Chapter 1: Weeping Beauty

Brandon clinched Mila to himself with barbarity. She pursued means to break free from his malice. He steeled his hands on her back, sweeping his unruly lips on hers, and then breathing out pensively. She was his bondservant; his wife; the truth was he looked upon her as his wretched slave instead of an attractive, decent woman.

"Brandon, let go off me!" she shrieked out through clenched teeth. Tears impotently slid out of her eyes, drenching her smooth-shaven cheeks. Pale as ash and velvety as silk, her skin was healthy; beautiful what's more.

Brandon seized her throat this time and knocked her against the wall. He went on to tilt himself on her. His hands toyed with her spread-out hair, hauling it maliciously. As he worked this out, Mila yowled louder. Her shrieks were to no relief. No one was within reach to set her free from the tyrant of a man she had wed.

"Listen to me carefully, you broke bitch," he roared at her, dragging her face near his so she could stare back at him willy-nilly. "Take off your clothes at once. I am starved of sex. I need it seriously."

Mila threw out saliva into his face. She had infuriated him with that. Like lightning, his mood swiftly changed. He thrust her away and then tossed a solid blow into her face. The punch had her stagger backwards up till she had hit her head on the frame of their bed and tripped down to the floor. Brandon was not through with her—it appeared. He wrenched his right foot, clad in a thigh boot, and battered twice into her abdomen. In agony, she sighed out, her mouth slumping open; for a flash second, everything around her switched black.

In anguish Mila cracked her eyes open. Her vision was at first foggy. Something reverberated inside her head. She feared it would splinter into four. The element underneath her was rocklike and freezing. That surely had to be the floor. Her legs were knotted with an impenetrable material which she fathomed to be a slice of rope.

Brandon. This was the first thought to transpire into her mind. He was the felon to blame for all this.

"Brandon?" Mila babbled. She drew her face upwards. He was straightened up, monitoring her movements. His hands were enfolded across his chest; his eyes were tightened, well-nigh shut. The instant she begun snaking from him on the floor where she was sprawled, he wandered after her and wound himself downwards to say softly:

"I could have forced you on myself if I wished to. I shall not carry that out regardless. I am not a stupid jerk who assaults his wife. You are married to me, Mila. It is your obligation to consign me what I exactly crave. Now, I am going to tutor you a never-to-be-forgotten lesson. Try withholding from me my conjugal rights next time and you will learn what else I am capable of doing."

"Mila, are you alright?" Claire interrogated inside their mini but delicately graced office. She was thirty-six years old, ten years older than Mila. Her eyes were an intense black; her hair was snowy blond. At Wotton, the two lectures had run across the other and come to be at good terms. To Claire, Mila was the most fortunate girl in Vegas. Her hubby was a well-off guy who oversaw a booming TV house. Everything he granted his wife was overpriced.

With meticulousness, Mila wheeled back towards Claire in the ease of her chair and urged herself to gently smile. Three days had slipped since Brandon mercilessly beat her. Everything hurt—her eyes, chest, stomach and head. To the swarm out there, she had to falsify everything was okay.

"I am fine, Claire. Why must you be bothered about me? Three nights back, I was robbed outside Wells Fargo after drawing out some cash. The bandits assaulted me; not in a sexual way—which clears up why I am like this. They grabbed from me a couple few bucks."

Claire's mouth slumped in terror. "Sweetheart, that is what took place to you? You didn't notify me about the incident. Why did you hide something this daunting, Mila?"

"It's fine, Claire. My health is steadily improving. I didn't wish to burden you with any of my troubles. You are already having enough with your mother in law. You wedded Fred eight months back, yet she strongly insists that you fall pregnant otherwise she will have you kicked out of her son's house. Isn't that plenty hell for you, Claire?"

With a dark face, Claire glowered curtly and concurred, "You are right."

