Wife Reclaims Her Company

"We thought you might appreciate some privacy," Amanda said, her voice honeyed but her eyes cold as she gestured toward a door I hadn't noticed before. "There's a little storage room just off the service elevator. We can talk there without anyone interrupting."

Warning bells clanged in my mind, but before I could protest, Chloe had opened the door and the other two women were gently but firmly guiding me forward. Their hands on my arms felt less like support and more like restraint.

"I really should get back to the party," I said, trying to pull away, but their grips tightened.

"This will only take a minute," Amanda assured me as the door clicked shut behind us with a finality that sent ice through my veins.

The storage room was dimly lit, shelves of hotel supplies casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smelled of industrial cleaner and something else—something predatory. In that moment, the atmosphere shifted palpably.

"You know what I can't figure out?" Amanda's voice had lost all pretense of warmth. "Why Marcus keeps you around at all. You're nothing. Less than nothing."

Before I could respond, hands shoved me backward. My spine collided with metal shelving, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. Pain radiated across my back as supplies clattered to the floor.

"Hold her," Amanda commanded, and suddenly Chloe and the others were on me, their nails digging into my flesh as they pinned me against the shelves.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, struggling against their grip. "Let me go!"

Amanda's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Not yet. First, we're going to make sure you understand your place."

Her perfectly manicured nails caught the neckline of my sweater, and with a vicious yank, she tore the cashmere fabric. The sound of ripping material filled the small space as she continued, methodically destroying the garment I'd chosen so carefully that morning.

"Stop!" I cried out, fighting harder now, but the women held me fast. One of them grabbed the hem of my dress, tearing upward until the seams gave way. Cool air hit my exposed skin as they stripped away my dignity piece by piece.

"You think you're special?" Amanda hissed, her face inches from mine. "You think you matter to him? I saw his face when you interrupted. He couldn't even remember your name."

Each word cut deeper than the physical assault. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Richard's been watching you," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Our VP has quite the appetite for quiet little nobodies like you. And Marcus won't care. He's already given his blessing."

Horror bloomed in my chest at her implication. Richard Thompson's reputation for inappropriate behavior was an open secret, whispered about but never addressed.

"You're lying," I managed, though doubt crept in like poison. After tonight's public dismissal, could I truly be certain what Marcus would or wouldn't allow?

Amanda stepped back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She reached into her clutch and withdrew a small crystal flask filled with dark red liquid.

"A little something to help you relax," she said, unscrewing the cap. The smell of wine wafted toward me, undercut by something chemical and wrong. "Richard likes his women... compliant."

Panic surged through me as she approached, flask in hand. I thrashed against my captors, but their grips only tightened, fingers bruising my arms.

"Open wide," Amanda commanded, her smile savage with delight as she pressed the flask to my lips. "Be a good girl now."

I clamped my mouth shut, turning my head away, but one of the women grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. Amanda's fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing my jaw open as she tilted the flask. The tainted wine spilled into my mouth, bitter and wrong, some of it running down my chin and onto my torn clothes.

"Swallow," she ordered, covering my mouth and nose with her hand until my body's need for oxygen betrayed me.

As the drugged wine slid down my throat, a single thought crystallized through my fear: Marcus. I needed to reach Marcus. Whatever had come between us, surely he wouldn't let this happen.

Would he?