Audrey Wallace POV:

My breath caught in my throat. Little dove. That name. It was the name he'd called me when we were in love, before the accident. Before the amnesia. Before he became this cruel stranger.

I watched him, my heart a frantic bird in my chest. A sliver of hope, sharp and dangerous, pierced through my resolve. Was it finally happening? Was he remembering?

"No," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I forced the lie out, crushing that tiny spark of hope. "You don't know me, Mr. Foster. Not like that. You never did."

The tension in Jake's shoulders visibly eased. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still clouded but losing that intense, searching look. He actually seemed relieved. Relief that I wasn't the woman he once loved. Relief that he hadn't been wrong about me all this time. The cruelty of it burned.

Jada, who had been watching us with a confused pout, seized the opportunity. "Jakey, what was that about? She's so weird. And my foot still hurts from her terrible massage! My followers will think I have ugly feet if I can't get a proper rub." She flounced onto the bed, demanding his attention. "And this room is nice, but it's not the best. I heard the 'Royal Suite' has a private infinity pool. Why aren't we in the Royal Suite?"

I felt a profound exhaustion settle over me, a bone-deep weariness that went beyond the throbbing in my wrist. My entire body ached.

Just then, the door swung open without a knock. Douglass and Evonne Hammond, Jake's parents, swept in like a cold front. Evonne, a woman whose diamonds sparkled almost as brightly as her disdain, immediately went to Jada.

"Darling! My sweet Jada-bear!" Evonne cooed, wrapping Jada in an embrace. "Are you comfortable? Is everything to your liking?"

Douglass, a stern man with eyes that always seemed to be calculating, gave Jake a curt nod before resting a heavy hand on Jada's shoulder. "My dear, you are the future of our family. This place, this retreat," he said the word with distaste, "is barely worthy of you."

My stomach clenched. I was invisible to them. Had been for five years.

"And speaking of futures," Evonne continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "Jakey, darling, we have a little something for Jada. It was meant for... well, never mind that. It's hers now."

She held up a velvet box. Inside, glittering against the black satin, was the Wallace family heirloom necklace. My grandmother's necklace. My dowry. The one they had promised me when I married Jake, before he lost his memory.

I stared at it, my mind reeling. That necklace was supposed to be mine. It was a symbol of my family's legacy, a piece of my history. Now, it was being gifted to Jada, the woman who had stolen my husband and my life.

"Look, Jada-bear, isn't it exquisite?" Evonne gushed. "A perfect fit for our family's true matriarch."

Douglass chimed in, his voice cold. "Audrey, you've disappointed us for too long. No heir. No presence in society. Just this… little business of yours. Jada, on the other hand, gives us hope for the Foster legacy." His words were like little ice picks, chipping away at what little dignity I had left.

This wasn't new either. For five years, their constant jibes about my "barren womb" and my "failure as a wife" had been a soundtrack to my gilded cage. Each holiday, each family gathering, a fresh barrage of thinly veiled insults. I had become their convenient punching bag, the scapegoat for Jake's indifference.

Evonne's phone rang. She answered, her face brightening. "Oh, my precious angels! You're awake!" She put the phone on speaker. "Are you missing Grandma? No? Oh, well, guess who's here? That nasty woman who hurt mommy's feelings!"

My blood ran cold as I heard the tiny, childish voices on the other end. "Auntie Audrey is bad! Auntie Audrey is ugly!"

"She is, isn't she?" Evonne purred into the phone. "What should we do to bad Auntie Audrey?"

A child's voice piped up, "Push her!"

Before I could react, Evonne's hand shot out, a surprising force behind it. She slapped me hard across the face. The sharp sting made my good wrist fly up to cover my cheek. I tasted blood.

I didn't fight back. Couldn't. Not anymore. I was leaving. Soon. Very soon. This was the last time.

Jake, who had been watching this unfold, suddenly stepped forward. "Mother, that's enough," he said, his voice clipped. He put a hand on Evonne's arm, pulling her back.

Evonne looked surprised, then indignant. "Jakey, she deserves it! She's a disgrace!"

But Jake shook his head. "Later. Not now." He gave me a look I couldn't decipher, then glanced at my swollen wrist, still clutched to my chest.

