"Oh… my pretty wife," Fred sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "I hate to see you this way, but you brought this upon yourself. Trying to be more than you should."
At that moment his cold eyes studied Mabel's almost lifeless body sprawled on the floor. Blood had matted her hair, streaking down her bruised face and pooling beneath her. She shivered, her breath coming in shallow bursts.
With the last scrap of strength, Mabel whispered, "I'll… make sure you pay for this."
Mabel words made Fred's expression hardened into something darker. He crouched slightly so his shadow loomed over her. "You should think about how to get out of here alive before making threats, you moron." His voice was sharp, like glass cutting through silence.
He straightened, pacing a few steps, then stopped. "You know what?" His tone shifted into a cruel challenge. "Stand up. Stand up from the ground and start making me regret it. Come on, stab me in the chest already!" He laughed, the sound bitter and unhinged.
When Mabel didn't move, Fred's face twisted with irritation. He lifted his leg and kicked her in the side of the head. She cried out, her body curling instinctively. Blood from the fresh wound smeared across his shoe.
"Yack!" He recoiled as if he'd stepped in filth. "The last thing I want is your filthy blood on my feet."
He leaned down, wiping the sole of his shoe against her cheek with deliberate slowness. "There. Now you're good for something."
A tear slid down Mabel's temple. She wasn't sure if it was from the pain or the humiliation. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "Fred… why?"
"Why?" He gave a hollow chuckle, straightening again. "Because you forgot your place. You started thinking you were someone important. I warned you indirectly to stop making yourself the star."
"I never tried to—"
"Oh, don't start lying now," Fred cut her off sharply. "You think I didn't notice the way people looked at you? Admired you? Praised you? You with your little brand, your clever ideas. You were supposed to be mine. All that talent, all that hard work mine."
At that moment her vision blurred from the throbbing pain in her skull. "I thought… you loved me," she said weakly.
Fred scoffed. "Love?" He crouched again so his face was inches from hers. "I married you because you were useful. You made me look good. You built something I could control. And you actually believed we were partners."
Fred words made Mabel swallowed hard, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. She could barely keep her eyes open, but her mind raced. How long had he been hiding this cruelty? Had it always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface?
"You're a beast," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"And you're a fool," he shot back. "A beast can be tamed. A fool never learns."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as panic clawed at her. She prayed silently not for revenge, but for the strength to survive. She begged the spirits, anyone listening, to spare her life.
Fred's voice rang out, deep and cold, carrying the weight of finality.
"She's all yours now," he told the bulky man who had earlier struck Mabel. "You must not miss a single step of the instructions I've given you. Place her in her car and push it into the lagoon. Make it look like she was drunk and had an accident."
"Yes, boss," the man replied without hesitation, his tone flat, almost mechanical.
Then Fred crouched down beside Mabel for what he intended to be the last time. His breath smelled faintly of expensive whiskey as he leaned in close.
"I've already paid some notable media houses… and even a few of our close friends," he whispered in her ear. "They'll all testify about how much you loved alcohol. How you were probably driving home drunk until you swerved straight into the lagoon. That's your story now, Mabel. The drunk, careless wife, who ended her life in the process."
He chuckled, a sound with no warmth. "Goodnight… Mabel."
Mabel wanted to scream, wanted to beg for her life but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Her throat was dry, her voice stolen by fear and pain.
At that moment the hefty man lifted her from the floor like a piece of trash and slung her over his shoulder. She heard the beep of her car door unlocking, followed by the creak of the boot opening. Without a hint of care, he shoved her into the metal compartment, the impact jarring her body as if her injuries meant nothing.
The hefty man stepped forward, expressionless, and brought the butt of his gun down hard on her head. A sharp pain burst behind her eyes. Then everything went silent.
Her world faded into black.
⸻ ***************
The first thing she became aware of was a rhythmic beep… beep… beep. It pulled her slowly out of the darkness.
The second thing was pain. A splitting migraine that seemed to pulse with every beat of her heart.
Her eyes fluttered open, just a little, enough to see blurry light above her. Her voice if she had one was locked somewhere deep inside.
'Where am I? Am I… dead?'
"She's awake!" a female voice said sharply from somewhere close.
Hearing the words Mabel blinked, forcing her eyes to focus. A nurse stood at her side, wearing a white uniform and a relieved smile.
"Welcome back, Miss Regina," the nurse said warmly.
Upon hearing her name and before she could form a question, a familiar voice spoke from across the room.
"We nearly gave up on you. We thought we'd lost you, You've been unconscious… for one year." The man said, his voice rich with emotion.
Immediately without wasting anymore time she turned her head slowly, her neck aching as she moved. And there he was, an advance man, his face worn with worry and sleepless nights. His eyes glistened as he looked at her.
Her lips trembled. "D… Dad?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.