SEVENTY-SEVEN

ELISE’S POV

I lay sprawled across the bed, feeling like a marionette whose strings had been cut, my body still throbbing from the wild, brutal passion of the previous night.

The clock on the nightstand read 10 a.m., but the weight of my exhaustion kept me anchored to the sheets. Miguel had transformed me into his sex toy, exploring his dirtiest darkest fantasies. I knew I desperately wanted to be fucked, and touched by him, but I never signed up for this.

Last night, he had bound all my limbs to the bedposts. The ball gag he used stifled my cries, rendering my protests useless. He fucked me till I almost passed out.

When he was done, I tried to voice my discomfort, but he simply asked, “Are you tired of being in this marriage?” I didn’t need an encyclopedia to decipher what he meant. I realized then that I had only two choices: accept this new reality or contemplate the unthinkable—leaving him. But escape wasn’t an option I could entertain; I had too much to lose. So, I buried my feel