I took the opportunity. "If you'll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to," I said, my voice tight. I turned and practically ran from the suite, the humiliation burning my face.

As I made my way down the hallway, my phone buzzed again. Clara. Business partner just confirmed the transfer. You're officially free, Audrey. It's done.

A wave of relief, so potent it almost buckled my knees, washed over me. Done. I was finally done. Now, I just needed to get home, pick up the last few documents, and then… freedom. Real freedom.

I hurried towards the exit, my mind racing through the logistics of my escape. My father had arranged everything. A car, a private plane. A new life, far away from the Fosters.

But as I stepped out into the crisp morning air, two small figures darted out from behind a potted bush, blocking my path. Jake' s children. They were Jada' s children, but Jake claimed them as his own, a legacy for his parents.

"There she is!" the older boy, a mini-Jake with his cold eyes, shouted. "The bad lady!"

"Mommy said you made her cry!" the little girl chimed in, her face twisted into a childish scowl.

"Go home, kids," I said, trying to push past them. My wrist throbbed. I just needed to get out.

"No!" the boy yelled. He thrust a small, brightly colored water gun forward. "Mommy said to teach you a lesson!"

Before I could react, a stream of clear liquid shot from the toy. It hit my face, my neck, my chest. A searing pain erupted. It wasn't water.

I screamed. The children shrieked with laughter, then turned and ran, their small figures disappearing around the corner.

My skin was burning. I clawed at my clothes, trying to wipe away the liquid, but it felt like fire. My vision blurred, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the corrosive fluid. This was no ordinary liquid. This was acid. Strong, burning acid.

My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the pristine white pavement, the world spinning around me. The smell of burnt flesh filled my nostrils. They had used acid. They had used acid.

Audrey Wallace POV:

The searing pain was instant, absolute. My skin felt like it was melting. I ripped at my blouse, tearing the delicate fabric away from my burning flesh. I clawed at my neck, my chest, trying to wipe away the agonizing liquid, but it only spread the burning agony. It was acid. A strong, corrosive acid.

I stumbled, somehow managing to stay upright, and forced myself to run. I had to get home. Had to get to a shower. The retreat had first-aid, but there were cameras everywhere. No. I needed privacy.

The short drive home was a blur of excruciating pain and desperate gasps for air. My hands, burning from contact, fumbled with the key. I burst through the door, shedding my clothes as I went, a trail of scorched fabric and agonizing pain in my wake. Cold water. That was all I could think of.

I practically fell into the shower, turning the faucet to its coldest setting. The icy spray hit my burnt skin, a shock that made me scream, but it was a different kind of pain, a cleansing pain. I stayed there, shivering beneath the water, until the agonizing fire on my skin receded to a dull, throbbing ache.

My body was a canvas of red and angry welts. My good wrist, still swollen from Jake's earlier assault, throbbed in protest. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, threatened to consume me. But I couldn't stop. I had to get the last of my things. The documents.

I wrapped myself in a thick bathrobe and walked slowly, painfully, to my study. The last box. It held old photo albums, letters, trinkets from a life I barely recognized anymore. A life with Jake. The real Jake.

My fingers brushed against a worn leather album. I pulled it out. Our college days. Our first trip abroad. Our wedding day, before the car crash, before the amnesia, before Jada. We were smiling in every picture, our eyes full of a fierce, youthful love. My heart ached, a deep, hollow pang. Even after everything, even after the torture, a part of me still clung to the ghost of that man. The hope, however faint, that he would one day remember. That we would resurface.

But that hope was a lie. A dangerous, self-destructive lie. This was it. I was burning it all down. Literally.

I grabbed a large metal basin from the closet and started emptying the album, tearing up the pictures, shredding letters. Each tear was a defiant act, a severing of ties. This was my ritual, my goodbye.

With trembling hands, I lit a match and dropped it into the basin. The flames danced, consuming the edges of our past. The images of our smiles curled and blackened, turning to ash. It hurt, a pain almost as sharp as the acid burns, but it was a necessary pain. A pain of release.

Suddenly, the study door burst open. Jake stood there, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. He must have followed me.

His gaze fell on my exposed skin, the angry red burns on my neck and chest. His expression shifted, concern flickering in his eyes. "What happened to you?" he demanded, his voice rough. He took a step towards me, his hand reaching out.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, pulling back. The memory of his disgust, his violent recoil from my touch just hours earlier, was still fresh.

