Acts of Redemption: A Second Chance Romance (Men of WRATH Book 3)
Acts of Redemption: Prologue

“You worthless cunt.”

A shove to my chest has my head flying backward, hitting the hardwood floor and releasing a loud echo into the conveniently empty room.

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It’s always empty. That’s the way he likes it. No one to hear me cry. No one to see my tears.

“You should be kissing my feet, thanking me for everything I’ve given you.” He crouches down onto the floor, breathing the words onto my neck as he pulls my head back, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “Remember, Charlotte… you are nothing without me.”

His spittle lands on my face, but I don’t flinch. Any movement on my part would only bring on more pain. More torture.

He finally releases my hair and begins to pace back and forth.

Motionless, like a broken rag doll, I remain on the ground—not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. He’s silent for what feels like an eternity, and I pray it’s a sign that he’s ready to move on for the night.

Prayer. A fucking novelty, really.

I squeeze my eyes shut and give it one last shot.

God, if you’re out there, please make this torture stop. Please end my pain.

A tear rolls down my cheek. The cold salty liquid stings as it reaches my split lip, reminding me I’m still here. Still living this hellish nightmare.

His steel-tipped cowboy boot connects with a punishing blow to my ribs, making me instinctively roll into the fetal position and shut my eyes.

“Ah, ah, ahh. Keep those pretty little eyes of yours open. I’m not done with you yet.” His strong hands uncurl me from my position before reaching up for my nape, forcing me once again to face him.

Looking up at him, I see nothing but hatred and rage in his eyes, causing something in me to finally snap.

“Why? Why the fuck did you marry me if you hate me so much? If you won’t believe me and just think the worst of me… then why?” my voice cracks—just like my soul, which is shattered beyond repair.

“Oh, Charlotte. Don’t you see? You’re my little doll. My play thing.” He tsks as he shakes his head. “Every man of importance needs a trophy by his side.”

This sick fuck. He never loved me. This is all a game to him. It’s all a show.

I’m not a person, just a possession.

“Ah, that look in your face tells me you finally understand. Good. Maybe now you’ll stay in line.” He walks toward the door, but turns around before leaving me to clean up his mess. “You’ll be getting new security detail, and no more whoring around with the staff. Those legs only open up for me.”

And with those parting words, he’s gone—leaving me a crumpled mess on the floor.

I roll on to my back and stare at the ceiling with its intricate design and gold leaf gilding. I wonder how many tragedies it’s seen. I bet mine is nothing new, just one of many.

A tale of woe as old as time.

We are at a gala amongst the Dallas elite, yet no one will bat a lash when I re-enter the room with a split lip and a slight limp in my gait.

Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s their modus operandi. Lord knows there’s nothing more uncouth than showing genuine emotion or concern.

I live in a world of fraud. Everyone and everything is fake. Plastic. Superficial.

Closing my eyes, I pick myself up, vowing to never let myself fall apart. Never let myself conform to their ways.

I fluff my unconventionally long black hair—a silent fuck you to the sea of blond that surrounds me—and straighten my dress.

Giving myself a mental pep-talk before I re-enter the world of dolls, I put on a smile.

Charlotte Annabelle Montgomery, this does not define you. You are worthy, you are special, and you will survive this.

Fuck anyone who stands in your way.

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