The Transactional Marriage: Her Bitter Ascent

o the cold, hard floor of another room. The fluorescent lights above flickered

hair. She looked pale, but otherwise perfectly fine. Not a scratch, not a bruise. My mind flashe

umpled form without a flicker of emotion. He was completely oblivious to my sta

ess. "Kennedy is feeling a little weak. She w

ged from an operating table, bleeding internally

ious?" I choked out, a

o Kennedy. "She mentioned your chicken noodle

for him when he had the flu, the only time he had ever shown a

, betrayal, and humiliation, finally broke throug

o you, Gregory? Am I just a chef? A convenient distraction? Am I n

ragged me from surgery! From a life-saving surgery! For

s face remained impassiv

petulant frown on her face. "Ugh, Gregory," she wh

to her. He stroked her forehead, his voice soothing

as no longer flat. It was cold, sharp, laced wit

the absolute, chilling contempt in his eyes. There was no love, no

fragile defiance in the face o

d, his voice dangerously soft. He turned to the two hulking bodyguards who stood silentl

ound as the bodyguards moved towards me

en body off the floor. The pain was excruciating. My vision swam. Darkness threa

colder with each step. Then, a heavy metal door. It clanged o

th began to chatter uncontrollably. The wounds on my body, already raw, now felt like t

ysical wound. My internal bleeding, already severe, protested violently. I could feel the warmth of my own blood seeping through my cl

ook anything! Just let me out!" My voice was hoarse, tears streaming down my face, freezing

gh, pulled me out. My body was numb, my lips blue. I shamble

fumbled with the ingredients. I moved like a robot, mechanically chopping vegetables, stirring the pot. Each mov

wl to Kennedy's room. Gregory was still there, watching he

nodded at the bodyguards. "Take her b

t was a distant echo. They pushed me onto another gurney, the co

d ever shed for Gregory Henson. My heart, what was left of it, hardened into an impenetrable shield. No more.