C3 Chapter 3: Tormented

Three years ago, my brother and I finally reunited after spending so many years apart. I had thought, for a fleeting moment, that we could make up for lost time—that we could mend the wounds of our past and carve out a future where we weren’t just distant memories in each other’s lives.

But that moment of happiness didn’t last.

Because before I knew it, I found myself trapped in a situation where escape was impossible.

"Alright! Let’s wrap this up, people!" I called out, forcing a cheerful lilt into my voice as I grabbed the robe Kimmy handed me. The exhaustion from today's shoot clung to my limbs, but I masked it with practiced ease. I had learned to wear my smiles the same way I wore makeup—flawlessly applied, perfectly convincing.

Kimmy, my manager and one of the few people I trusted in this city, gave me a teasing grin. "You killed it today, Dimaria. The photographers were eating it up."

"That’s the goal, isn’t it?" I chuckled, slipping the robe over my shoulders.

For the past three years, Las Vegas had been my home—a city that never slept, filled with flashing lights, never-ending noise, and people chasing illusions of grandeur. Among the models I worked with, only a handful were Filipino like me. The rest were a mix of Asian, Middle Eastern, and Western backgrounds. It was a melting pot of beauty and ambition, and I had carved my place within it.

As we made our way to the dressing room, Kimmy looped her arm through mine, her tone shifting to one of excitement.

"So, listen, there’s a party at Austine’s place tonight. You coming?"

I faltered mid-step. A party sounded fun—loud music, neon lights, a few drinks to take the edge off. Maybe, for just a few hours, I could forget everything else.

But then my gaze dropped to my left hand.

The silver ring wrapped around my finger was a quiet, immovable weight. A reminder. A warning.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat and gave her an apologetic smile. "Maybe next time, Kimmy. I need to be home early."

"You always say that! What’s at home that’s so damn important, huh? You act like the walls will collapse if you’re not there." She groaned dramatically.

If only she knew.

If only she had the slightest idea.

I had been careful—so careful—never to slip up. None of them had ever questioned the ring I always wore. It was better that way.

"You know I have another job aside from modeling," I lied smoothly. "I work virtually at night, remember?" I shrugged, playing it off with a casual laugh.

Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie. I did have side projects that brought in extra income. But that wasn’t the reason I had to leave early every night. That wasn’t the reason I felt like I was constantly walking on a tightrope, balancing between the life I had built here and the one I could never escape.

Kimmy sighed, shaking her head in resignation. "Fine, fine. But on Saturday, you owe me. Coffee. No excuses."

I smiled, giving her a small nod. "Deal."

I quickly changed out of my outfit, said my goodbyes, and left the building. The cool evening air wrapped around me as I stepped onto the sidewalk, the city’s neon lights reflecting off the glass skyscrapers.

Then I saw it—a sleek black car parked near the entrance.

My heart stuttered, hope flickering to life before I could stop it. Was it him?

But the moment I spotted the familiar figure of Robert standing beside it, that hope fizzled out as quickly as it had come.

Of course not.

I should have known better.

He had appointed Robert as my driver, ensuring I was always taken care of. And yet, in all this time, not once had he come to pick me up himself.

Still, I forced a small smile, nodding at Robert as I slipped into the backseat. He closed the door behind me before taking his place in the driver’s seat.

As the car pulled away from the curb, I leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past. Bright lights. Laughter from the sidewalks. People living their lives freely.

For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if I had never ended up in this situation. If I had been given a choice.

But I hadn’t.

And I wasn’t sure I ever would.

"Where's Hunter?" I broke through the silence as Robert, my driver, glanced at me through the rearview mirror. I met his eyes briefly before shifting my gaze back to the window.

"He’s at your house, Miss Dimmy," Robert answered, his voice as steady and indifferent as ever, as if his words carried no weight.

But to me, they did.

A lump formed in my throat, though I kept my expression unreadable. Of course, Hunter was home. Where else would he be? And yet, a part of me had foolishly hoped for a different answer—one that wouldn’t make my stomach twist with unease.

