My Fiance Sold Me To Monsters

The sudden roar of the helicopter blades descending upon that desolate ridge finally shattered the last of my delusions. For three years, I had tried to accept this hell as my reality.

But as I watched my former best friend and my ex-fianc step onto the dirt, arm in arm and looking like theyd just stepped off a yacht in the Hamptons, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

"Nicole, darling. It looks like three years of 'rustic living' has finally turned you into a proper little peasant," Belinda said, her voice a silk-wrapped blade.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt like it was packed with burning wool. I managed to croak out a single word: Why?

Christian looked at me with a detached, almost clinical boredom. He explained that it was all because of a "lapse in judgment" Id had years agowhen I had tried to set Belinda up with a blue-collar guy from my fathers warehouse. He felt I had been "cruel" to suggest she belong with someone so beneath her. So, he decided I needed to learn what "beneath" really felt like.

Three years. A thousand days and nights.

I had spent countless hours wondering if I had slipped through a crack in the universe, if I had accidentally wandered into a parallel dimension of cruelty. I never once imagined that my entire nightmare had been a carefully choreographed play produced by the two people I trusted most.

I still remembered our wedding day. Christian had whispered that he had a surprise for me, his hands warm as he tied a silk blindfold around my eyes.

When I finally woke up, the silk was gone, replaced by the stench of rot and cheap tobacco in a windowless shack in the middle of the Ozarks.

A hulking, calloused man named Hank told me he was my husband. A filthy three-year-old boy screamed for me to hold him.

In those dark, claustrophobic years, I was broken. Five miscarriages. Days spent locked in a cellar. Nights spent enduring Hanks "rights" as a husband, punctuated by his heavy fists if I didn't move fast enough. His mother, Maude, was even worsea woman who viewed me as nothing more than a malfunctioning womb, constantly screaming for a grandson I couldn't seem to carry to term.

The scars multiplied. My spirit ebbed away. I eventually stopped fighting. I started swallowing the foul-smelling herbal "tonics" Maude forced down my throat, desperate to produce a son just so the beatings might stop.

But looking at them now, I realized that all my suffering, all my agonizing compromises, were nothing more than a hilarious performance for their entertainment.

Acceptance hit me with the force of a tidal wave. I didn't cry. Instead, I threw my head back and laughed. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that tore from my lungs until tears streaked through the dirt on my face.

Belinda and Christian exchanged a look of bewildered disgust.

"Has she finally snapped? Is she broken?" Christians brow furrowed.

He was wearing a bespoke Tom Ford suit, looking even more handsome and refined than he had three years ago. The way he looked at me was worse than hatred; it was the way one looks at a crushed insect on the underside of a shoe.

Belinda leaned into him, a smug little smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, look at her, Chris. Shes thrilled. Maybe she hasn't had enough of her little roleplay yet."

She tightened her grip on his arm. "Remember, Christian? Nicole always said she wanted a 'simple, happy family' more than anything. I think I picked perfectly. A strong husband, a ready-made son... its exactly what she dreamed of."

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. "She should really be thanking me."

Christian patted her hand affectionately. "Youve always been too thoughtful for your own good, Belinda."

I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. I looked at them through a haze of numbness.

"Christian... why?" My voice was a rasping ghost of the woman I used to be.

Three years ago, we were the "it" couple of the Manhattan social circuit. Everyone said the St. James and Beaumont merger was a match made in heaven. I thought he loved me. Hed spent six months planning our "wedding of the century." He promised Id be the happiest bride in the world.

And then, in my Vera Wang gown, hed blindfolded me.

For three years, Id racked my brain trying to understand how my life had been hijacked. I woke up to a toddler calling me "Mama" and a brute who treated me like livestock. I thought Id been kidnapped, or worsethat I had suffered some psychotic break.

I remembered screaming at them in the beginning. Let me go! Im Nicole St. James! My father will pay you anything!

Old Maude had just spat on the floor. "Youre nobodys princess here, girl. You were dropped off like trash. Best start acting like a wife before I give you something to really cry about."

I had tried to send messages. Every desperate plea for help Id managed to smuggle out had vanished into the void.

"Nicole, you really are pathetic," Christian said, stepping closer. He gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Don't you get it yet? I arranged this. Every bit of it."

He let go with a flick of his wrist, as if hed touched something greasy. "And here you were, waiting for me like a loyal little dog for three years. Its almost sad."

He squinted at me, his lip curling. "Your skin is leather. Youre dark, haggard, and covered in filth. You don't even possess a fraction of Belindas grace anymore."

"But then again," Belinda chimed in, "this is what happens when you spend your life being a 'natural beauty'you forget that beauty requires maintenance you can't get in a trailer park."

