~~"Ruined. Wrecked. Owned."~~

That’s all she could think as she sat in the wheelchair, legs absolutely useless, body still buzzing from the aftermath of last night.

She had heard the warnings. Had felt the way he could dominate a room with just his gaze. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared her for what her husband was truly capable of.

February 14th, 8:00 PM: It started sweet. A candlelit dinner, soft kisses trailing down her neck, the deep, rumbling whisper against her ear—

"I hope you’re ready, love. Because once I start, I’m not stopping."

February 14th, 10:00 PM: He wasn’t lying.

She had sc'reamed his name so many times she was sure the neighbors would be tra'umatized for life. He had taken her apart, over and over, until she forgot her own name—until she was nothing but a trembling, mo'aning mess beneath him.

"One more," he had murmured against her lips. "You can take it, baby."

February 15th, 6:00 AM: She tried to stand. Failed. Tried again. Collapsed.

Her husband? Smirking like a man who knew exactly what he had done.

**"What’s wrong, sweetheart?"**His voice was so innocent—as if he wasn’t the reason her legs had given up on life.

She glared. "I can’t f*cking walk."

And the ~~bastard~~ had the audacity to chuckle, scooping her up effortlessly and placing her in a wheelchair like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Guess you’ll have to rely on me now," he murmured, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to her forehead. "Not that you ever had a choice."