their intense intimacy to deal with mere business matters. But then, this was the same man who'd blatantly objectified and groped her minutes earlier, all while promising dark "punishments" with casual menace.

Ava sank onto the edge of the towering bed, burying her face in her hands as unwanted tears pricked her eyes. Everything was spiraling so rapidly, shifting between harsh cruelty and smoldering seduction. She didn't know which version of Jackson's nature to fear or despise more - the cold-blooded billionaire tycoon, or the r*pthirsty beast barely restraining himself from violating her.

How had she ended up ensnared by such a monster? All she'd wanted was to let off some steam with her friend Kylie at the bachelorette Vegas blowout, not sign her life and body over into sexual slavery! Just what kind of depraved vows had she drunkenly spouted to turn her into this man's plaything?

Tears began streaking Ava's cheeks in earnest. She was in so far over her head, trapped beneath Jackson's iron dominance and savage desire. After losing her parents so young, she'd sworn no one would ever make her feel this helpless and terrified again. Yet here she was, with her hopes and dignity being stripped away piece by brutal piece.

A soft rapping came from beyond the bedroom door, stopping Ava's quiet sobs. She sniffed hard, quickly swiping away the tears as the door eased open. The bespectacled staffer from earlier - Marcus, was it? - reappeared bearing a silver tray.

"I've brought you some appropriate day attire, Mrs. Reynolds," he intoned in that prim British accent. "Per Mr. Jackson's instructions, you'll want to dress at once so you'll be presentable for your meeting shortly."

The man set the tray down on a side table, giving Ava an appraising once-over from behind his lenses. If he detected any traces of her emotional distress, his bland expression didn't show it.

"Very good, sir," Ava replied, clearing her throat and rising from the bed. She drew the robe's folds tighter around her body, suddenly feeling overexposed despite being fully covered. The fabric still bore Jackson's lingering imprint of musk and cologne, now turned slightly sour in the wake of their aborted tryst. "Please inform Mr. Reynolds I'll be ready momentarily."

The staffer gave a deferential nod and retreated from her chambers, leaving Ava alone once more. She moved over to survey the pristine clothing laid neatly on the silver tray.

A demure beige lace sheath dress suitable for brunch at the country club. Nude silk stockings and pearl stud earrings to match. Ava grimaced; she felt more like crying. Shouldn't a bride-to-be be elated to wear such elegant lingerie and finery to greet guests?

But there would be no starry-eyed joy in donning these garments, only the bittersweet trappings of surrendering to Jackson's world. Each fresh humiliation layered her deeper into playing the prim, decorous wife at his gilded Plaza Estate - despite knowing the depraved monster lurking beneath her new husband's civilized veneer.

Squaring her shoulders, Ava picked up the dress and nude stockings, preparing to slip into her costume. At least for now, she would present Jackson's spoils with all the ladylike propriety he expected. The last shreds of her defiant self-worth demanded she do so on her terms, not his.

Once she'd donned the lacy dress, a pair of beige Louboutins that must have cost a month's rent, and accessorized with pearls, Ava took a breath and headed for the suite's dressing table. She froze when she caught sight of her reflection in the ornate mirror.

The visage staring back at her was startling...and not just because of the polished haute couture elegance gracing her figure. No, it was the dark hollows ringing Ava's eyes, the pale tightness around her pretty mouth. She looked like a haunted, hollow-eyed phantom - like a version of herself had already died in the night's drunken wake.

Gripping the vanity's edge, she saw her chest was rising and falling in panicked little bursts. How was she possibly going to make it through this meeting and fool anyone with her fear and turmoil raging so close to the surface? She'd surely crack under the pressure of decorum and self-possession expected of her.

A soft chiming noise pierced the air. Ava startled, then realized it was just her clutch purse from the previous night lying on the vanity surface - the one she'd hastily grabbed during her aborted escape that morning. Her cell phone was buzzng inside it.

Ava snatched up the purse, fumbling to retrieve the still-vibrating device. There on the screen was Matty's childish grin flickering beside his call - her nine-year-old son, awaiting his mom's nightly FaceTime before bedtime back at their motel.

Her heart lurched as she was struck by the disorientating reality that mere hours ago, everything in her world had been small yet perfectly normal. Now she was mired in this glittering, debauched fever dream of perversity and money. So close to unraveling under the strain of her new husband's cruelty and savagery.

With trembling hands, Ava connected the call. Matty's cheerful little face bloomed to life on the screen, peering at her beneath his tousled thatch of hair.

"Hey Mommy!" he chirped, oblivious to her blank stare. "Guess what? Ms. Lucy tried making cupcakes with us after daycare and they all came out—"

"M-Matty..." Ava choked, her throat tightening with a wellspring of emotion. Oh God, her poor baby. Sweet and innocent, likely tucked up in that ratty motel room wondering when his mom would finally come home from the late shift to give her customary goodnight hugs.

How could she even begin to explain this nightmare to him? That his mother had gotten blackout drunk and carelessly married the world's most devastatingly handsome and cruel billionaire? That said billionaire husband seemed utterly intent on stripping her bare every hour - of her pride, her self-respect, even her clothes?

Hot tears welled in Ava's eyes. How had everything fallen to pieces so quickly? She clutched the phone like a lifeline, half her face crumbling as she fought to stay strong for her son.

"Baby, it's...it's gonna be a little while longer before Mommy can come home," she rasped hoarsely. "Something...happened last night, and now I have to—"

Ava broke off, bile rising in her throat at the thought of telling her baby boy anything close to the truth. That Jackson had already mauled her mouth and fondled her body like a rutting animal, forcing their vile "marriage" on her. Reducing her to a captive trophy wife for his sadistic pleasure.

"Matty, I...I'm so sorry," she wept brokenly. "Please don't worry about Mommy, okay? We're going to get through this somehow, I swear. I'm not going to let anything happ—"

Just then, the bedroom door swung open. Ava flinched, whirling to face the unwelcome intrusion with Matty's concerned face still on the line.

It wasn't a staff member who entered, however. No, it was the dark, towering silhouette of Jackson himself dominating the doorway. His piercing gaze flicked dismissively over her prim ivory dress and pearls. When their eyes locked, Ava shrank against the vanity in a fresh wave of visceral dread.

The arctic mask of his expression was utterly devoid of the raging, carnal flames that had consumed him earlier. Instead, his features were as hard and inscrutable