I looked down at my hands. The skin was cracked, my knuckles swollen and red from the winter chill. The face I used to spend thousands of dollars a month to maintain was now a map of fine lines, sunspots, and exhaustion. I was a stranger to myself.

Christian stroked Belindas cheek. "You were right, Belinda. Clothes make the woman. You look more like a St. James heiress than she ever did."

Belinda had been a charity case. A "scholarship student" Id sponsored because I felt sorry for her. Id paid her tuition, bought her clothes, let her live in my penthouse. I thought she was my sister. I never realized I was nursing a viper.

"Christian, honey, stop," Belinda giggled, leaning into his chest. Then she stepped toward me, crouching down to my level with a mock-sweet expression.

"Nicole, you should know... while you were gone, Christian took excellent care of me. And Ive done my best to fill your shoes. In his bed, in his heart... everywhere. So you can just stay here and keep playing house. Were done with you."

Playing?

I looked up, stunned. I had nearly died ten times over, and they thought this was a game?

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Christian waved a hand dismissively.

"Actually, Belinda, I think shes had enough 'immersion therapy.' Lets take her back."

A flash of panic crossed Belindas face. "Wait, really? You said we were just here to check in on her."

"Shes seen us. Shes alive. She seemed happy enough laughing a second ago. Maybe we just take some photos and leave her to her... domestic bliss?"

Christian hesitated. "Shes still a St. James. Ive told everyone shes been on a private sabbatical in Europe for three years. Her father is starting to get suspicious. Its time for her to resurface."

Belindas eyes sparked with a brief, ugly flash of hatred. "Fine. If the 'Princess' must return."

As they moved to grab me, Maude and Hank stepped forward, blocking the path.

"Hold on now," Hank growled. "You can't just take her. You said she was mine to keep."

Belinda didn't even look at him. She just pulled a checkbook from her designer clutch.

"Is the money weve been sending not enough? Here." She scribbled a number and tore the check off. "Thats fifty thousand dollars. Consider it your bonus for the 'roleplay' services. For people like you, this should last a lifetime."

Hanks eyes lit up as he snatched the paper. "Well now... thats more like it." He looked at me one last time, a predatory glint in his eye. "Shame, though. She was a fine little piece when she wasn't crying."

Maude elbowed him hard. "Shut it. With that money, you can buy a wife who actually works and doesn't lose every baby she starts. Shes used up anyway. Good riddance to the useless bitch."

I stood there, head bowed, letting their words wash over me. My face was a mask of stone.

Belindas assistants dragged me into the shack to "make me presentable." When I emerged wearing a simple white sundress theyd brought, Belinda burst out laughing.

"Oh, Nicole. You used to own the color white. Now? It just makes you look... muddy. Im so sorry, I didn't realize youd gotten quite so dark out here."

Christian winced beside her. "Its like a cheap imitation of the woman I knew."

He wrapped his arm around Belinda, who was wearing a nearly identical dress. "Standing next to her, you look like the heiress. She looks like the help."

Belinda giggled, playfully hitting his chest. "Don't be mean, Chris! Shes my best friend. Shes the real St. James. I only met you because of her, remember?"

Oh, I remembered.

I remembered how Belinda used to "accidentally" text me every time Christian and I were out on a date. How our "couple time" slowly became a trio. How eventually, I was the one being left behind while they went for "coffee" to discuss my "surprise parties."

When I finally confronted him, Christian had been so gaslightingly patient. Nicole, shes your friend. Im trying to be nice to her for your sake. I don't want you to feel stuck in the middle. If it bothers you, Ill stop.

And he did stoppublicly.

Later, I tried to do something "nice" for Belinda by introducing her to my fathers junior executivea brilliant, kind man with a massive future. Belinda had screamed at me, accusing me of trying to "marry her off to the help" because I thought she wasn't good enough for my world. Christian had sided with her, calling me "elitist" and "clueless about boundaries."

I had apologized. I had crawled to her. I thought it was over. I had no idea they were just sharpening their knives.

"Nicole? Are you even listening to me?" Christians voice snapped me back to the present. He was tugging at my arm.

I looked up at him, dazed. "What?"

Christian didn't answer. He suddenly recoiled, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"What is that smell?" He stepped back, putting several feet of mountain air between us.

"Belinda, do you smell that?"

Belinda sniffed the air, then her eyes widened with a cruel, mocking realization.

"I smell it. Its... ammonia. Like a kennel."

They both stared at me. My body went rigid. I stood perfectly still, but I could feel the warm, humiliating dampness spreading down my legs, soaking into the pristine white fabric of the sundress.

Belinda let out a loud, theatrical gasp, pointing at my hem. "Oh my god, Christian! Shes... shes wetting herself! Hahaha!"