I said nothing in response, simply tightening my grip on my phone and looking away, pretending his words hadn’t unsettled me. Pretending I wasn’t dreading what I would find when I walked through that door.

It didn't work so I had to check my phone instead and scrolled mindlessly, a desperate distraction from the hollow feeling settling in my chest. My finger hovered over the screen before stopping on a familiar Instagram post—Meast’s.

I had been following him for a while now, he is not that active in posting since he's very private. It had been a year since we last spoke. The last time I reached out, I had begged him not to tell Lucifer where I was. I told him I was doing fine, that he should tell Lucifer the same. Because if I so much as heard my brother’s voice, I knew I would crumble.

I feel so sorry for Lucifer, but I’m doing this for him. For our peace.

By the time we arrived home, I hadn’t even realized how long I had been staring at Meast’s photos—what little there were. Most of the time, I only got glimpses of him through his Instagram stories, and even that had somehow become my daily solace.

I still like him.

He knew that.

But I had heard the news—he was with Val now.

Not even a year after I left.

Still, I had a feeling thing weren’t going well between them. Val had gone abroad to pursue her modeling career, and from the little I had gathered, their relationship was crumbling under the weight of distance.

I sighed, locking my phone as Robert pulled into the driveway. Without a word, I stepped out of the car and walked straight inside. There was no need to knock. It was just Hunter and me here.

But the moment I crossed the threshold; my feet froze mid-step.

I was stunned, rooted to the spot, unable to move.

My lips parted, and I felt the familiar sting of tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

Hunter.

I watched as he kissed another woman—aggressively, hungrily. Their lips moved against each other; tongues tangled in a way that made my stomach churn.

It wasn’t the first time I had caught him with someone else.

But no matter how many times I witnessed this; I could never get used to it.

For three years, I had been his wife.

And in all those years, he never let me forget that I was only his wife on paper. That I had signed a contract. That I was bound to this miserable marriage with no real affection, no warmth, no love.

I felt my chest tighten, suffocating under the weight of emotions I had tried so hard to suppress.

And yet, they acted as if I wasn’t even there.

As if my presence was insignificant.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

Fine.

If they didn’t care, then neither would I.

Without sparing them another glance, I stormed past them, making sure my footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floor as I ascended the stairs. Maybe it was childish, but I wanted them to know I had seen. I wanted them to hear my anger, even if I didn’t say a word.

The moment I reached my room; I slammed the door shut and let the dam break.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and unrelenting.

This had become my routine—crying alone in the dark.

I didn’t even bother turning on the lights. I never did.

What was the point?

I had been drowning in darkness ever since I married Hunter. Every night, I fell asleep with a heavy heart, my pillow soaked with silent sobs. And yet, no matter how many tears I shed, the pain never lessened.

And the worst part?

I didn’t even know why it hurt so much.

Maybe because this wasn’t the life I had dreamed of.

This wasn’t the marriage I had envisioned.

Hunter was never supposed to be my husband.

It should have been Meast.

Him. Only him.

But I had made my choice.

And now, I had to live with it.

I was still in the middle of crying when my phone buzzed beside me. The vibration jolted me out of my thoughts, and I blindly reached for it.

In the dimness of the room, the bright screen illuminated Kimmy’s name.

I swallowed back my sobs, wiped my tears with trembling fingers, and forced myself to sound normal before answering.

"Hey," I murmured, my voice hoarse from crying.

“Kimmy?” I forced a lightness into my voice, even though I knew the cracks in it were undeniable. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to breathe. I wanted to spill everything—the weight pressing on my chest, the ache clawing at my ribs.

But instead, I swallowed it all down, choosing to wear my mask a little longer. Pretending was easier.

“Dimaria! I have good news!”

I latched onto her excitement like a lifeline. “Really? What is it?”

“Remember Prett Vinezon?”

“The CEO-hottie?” A small smirk tugged at my lips despite the dull throbbing in my heart. Prett Vinezon—one of the most influential businessmen in the luxury industry, the CEO of one of the world's most prestigious jewelry companies. Their pieces weren’t just accessories—they were statements of power, each one worth a fortune.

