hands, nails, and white image Mature image rose, flowers, and light image kiss, lipstick, and lips image

Born to a blue-collar family in the southern United States, she is an only child, and at a fifteen, she crossed paths with a wealthy Spaniard. Taken aback by her stunning beauty and a personality far beyond her years, the Spaniard falls for the young girl and with her parent's permission, weds her and takes her from the mundane to a world of untold wealth and privilege.

Their marriage begins in love, but as she ages and begins to form her own identity (a luxury she was denied by marrying so young), she grows to hate the world of privilege. She is watches at all times by security. She is bored at all times, having all tasks done for her, and she can never go anywhere alone without a bodyguard accompanying her--as per the order of her husband.

She has no basic skills. She doesn't know how to drive; she never learned. She knows nothing of what it is to be self-reliant, to be a self-sufficient adult. She never had to fend for herself, to buy her own groceries, pay her own bills; she was always taken care of by her husband's order.

Their wedding took places days after her sixteenth birthday, and when the festivities concluded, he swept her away to his mansion in Madrid where his entire family and his entire business resides. He is the creator, owner, and CEO of a famous perfume company, one of the finest and most sought after in the world. He alone is worth a fortune, and his company is worth double.

People would kill a man for less, and so he demands she always be protected, always be surrounded by heavily-armed security. After all, an attempt to steal the empire he built could begin with the kidnapping of his beautiful, youthful wife.

The years wind on, and the marriage grows stale. She feels suffocated and trapped; she can't even wander the streets of Madrid without permission from her husband and an armed escort. She barely leaves the mansion grounds; what's the point? She's not even allowed beyond the front gate, so why bother at all?

Seven hours and a long plane ride separate her from her family, her friends, and anyone she ever knew in her old, boring, mundane life. She is utterly alone, but she stares at him and tells her heart, "I love him."

Until he demands a son, an heir to inherit his life, his fortune, and the company he built from scratch. His aggression toward her starts slow: a shove here, a push there. But as more weeks pass, as more months tick by and a pregnancy never sticks, he grows violent. The shoves become punches that pepper her skin in black and blue.

Yet, she still looks to him and lies to herself, telling her heart, "I love him."

Then she turns him down; she refuses a night of intimacy. She doesn't feel well; something in their dinner was a bit off, a bit spoiled, and she's sick to her stomach. He doesn't care, and he takes her by force, leaving her whimpering and bleeding when he's done.

Now she sees the truth, and she admits, "I hate him."

She plays along; she grows numb. She lets him defile her every night, ripping and tearing just a little bit more each time. She dresses in all red and paints her nails for war.

He comments that she's changing, growing bolder, and he says, "I like it."

She smiles, knowing all the red she covers herself with is only practice for when his blood drips down her hands.

He drags her to a party, one of the many celebrations thrown to celebrate him and his company and their success. She goes dressed in a skin-tight dress with a gun taped to her inner thighs. She plays the role of the doting wife, all smiles and giggles while the bruises and scratches beneath her clothes still throb and bleed.

Then she excuses herself; she goes to the bathroom and waits, knowing he'll barge in any moment, grab her arms, an shove her to the wall. He'll seethe and grit his teeth, saying, "You're embarrassing me, hiding away when you should be present, when you should be smiling for my guests."

That's when she'll do it. She'll shove him away for the first time ever. She'll rip the gun free of the tape holding it tight in place against her tender and scarred thigh. She'll shove its barrel in his face, and she'll pull the trigger.

And she'll see just how close the color of his blood matches the color of her gown.

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