The sharp, terrifyingly crisp sound of the heavy leather belt echoing off the vaulted, hand-painted ceilings of the grand hall was followed instantly by a searing, blinding heat across my shoulder blades.
I bit down so hard on my lower lip that I tasted the sudden, hot rush of copper in my mouth. I refused to scream. I refused to give him the acoustic validation of his cruelty.
The final strike tore through the thin fabric of my cotton dress. My muscles gave out entirely. I collapsed forward, my palms slapping hard against the cold, imported Italian marble floor. I stayed on my hands and knees, my breath coming in jagged, shallow rasps, the agonizing fire radiating from my spine making the edges of my vision vibrate with dark static. A drop of blood from my split lip hit the pristine white stone, looking like a macabre painting.
Above me, standing in the center of the palatial Beverly Hills living room he falsely believed he owned, was my husband, Julian Croft.
I heard the soft rustle of expensive fabric as he casually adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke, navy-blue suit. His breathing was completely steady. He had executed the violence with the cold, detached rhythm of a man hitting a golf ball. He looked down at me not with the fiery rage of a crime of passion, but with the chilling, arrogant disgust of a king looking at a peasant who had dared to track mud into his temple.
“Look at her,” a woman’s voice purred.
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