“Well, he selected you to be the face of their newest necklace design. And guess what?” Kimmy’s voice practically vibrated through the phone. “It’s valued at a billion.”

For a second, my tears halted, as if they had never existed.

A strangled squeal escaped my lips as I shot up from the bed, my earlier misery momentarily forgotten. My heart pounded—not from sadness this time, but from exhilaration. Me? Chosen by Prett Vinezon’s company? It was a dream gig for any model.

But before I could fully process it, the call abruptly ended.

And just as I was about to celebrate in silence, my room was flooded with light.

I winced, squinting as the sudden brightness stabbed at my eyes.

“Why is your room always so dark?” A deep voice cut through the quiet.

The unexpected intrusion made me whip around.

Hunter.

He stood there, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on me. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he stared—something I couldn’t quite decipher.

I straightened, my body instinctively tensing. He rarely came into my room. In fact, in the three years we had lived under the same roof, he had barely acknowledged my existence. We weren’t husband and wife. Not in the way that mattered.

So why was he here now?

“I’m used to the dark,” I replied flatly, keeping my voice low as I walked toward the side table.

His presence unsettled me.

Hunter was never one for unnecessary conversations. Our interactions were limited to the bare minimum—him speaking only when needed, me responding with just enough words to keep things civil. We were little more than strangers forced to share a home, bound by a marriage that neither of us had wanted.

And yet, for some reason, tonight felt different.

"Don't you have class tomorrow?"

I stilled. Right. School. The one thing in my life that still felt somewhat normal.

“Yes,” I murmured. “Three subjects.”

When I glanced back at him, he was leaning against the wall, arms still folded, watching me intently.

Something was definitely off.

He never cared about my schedule before. He never even asked.

Three years in the same house, yet I had always been invisible to him—just a name on a legal document, an obligation he had to endure. At best, we were housemates. But even housemates spoke more than we did.

At least they tried.

Hunter never did.

And I had long stopped trying.

"Free your schedule after class," he said abruptly.

I frowned. "Why?"

"We’re attending a party," he stated, as if it were non-negotiable. "One of my business partners is hosting it. You’re coming with me."

I hesitated.

A party?

That was the last thing I wanted.

And worse—I had plans with Kimmy.

But something in his tone told me this wasn’t a request.

It was an order.

"You don’t have the right to say no, Dimaria.”

His voice was cold, absolute. A decree.

Hunter straightened his stance, his sharp suit accentuating his rigid posture. Without another glance, he turned his back on me, heading for the door. But just before he stepped out, he spoke again—his words slicing through the air like a knife.

“Don’t accept Prett Vinezon’s offer if you still want to continue your modeling career.”

The thrill I had felt just moments ago evaporated, replaced by a heavy, suffocating weight in my chest. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as anger surged through me. Without thinking, I rushed after him.

“Why not?!” I demanded, my voice shaking with frustration.

“And why are you always so controlling?! That’s my job! I don’t interfere with yours, do I? I let you do whatever the hell you want—why can’t I have the same freedom?!”

He turned to face me, his expression unreadable, void of any emotion.

“Do as I say,” he said, his tone dark and unwavering, “unless you want to regret defying me.”

His words only stoked the fire burning inside me.

“That’s my job,” I shot back, my voice firm despite the way my hands trembled. “I have my own mind, my own decisions. Stay out of my career, Hunter.”

The moment the words left my mouth, he moved.

In one swift motion, he closed the distance between us, his fingers wrapping around my arm in a tight grip. He pulled me closer, our bodies only inches apart. His gaze bore into mine, sharp and unyielding, like daggers pressed against my skin.

“You’re my wife.”

The way he said it—low, commanding—made my knees weaken.

“No matter how much you try to deny it, no matter how you twist the truth, you are my wife on paper. And that contract you signed, Dimaria…” He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting against my skin. “It gave me the right to control you. Your choices. Your decisions. Do you understand?”

