What the Walls Heard

"Marry me! I have 53 million ready to be wired into your account, or if you like, I'll pay you monthly. Weekly. Daily even. How much do you want? 500 thousand weekly? Or 100 thousand every morning before you even brush your teeth?"

He said it like a man negotiating for his life at gunpoint—like I held the trigger and his breath was caught between my fingers.

"I know how sudden this is," he added, breath shaky, too polished to sound sincere. "But don't worry. After our wedding, I'll buy you a house. A big one. You can live there with whoever you want until you feel ready to be with me. I'll pay for your education. Any level, any course, anywhere. All you have to do is say yes. One word. Just marry me and I'll change your life beyond imagining."

He was still naked when he said this. Yes. Naked.

His skin caught the soft light leaking in through the expensive hotel curtains, the faint glow turning his body to something surreal—statuesque and unholy. He didn't even flinch from the cold. Or maybe he couldn't feel it. Maybe men like him don't feel anything unless they're inside someone who can't say no.

I didn't speak. Not because I was shy or overwhelmed or confused. I couldn't. Words were too small for what I felt.

I know what you're probably thinking.

What kind of twisted love story is this?

Let me save you the effort—it's not a love story. It's far from it.

It's the kind of story that grows under your skin like mold, black and damp and breathing. The kind that ruins the way you look at people forever. And if you're sensitive, maybe now's a good time to put this book down. But if you're like me—already bruised, already torn in places no one sees—then stay. Because you'll understand. Maybe not all of it, but enough.

I should probably introduce myself.

My name is… never mind. Names are cheap here. You'll forget it anyway. Just know that I'm real. I might be a "character" in Myke's twisted little narrative, but every breath I take, every bruise I carry, is mine. He might think he's the author, but I'm the narrator. And this story, this bloodstained fairy tale, starts the night I made the stupidest decision of my life:

I said yes to a drink.