"Nicole, I know youre excited to go home, but this is a bit much, don't you think?"

Christian looked at me with pure, unadulterated loathing. "Youre... youre revolting. Where is your dignity? Where is the 'Poised and Elegant Nicole St. James'? Three years in the dirt and youve turned into an animal. Its disgusting."

Disgusting.

I looked down at the wet stain on the white dress.

Incontinence. A gift from five miscarriages in three years without a single doctor. A gift from the internal damage caused by Hanks brutality and the lack of medical care in a place where "healthcare" was a bottle of moonshine and a prayer.

I gritted my teeth, enduring the jagged shards of their laughter.

"Enough," I whispered. "Enough."

They didn't stop. They doubled over, clutching each other, mocking the very tragedy they had authored.

I looked around the room. My eyes landed on a heavy, blue-and-white porcelain vase sitting on a rickety tablea piece Christian had likely sent to the shack to "decorate" my prison.

In one fluid motion, I grabbed it. I didn't hesitate. I swung it with every ounce of the rage Id suppressed for three years. It shattered against the side of Belindas head.

"Is it still funny?" I asked, my voice flat.

Belinda slumped to the floor, her hand flying to her temple. When she pulled it away, it was covered in bright, arterial red. She let out a piercing, curdling shriek.

"Shes killing me! Christian, shes a monster!" She rolled her eyes back and fainted.

Christian stood frozen for a heartbeat, then lunged toward her, screaming my name in a tone of pure horror. "Nicole, you psychotic bitch!"

He scooped Belinda into his arms, his face pale with panic. "Belinda, stay with me! Im getting you to a hospital!"

He didn't even look back at me as he ran toward the helicopter. "I will make you pay for this! Youre dead to me!"

I watched the helicopter lift off, the wind whipping my ruined white dress.

"Youre right," I whispered to the empty air. "I am a monster. And now, Im coming for you."

Belindas head wound required sixteen stitches. Christian had a dozen security guards stationed outside her hospital suite, and another four guarding my room like I was a high-security inmate.

The moment he walked into my room, he backhanded me so hard I hit the floor.

"Get on your knees," he hissed. "Apologize to her."

"What happened to you, Nicole? You used to be kind. You were the girl who wouldn't hurt a fly. Now youre this... this violent, bitter creature. If your father saw you like this, hed disown you out of pure shame."

I wiped the blood from my lip, the metallic taste fueling my resolve. He moved to strike me again, but this time, I caught his wrist. My grip was like ironthe result of three years of manual labor.

"I have one question for you," I said, my eyes boring into his. "Did you know? Did you know what they were doing to me in that shack?"

Christian flinched, his eyes darting away for a fraction of a second before hardening again.

"It was a game, Nicole. A lesson. Im talking about what you did to Belinda. Don't try to change the subject."

"So you were a co-conspirator. Good."

I didn't need to hear anything else. That one sentence confirmed everything.

For three years, I had clung to the hope that he would find me. I had kept the GPS tracker hed given methe one built into a designer leather belt. I remembered him telling me, With this, I can find you anywhere in the world.

Id worn that belt every day. Id fought Hank and Maude to keep it, enduring beatings until my ribs cracked because I refused to let them sell it. It was my lifeline. My tether to the man I thought loved me.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the tattered, blood-stained belt. I threw it at his feet.

"Your gift. Im returning it to its original owner."

Christian looked down at it and recoiled. "Why is there... why is there so much blood on it?"

"My blood, Christian. Mostly from when I wouldn't let them take it off me because I thought you were coming for me."

He looked at me, his guilt flashing briefly before it was swallowed by anger. "Did you act like this out there? This arrogant, 'heiress' attitude? I bet you were just as insufferable there as you are here. No wonder youve become so... unhinged."

He grabbed the belt, his knuckles white. He looked like he wanted to lash me with it. I didn't flinch. I just closed my eyes.

But the blow never came. Instead, my vision began to swim. My legs, already weakened by the trauma of the last few days, finally gave out.

"Stop faking, Nicole. Get up."

I didn't get up. As I slipped into the black, I heard his voice change from anger to a sharp, jagged edge of panic.

"Nicole? Nicole! Wake up! Somebody get a doctor!"

...

When I drifted back into consciousness, I could hear voices arguing in the hallway.

"Doctor, what do you mean? She was fine a minute ago. Shes just being dramatic."

The doctors voice was stern, professional. "Sir, shes in a state of extreme physical collapse. Shes recently miscarried, and her body is severely malnourished. You need to keep the patient calm."

There was a long, heavy silence. Then Christians voice, hushed and horrified: "What do you mean, miscarried? We haven't even... I haven't touched her in three years."