Tears welled up in my eyes, stinging with unshed emotions I couldn’t even name. The pressure of his grip, the weight of his words—they hurt. And I didn’t know which pain was worse.

“Obey me if you still want to keep modeling,” he murmured. “Don’t test my patience.”

With that, he shoved my arm away, releasing me with the same force he had used to grab me. And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me standing there—shaken, breathless, and trapped.

Freedom.

It was all I had ever wanted since the moment I became his wife.

To be free.

Again.

With leaden steps, I returned to my room. My legs gave out the moment I reached the bed, and I collapsed face-down onto the mattress. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I buried my face into the pillow, muffling my sobs, letting the darkness swallow me whole.

I cried until exhaustion pulled me under.

I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep without eating dinner.

The Next Day . . .

I arrived at class in a daze. The weight of last night clung to me like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable. Hunter had made sure I wouldn’t even think about running—two of his men followed me throughout the day, making their presence painfully obvious.

By the time my last class ended, I felt drained, barely able to lift my feet as I trudged toward the black car waiting outside.

The moment I stepped into the house, I saw him.

Hunter lounged on the couch like a king on his throne, his arms draped over the backrest, one leg crossed over the other. He exuded effortless dominance, like he owned the very air in the room.

The instant I walked in, his gaze locked onto me.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he stood, grabbing a large paper bag as he approached.

“I’m giving you fifteen minutes to get ready.”

He glanced at his watch before shoving the bag into my hands.

I took it without a word, knowing better than to argue.

Inside my room, I pulled the dress out of the bag, barely paying attention to the details earlier in my rush. But as I held it up in front of the mirror, I finally took a proper look.

It was revealing. But I was used to wearing dresses like this.

With a sigh, I let my hair fall in soft waves around my shoulders—it was short enough that styling barely took time. Slipping into the dress and heels, I did a final check before heading back downstairs.

Hunter was still waiting, his fingers tapping against his wristwatch as if silently counting down the minutes.

When he looked up, his eyes raked over me, taking in my appearance.

But there was nothing. No reaction. No admiration. No appreciation.

His gaze remained impassive—lifeless.

And I hated it.

He was so damn stingy with emotions.

“Let’s go.”

He didn’t offer his arm. He didn’t place a hand on my waist. Nothing.

Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, leaving me to follow in silence.

Robert, our driver, opened the car door for me. Hunter stood a few steps away, waiting. Not helping. Not even bothering to pretend like a real husband.

I swallowed down the bitter taste in my mouth and climbed inside.

The drive was long, filled with suffocating silence.

By the time we arrived at the grand mansion, I could already hear the faint hum of classical music spilling from inside.

Robert opened my door.

Hunter stood beside the car, waiting again.

I stepped out.

And the moment my feet touched the ground, I felt it again—

That same invisible chain around my neck.

Tightening.

I froze for a brief moment when he swiftly wrapped his arm around my waist, guiding me inside the grand mansion. The opulent living room sprawled before us, filled with clusters of well-dressed men and women, their polished laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses. At the center of it all stood a couple engaged in conversation with a group of well-known business elites—people whose wealth and influence were undeniable.

The room buzzed with hushed yet lively discussions, each table occupied by circles of high-profile guests nursing their expensive drinks. Their elegant postures and effortless confidence only heightened the feeling clawing at my chest—I did not belong here.

I was one of the highest-paid models in the industry, my name and face recognized worldwide. I had wealth, influence, and a career that placed me at the top of my field. And yet, surrounded by these people, I felt like an outsider. No matter how many millions I had, this world was not mine.

"Good evening, Mr. De Guzman and Mrs. De Guzman," Hunter greeted smoothly, his voice exuding charm and familiarity. The couple turned their attention to us, their smiles warm and welcoming—until their eyes landed on me.

Their expressions faltered. A moment of hesitation passed between them before they sighed in unison, exchanging an unreadable glance. When they looked back at Hunter, their polished smiles returned, but the flicker of disapproval did not go unnoticed.

