Chapter 1 - The Dawn of Glass and BloodThe first kick landed before dawn, while my unborn daughter was still turning beneath my ribs. By sunrise, my husband and his parents were laughing over coffee while I bled on their kitchen floor.
“Get up, you lazy cow!” Adrian shouted at five in the morning, his hands slamming against the mattress. “Do you think being pregnant makes you a queen? Get downstairs and cook for my parents—now!”
He wrapped his thick hand around my bare ankle and dragged me violently from the bed. At thirty-four weeks pregnant, I hit the hardwood on my hip, gasping as a blinding tear of pain ripped through my stomach.
“Adrian, stop... please,” I gasped, my fingers clawing at the rug. “Something’s wrong with the baby.”
His mother, Lenora, stood in the open doorway in a pink silk robe, her arms crossed, a cold, satisfied smile curling her lips. “She always says that when work needs doing, Adrian. Don't let her play you.”
His father, Arthur, chuckled from the hallway. “You married a spoiled one, son. In my day, a woman cooked before the sun came up no matter what.”
They had arrived unannounced the night before from Chicago, moving their heavy luggage straight into the newly painted nursery I had spent three months decorating. Adrian had simply thrown away my baby crib to make room for his father’s recliner, telling me my daughter didn't need her own room anyway.
For six long months, Adrian had been systematically isolating me from the world. He hid my car keys, monitored my phone calls, and emptied my personal savings account into a joint venture controlled by his family. He called it protecting our household. I called it a cage, though I never dared say the word out loud where he could hear without hitting me.
“Our baby needs that room, Adrian,” I had whispered three weeks ago.
He had slapped me so hard my left ear rang for two days. “My parents come first, Chloe. You live under my roof on my money.”
Now, he hauled me downstairs by my left arm, ignoring my quiet groans. I gripped the wooden banister, trying with all my remaining strength to cushion my heavy stomach, but another contraction folded me in half at the foot of the stairs. When we reached the kitchen, Lenora pointed gracefully at eggs, bacon, and flour arranged across the granite island like instruments of punishment.
“Biscuits from scratch, Chloe,” Lenora said, pouring herself a fresh cup of hazelnut coffee. “And don’t burn them like last time.”
I leaned against the kitchen island, my knuckles white, sweat dripping down my forehead. “I need a hospital... Adrian, please... I’m bleeding.”
Adrian’s face changed. The charming, polished smile he wore for our suburban neighbors completely vanished, leaving behind the terrifying, cruel man only I knew behind closed doors.
“You need discipline,” he growled, stepping into my space.
His fist struck my shoulder. I fell sideways, my knees crashing against the cold kitchen tiles. A second blow caught my lower back. His parents did not move a single inch.
Lenora laughed softly as I crawled across the floor toward the phone that had slipped from my pocket. “Look at her performing, Arthur. She’s like a theater actress.”
But Lenora did not know that the phone had already unlocked against my thumbprint. She did not know that for six months, I had been secretly gathering photographs of my bruises, audio recordings of his threats, bank transfer records, and hidden medical reports. Most of all, she did not know that my older sister, Mara—a former federal prosecutor turned high-stakes criminal defense attorney—had set up a synchronized emergency protocol on my phone.
With my vision narrowing and my breath coming in ragged gasps, I tapped a single word into the text bar and hit send.
RED.
Adrian kicked the phone out of my hand, sending it skittering across the tile floor toward the pantry.
“Who did you text?!” he barked, grabbing my hair and forcing my head back.
“No one...” I whispered, tears blurring my eyes.
He crouched beside me, smirking because he believed that sheer physical terror had finally made me completely obedient.
Then a sudden, hot warmth spread beneath me, darkening my white cotton nightgown.
Lenora wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Gross. She wet herself on the kitchen floor.”
I knew better.
May you like
My water had broken—six weeks early.
And somewhere across the city, the most dangerous people Adrian Vance could have ever awakened were already moving toward our house.
Related Stories