Mila's was a ritzy gray shaded car; one of the most expensive in 2018—a Mercedes Benz Alfa. With two imperishable doors, yellow headlights and orange taillights, the car glittered during daylight and twinkled sleekly in the moonlight. In the eyes of many, particularly those at the university, Mila had everything going perfect for her. Deep down her heart, she was aware that her marriage to Brandon was a curse as opposed to a blessing. She dreaded him as though he was God—an unmerciful and unforgiving God moreover. He was capable of causing her any torture and ill-treat.

Claire's life on the other hand was the norm. She wasn't fortunate enough to revel in luxuries that her friend dipped in. Her sole trouble was her husband's mother, Kayla. Every morning at the breakfast table, Kayla consistently queried before laying a fork on her food, "How is your sex life carrying through, my dear two lovebirds? Claire, I trust you are giving it your best shot to give me a grandchild. Fred, you must not ever let one night lapse away without you caressing our soon to-be mom here."

Claire perpetually smiled. Not that it didn't hurt! The subject made her shaky and worried. What if there was a glitch somewhere in her womb? If she was not able to give birth or would suffer a miscarriage each time she would fall pregnant? Kayla wasn't going to put up with news of that nature. Her warnings on Claire's failure to deliver babies were nonstop and alarming.

"Those are my worst fears, Mila. Perhaps God has cursed me. It might happen that I won't get to cuddle children of my own in my arms." With tears quietly spilling down her black eyes, Claire narrated her nightmares inside their wee office. "I honestly don't know what else to do. I just don't know any place that I can flee to."

"Claire, do you know one thing, my sweet friend? We are so alike in our suffering. I have been married for a year now. I am not expectant of any child. Truthfully, you are in a much better position than me. Your marriage has only lived for a couple of months. Yet you are here crying that you want a child?"

"It is not my desire to have a child this soon. If I don't fall pregnant, there will be no other means of redeeming my marriage. All that Kayla cares about is a goddamn grandchild. She is the one putting these chilling ideas into her son's head that he must send me away if I don't laud him with a child. I frankly regret the day she stepped her foot inside our house."

"Have her pack her bags from your home then. You can send her on a two month long break to either Europe or Asia. She will absolutely love that idea."

"Fred and I cannot manage that. We are not as loaded as you and Brandon are."

To be basic, that cut straight into Mila's heart like a serrated knife. "I will help you out. I will be the one paying for that trip. In order for you to enjoy some speck of peace, I shall have Kayla trek tons of places she admires in Europe. For not less than four months this will be. Please accept my offer, Claire."

Claire did not see any need to grin. She pressed herself to clothe one feigned smile on her face anyway. "You are truly a darling, Mila. I accept your proposal. The sorry part is that Fred will not take your money."

"We shall plot a strategy then. You will say this: You saw a commercial in your favorite magazine and went on to become a participant. Three months afterwards, they sent you a notice—congratulating you that you had won their contest by email. Since you are hard-pressed with work, you can't bear to go any place overseas, hardly for a day or even two. In addition to that, this trip is exclusively for one person. Therefore, you can't take Fred with you. You must stay home with him so you can keep on trying to make that baby that Kayla deeply wants.

"Once you relate this tale to your family, they will both presume it to be true. With that concluded, my sweet one, you shall switch the offer to Kayla instead. She will definitely love it; I am positively convinced about it. What do you think?"

Claire rolled her eyes for a flash second and then squealed out in ecstasy. "Thanks, Mila. I will go for your strategy."

Generally at night, Mila seldom enjoyed any sleep. Brandon would be sprawled down next to her, snoring piercingly while munching his lips. She simply stared at him and weighed up ways to rid herself of his company. He was no longer the blameless and harmless man she had surrendered herself to formerly; he no longer loved her much, neither did he care for her as seriously as he did before.

"Kill him. That is your only way out." The voice breathed into Mila's ears in a sweetened manner. At one time, she had the conviction it was her guardian angel giving her these mandates. She had to kill that bastard. This was her sole way out.

"If I don't kill him, will he end up killing me in his place?" Without swerving her head back, Mila ridiculed the alluring voice.

