Chapter 6
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The studio lights blazed to life. Sloane jolted awake, eyes stinging from the blinding brightness.
She was lying in a pitch–dark room–except for the light beaming down on her–and her clothes
were gone.
A chill surged through her veins.
Panicked, she curled into herself, arms crossing tightly over her chest. But the feeble shield did nothing to fight the cold… or the terror. Her limbs were drained of strength, she couldn’t even sit
- up.
“Miss Sloane, you’re absolutely stunning. Especially through my lens.”
A man’s voice, low and amused, came from behind the camera. The gaping, black lens aimed
directly at her like a beast baring its fangs.
“You sick bastard! I’m calling the cops! This is illegal!”
“Oh? So who are you going to report? Me–or your dear husband?”
The man gave a short, mocking laugh. “This is my estate. All I asked was for you to be a model. To
serve the art. I made a promise to Declan–I wouldn’t lay a finger on you, not beyond the shoot. But
if you wanted more… I wouldn’t mind-”
“Get away from me!”
Her scream cracked, tears spilling down her cheeks. She felt like a carcass laid out for butchery,
stripped bare on the soft backdrop, a puppet with its strings cut.
But the man didn’t let up. “Yes… perfect. Cry for me, sweetheart. You’re breathtaking when you
cry,”
The flashes from the camera sliced into her like blades, each one carving deeper than the last. Time blurred. Eventually, the flashing stopped. The camera powered down with a soft whir.
Sloane didn’t even remember how she got dressed. Didn’t remember standing up, didn’t remember walking out.
She moved like a shattered marionette, humiliation dragging each step through mud.
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“I’ve shot thousands of women, but you’re the first one handed over by her own husband.” The photographer called after her, voice laced with cruel amusement.
Her hand whitened on the doorknob. She knew now wasn’t the time to retaliate. Not yet.
Her voice came out soft and bitter, “He’s not my husband anymore. We’re divorced.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
And finally, she broke. Arms wrapped around herself, she stood trembling, as if trying to hold together whatever pieces of warmth she had left.
Downstairs, the charity event was wrapping up. She wandered, dazed and numb, through the hall- until a sudden boom cracked the sky.
A split second later, fireworks exploded overhead.
Brilliant sparks lit up the night above the estate, forming glittering letters: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VIVIENNE.
So this… this was Declan’s big surprise. Midnight marked Vivienne’s birthday.
In the garden, beneath the bloom of lights, Declan stood under the dark sky, eyes filled with emotion. “Happy birthday, Vivienne. Whether it’s a dress or a ring, if you want it–I’ll make it happen.”
He flipped open a jewelry box. Inside was the emerald ring–the one he’d traded Sloane for.
Laughter and cheers erupted around them. “Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Declan hadn’t moved yet, but Vivienne rose up on tiptoe and kissed him.
That moment made Sloane sick to her stomach. She doubled over on the grass, vomiting until tears streamed from her eyes, until disgust hollowed her out and left nothing behind.
When she finally stood again, it had started to rain. In the distance, Declan held Vivienne’s hand as they got into the Rolls–Royce.
Moments later, the headlights cut through the mist and disappeared into the storm.
On her phone, two messages lit the screen. [Sloane, I had to take Vivienne home. I sent a car to pick you up.]
[I know this is hard. Just endure this one last month, and I’ll make it up to you.]
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Sloane calmly deleted both messages, and without waiting for the car, she turned and walked alone
into the rain.
