A Gilded Cage, A Viral Truth

I opened my social media and immediately saw Brooke's latest Instagram story.

In the photo, she and Rhys were at a high-end bar in SoHo, a table laden with exquisite cocktails and appetizers.

So that was why he was home so late—he was on a date with his mistress. And after their romantic night, he came home to humiliate me. Was I just the sideshow to cap off their date?

Furious, I threw my phone onto the sofa and, for the first time, truly screamed at him. "You're disgusting!" I shrieked, recoiling from his touch. "You've been with her. Don't you dare touch me!"

Rhys's face darkened instantly, fury blazing in his eyes. He seized my chin and slapped me hard across the face. The force of the blow sent my vision swimming with black spots.

"Chloe Sinclair! You live off my money, and you dare to scream at me! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

I struggled in terror, but he immediately switched to his typical hot-and-cold tactic.

He gently caressed my swollen, red cheek with the back of his hand, his voice a syrupy whisper of fake tenderness. "You were the one who misbehaved, so I had to do this. Do you understand now? You have to be obedient."

Faced with his nauseating performance, I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to calm down. I knew that any sign of weakness would only invite deeper cruelty.

The next morning, I received an Instagram follow request from someone named Jasper Donovan.

Seeing the name, memories from college flooded back.

Jasper was a friend from my time at NYU; we had been close in the art club. It was obvious to everyone that he had a crush on me, always finding quiet ways to look out for me.

Unfortunately, back then, I only had eyes for Rhys.

After graduation, Jasper and I lost touch. I soon married Rhys, thinking I had found my happy ending, never imagining it was the beginning of my descent into hell.

The moment I accepted his request, a video call from Jasper came through.

"Chloe! I heard you're not doing well! Are you okay?" His familiar voice was thick with concern.

I looked at his face, momentarily speechless, filled with a sharp nostalgia for a simpler time.

He noticed the bruise on my cheek that even concealer couldn't hide. A flash of anger and heartache crossed his face, and he gritted his teeth, whispering, "Just hold on, Chloe. I'm coming back."

Just then, Rhys walked out of the bathroom. I quickly hid my phone behind my back.

"If I remember correctly, today... is our wedding anniversary, isn't it?" He smirked, taking a box from the closet and tossing it onto the bed as if throwing scraps to a dog.

"The Cartier bracelet you wanted. I bought it for you."

Before I could react, he added, "I'm going to be busy with a big project, so I won't have time for you. Just tell me what you want."

He stroked my neck as if soothing a pet, but in the next second, he grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like it would break. He made a point of flashing the tattoo on his wrist—the initial "C" for my name, now cleverly altered into a "W" for Wyatt.

"There's nothing between me and Brooke. It's a purely professional relationship. She's just my assistant. Don't be so damn jealous."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a threat. "Do I make myself clear?"