The feeling of alienation deepened, sinking its sharp claws into my chest. I straightened my spine, refusing to shrink under their scrutiny.

"Hijo, it's wonderful that you accepted our invitation. Amari will be thrilled," Mrs. De Guzman beamed, her enthusiasm evident—until her gaze shifted back to me, and once again, that flicker of hesitation surfaced.

"Of course," Hunter replied smoothly, then casually added, "By the way, I brought my wife. I hope you don’t mind? You probably already know her. This is Dimaria Dankworth-Martinez."

"The model," Mr. De Guzman murmured, his gaze flickering over me with quiet assessment.

I offered him a small smile and a graceful bow, masking the tension creeping up my spine.

"Yes, she is," Hunter confirmed, and something about the way he said it made my pulse quicken. There was a certain weight in his tone, a quiet pride that sent an unexpected jolt through me. It was a lie, of course. A well-crafted performance. But for a fleeting second, it almost felt real.

"She’s stunning. You’re a lucky man, Hijo," Mr. De Guzman said with a knowing smile. "Tell me, do you have any plans to start a family soon?"

I nearly choked on my own breath.

A child?

A laugh—bitter and sharp—threatened to escape my lips. How ironic. A child with a man who had spent the past three years parading different women in and out of his life. A man who barely came home. A man who, on the day of our wedding, had kissed me like he couldn’t wait to pull away, as if the very thought of touching me repulsed him.

The idea was absurd.

"We're still enjoying our freedom as a married couple," Hunter replied smoothly, his grip tightening slightly around my waist, as if warning me to play along. "But soon, we’ll start planning."

Lies. Every word was a lie.

I forced a nod, plastering a polite smile on my lips while my mind screamed at the absurdity of it all. Hunter despised my brother—hated him with a passion. The last thing he would ever want was to have a child with me.

"Hunter, I need to use the restroom," I whispered, hoping to free myself from his hold, but his grip only tightened.

Before I could protest further, a voice sliced through the air—sharp, feminine, and dripping with excitement.

"Hon! You came!"

I barely had time to react before a woman threw herself at Hunter, wrapping her arms around him as if I wasn’t even there. And then, without hesitation, she pressed her lips against his.

Right in front of me.

My stomach twisted violently.

I instinctively tried to step back, to slip out of Hunter’s grasp, but he held on. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t stop her.

Why? Why did it sting?

I shouldn’t feel like this. I had no right to feel like this. I knew what kind of man Hunter was. I knew what I had signed up for. And yet, my chest ached in a way I couldn’t explain.

"Jesus! Amari!" Mrs. De Guzman’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.

The woman—Amari—finally pulled away, looking confused as her mother yanked her back.

"Mom?!"

"Where is your decency?" Mrs. De Guzman hissed. "We did not raise you to behave like this! Can’t you see that he’s with his wife?"

For the first time since this nightmare started, Mrs. De Guzman met my gaze. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to remain composed, to act as if none of this affected me.

I felt Hunter’s hand still gripping mine, and I wanted—needed—to pull away. But he wouldn’t let me go.

"I'm sorry, Dimaria. Hunter," Mr. De Guzman interjected, his tone clipped with embarrassment. "My daughter is tipsy. Len, take her to her room."

His wife wasted no time following his order, guiding Amari away despite her protests. But even as she disappeared, the weight in my chest refused to lift.

Hunter, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had happened.

As if the woman he once loved hadn’t just kissed him in front of his wife.

As if he hadn’t humiliated me in front of a room full of people.

"My daughter is still in love with you, Hunter," Mr. De Guzman sighed, shaking his head. "I hope you understand her actions. You know how alcohol loosens the tongue and makes people reckless. And she’s always like this whenever she remembers—"

I didn’t hear the rest.

The words echoed in my head like a cruel melody.

In love.

She’s in love with Hunter.

A sharp, suffocating pressure coiled in my chest, an unbearable weight pressing down on me. The need to escape, to breathe, became overwhelming.

The moment Hunter’s grip loosened, I seized the opportunity. Without hesitation, I pulled free and turned on my heel, making my way toward the nearest exit.