"He will go on scourging you like he is at all times fond of doing. There is a knife beneath your bed. He wanted to use it on you—as a sex toy that was going to jab into your anus. Not the blade, but the handle. Those games are typically dangerous, Mila; you know that."

She was right. Yes; that angel who regularly spoke through the voice of a woman. "I can't kill him. God said I must not commit murder."

"There is no God. If He was there, would he mind to see you suffering and weeping like this? God merely exists in the minds of heretics. He is their sole ease when they are being encountered with pain. The most unfortunate thing as concerns them is they all end up dying without Him lending a hand of assistance."

"From what I can take in, you speak as though you know Him pretty well than I do myself. Tell me more about him, you wicked liar."

"Bastard! You will die friendless and miserable. We shall see you far you can handle your beast and his ways of crucifying you."

It was hard. Mila struggled not to get too emotional whenever she was teaching in class. There was this particular young man albeit. She didn't know his name; she didn't bother to find out even the smallest details touching him. He habitually sat at the hindmost row, where he would ogle and make sheep's eyes at her. In the course of one lecture, she assumed he knew her in person.

His expression was routinely grave but unfazed. His hands were sealed on the table beneath him. The entire span she coached, he did not move or wince an inch. Neither did his eyes blink every time that she gazed back at him. There was this peculiar weird feeling about him which she didn't particularly like.

His emotions were sound and intense. Chase Hughes perfectly understood this. His eyes were leafy green like a dim shining emerald. They were the most vulnerable part of him each time he customarily stared at her. Mila was not just beautiful. She was towering in stature, with canny brown eyes and scarcely any dimples on her left cheek. Her hair was light brown and spread out. Its elegant twists made her look more of an archangel than a commonplace woman. In his eyes, she was the most gorgeous creature alive.

"I am Chase Hughes," he familiarized himself to her in a complaisant tone and manner. That afternoon, he was attired in trim black jeans, a dainty jacket with short sleeves and fine sneakers. She grinned back at him courteously and shook his hand what's more.

"It is my delectation to happen on you, Mr. Hughes."

To the bevy of mankind, Mila was unbelievably wealthy and brilliant in looks. Hers was a twelve million dollar Las Vegas mansion adjoining a broad, noiseless forest. Her newest automobile was dark silver in shade and overpriced; the apparel she put on was at most stylish and praiseworthy. She looked like a goddess, one whose world was complete and faultless; like they say: Looks are but deceitful.

It split her heart one sun dawn when upon arriving into her office, she found Claire plummeted in a chair facing the table while crying to herself in silence. Same as the documents cluttered everywhere on the floor, her snow white hair was littered in disarray. Something bad must have surely happened. Mila felt so. What could it precisely be in any case?

"Claire?" In an apprehensive voice, Mila called out. "What happened to you?" Conflicting thoughts were already starting to flow into her mind. Had Claire found out she was barren? Maybe she had a bitter quarrel with Fred last night? Perhaps Kayla was back from Europe too soon? It could be that someone in her family had passed away?

Claire goggled at her and uttered not a word. Mila was moved farther into angst and anxiety.

"Does it have to do with me, Claire? Why won't you open up and tell me what exactly is bothering you? Please say something!"

"I am pregnant, Mila. Can you picture that?"

It couldn't be. Kayla's wish had at last come true. Claire would now triumph in saving marriage; as for Mila herself—she was falling into fiercer trouble with Brandon each passing day? It was now her turn to weep. She sobbed for two things. First, God had remembered her dear friend and favored her with a child. Two, the devil had made her (Mila's) home his #1 play square. She hardly slept at night without Brandon insulting her and dragging her to have sex with him against her will. Why did she have to suffer when others were smiling in bliss? Why?

Gradually, with affection and forethought, Brandon sucked Mila's taut nipples. She threw her head back and shut her eyes instantaneously. The enjoyment was vast; high what's more. It felt like she was in heaven already. As his teeth scraped on her breasts in a breathtaking way, the world about her melted and become a paradise. If he was not going to stop doing this anytime soon, she was definitely going to hit an orgasm.