Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
The ride back to our sprawling estate was suffocatingly silent.
Garrett gripped the leather steering wheel with relaxed, confident hands.
He had successfully played the hero at the hospital, completely masking the monster he truly was.
My left arm was encased in heavy white fiberglass, throbbing with a dull, relentless pain.
I kept my right hand buried deep inside my coat pocket, my fingers tightly gripping the cold metal of Noah’s burner phone.
It felt like a lifeline, a tiny beacon of hope in the endless dark ocean of my marriage.
When we finally pulled up to our massive, gated house, it looked exactly like the prison it had become.
Garrett came around to my side of the car, opening the door and helping me out with exaggerated gentleness.
"Let's get you inside and rested," he murmured, kissing the top of my head.
"We need to protect our little girl, after all."
His words made my skin crawl with pure, unfiltered disgust.
He did not care about me, and he certainly did not care about the physical trauma he had inflicted on his unborn child.
He only cared about his flawless reputation and his absolute, unwavering control over my existence.
Once inside, he guided me to the master bedroom and ordered me to lie down.
"I have some business calls to make in my study," he announced, locking the bedroom door from the outside.
May you like
I waited until I heard his heavy footsteps fade down the long mahogany hallway.
Then, with shaking hands, I pulled Noah’s phone from my coat pocket and turned the screen on.