I needed to get away.

I needed air.

Finding the restroom was harder than I expected, but once I locked myself inside, the walls I had desperately held up finally crumbled.

Shit.

Why do I feel like this?

"I can’t. No, Dimaria! You can’t get hurt. You can’t fall for him!" You were just his hostage. Nothing more.

But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, my tears betrayed me, streaming down my face uncontrollably. The sobs I had held back for so long finally broke free, shaking my entire body.

I splashed cold water on my face, not caring that it ruined my makeup. What did it matter? None of this should be happening. I shouldn’t feel insecure. I shouldn’t feel jealous.

I should be used to this by now, right?

I had seen worse before—more than just a kiss. And not just once. Yet why did it hurt so much now?

I forced myself to calm down, but even after my tears dried, the weight in my chest remained—heavy, suffocating, unrelenting. It felt like something inside me was fracturing, breaking apart, piece by piece.

Swallowing down the pain, I straightened myself and stepped outside as if nothing had happened. I had no intention of going back to Hunter, so I made my way to a secluded table where a half-finished bottle of liquor sat. I grabbed a glass, poured myself a drink, and downed it in one go.

One drink turned into two.

Then three.

By the time I reached the bottom of the bottle, my mind was still painfully clear.

Why?

Why couldn’t I just get drunk?

I stared at the empty glass in frustration, willing the alcohol to cloud my thoughts, to numb this unbearable ache inside me. But it didn’t work. It never did.

Then, a voice cut through the night.

"Who gave you permission to drink?"

I hiccupped at the sound of Hunter’s voice behind me.

A bitter smile curled on my lips. "You brought me here. There are drinks everywhere inside. I think that means I have every right to drink, don’t you?" I let out a hollow chuckle.

His grip tightened around my wrist as he pried the empty glass from my fingers, setting it on the table beside us.

"Let’s go. We’re going home."

Home? No.

"Wait! Let’s stay a little longer. Amari might look for you. You should at least say goodbye first." Panic flared in my chest. I yanked my arm away.

Hunter turned to me, a deep crease forming between his brows.

"We’re leaving. Don’t push me, Dimaria."

I scoffed, shaking my head as laughter bubbled up—sharp, mocking. "Why do I always seem to push you to the edge? Why is it that everything I do, you disapprove of?" My voice cracked, the weight of my words pressing down on me.

"You forced me into this marriage, didn’t you? Even when you knew my heart belonged to someone else, I still married you! Even when it hurt, even when I had no idea why—I still did what you wanted."

"So why can’t you do the same for me? Just once. Just this one time." I took a shaky breath before meeting his cold gaze.

Hunter’s expression remained unreadable. "I let you continue modeling even when I hated it," he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion.

I let out another hollow laugh. "Yeah, you ‘let’ me. But you still decide which contracts I can and can’t accept. You don’t even allow me to do photoshoots with a male partner."

His jaw clenched as he shut his eyes, exhaling a long, heavy sigh.

"Enough. We’re going home."

This time, he didn’t give me a chance to argue. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me away. The next thing I knew, I was in the car, staring blankly at the window, unwilling to speak. I closed my eyes, willing the ride to end quickly.

The moment the car stopped, Hunter wasted no time dragging me inside the house.

I was about to head upstairs when he suddenly pulled me toward the kitchen.

I sighed. "I’m going to bed, Hunter." My voice was calmer now, empty.

"No," he said firmly, pushing a glass of water in front of me. "Drink this. I’ll prepare dinner."

I didn’t argue. I picked up the glass and drank, refilling it several times in an attempt to wash away the dizziness. Little by little, the pounding in my head faded, but the hollow ache inside me remained.

And then, without thinking, I asked,

"Why did you have to trap me in this marriage for three years?"

He stilled. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, in a voice so cold it sent a shiver down my spine, he finally spoke.

"Three years is not enough. This marriage is a prison, Dimaria. And I will sentence you to seven years. Seven years in this marriage. And after that... I’ll let your brother bail you out."

. . .