His hand paused mid-air. Then his eyes dropped to the basin. The flames licked at the last vestiges of a photo. A photo of us, young and laughing, on our honeymoon.

His face drained of color. His eyes narrowed, a cold rage replacing the concern. "What is this?" he snarled, kicking the basin. The remaining photos scattered, some still smoldering. He snatched one from the floor, his fingers trembling. It was a picture of us, kissing under a cherry blossom tree.

"You really are insane, aren't you?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. He didn't ask. He accused. "Trying to burn my things? Are you trying to recreate some twisted fantasy to trick me?" His eyes fixed on my burns. "Is this part of your deranged plan? To hurt yourself, so Jada looks bad? So I'll feel sorry for you?"

He grabbed my injured wrist, the one swollen from his own earlier violence, and squeezed. A fresh wave of agony shot through me. I cried out.

"Fake!" he shouted, shoving my arm away. "It's all fake! You're trying to frame Jada, aren't you? You always hated her! You always tried to hurt her!"

"I never tried to hurt anyone," I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "I just wanted to leave."

He scoffed. "Leave? You? You've clung to me like a leech for five years, even after you couldn't give me what I needed. You've changed your tune now? Suddenly you want to be free? What's your angle, Audrey? What scheme are you cooking up now?" He crumpled the photo in his hand, tearing it into tiny pieces. "You disgust me."

His words slammed into me, worse than any physical blow. They were brutal, dismissive, utterly devoid of recognition. The hope, that dangerous spark, died a final, definitive death.

"You're pathetic," he continued, his voice dripping with superiority. "Always seeking attention, always angling for sympathy. Do you want me to praise your beauty, Audrey? Do you want me to tell you how desirable you are?" He stalked towards me, his eyes dark, predatory. "Is that what this little display is about? A desperate plea for male validation?"

Before I could answer, he lunged, pushing me roughly onto the bed. I cried out as my burnt skin scraped against the rough bedspread. I struggled, but he was too strong, too fast. He pinned my good arm above my head, his weight pressing down on me.

"Don't," I choked out, a wave of terror washing over me. "Please, don't."

He laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "Don't? You think I want you? You think this is about desire?" His eyes raked over my body, the burns, the bruises, a look of profound disgust on his face. "Close your eyes, Audrey. You're not worth looking at."

My eyes squeezed shut, hot tears running down my temples. I braced myself for the terror, the violation. But it didn't come.

Instead, he hoisted me roughly over his shoulder. My body screamed in protest, every burn, every bruise flaring with pain. "Where are you taking me?" I cried, my voice raw with fear.

"To a place where you can't run," he sneered. "A place where you'll learn your place."

He carried me down to the basement, a dark, damp space I rarely entered. My gaze fell on a metal contraption in the corner, a strange, table-like structure with straps and restraints. My blood ran cold. It was vaguely medical, surgical. He kept tools down here, for his tinkering. My stomach lurched.

"Jake, please," I begged, my voice cracking. "Let me go. I'll sign anything. I'll leave, I promise. You'll never see me again."

His grip tightened, digging into my flesh. "Never see you again?" His voice was a low growl. "You think it's that easy? You think I'll just let you walk away from the empire you're legally tied to?" He threw me onto the cold metal table. The impact sent a jolt of fresh agony through my burnt skin. He quickly strapped my wrists and ankles, securing me firmly.

"Jake, stop!" I yelled, struggling against the restraints. But my body was weak, my movements clumsy. The acid burns pulsed with fiery pain.

He ignored my pleas. He walked over to a panel on the wall, his fingers hovering over a series of dials and levers. My eyes widened in horror. This was a device he had designed, a "stress tester" he called it, for his tech prototypes. He had once shown it to me, explaining how it could simulate extreme pressure and discomfort.

He turned back to me, his cold eyes devoid of any human emotion. "You are my wife, Audrey. My puppet wife," he declared, his voice chillingly calm. "And you will remain so. You will never leave."

He flicked a switch. A low hum filled the room. A strange pressure began to build around my midsection, a cold, constricting force. Then, a sharp, piercing pain. It was a pressure that felt like it was crushing my organs, squeezing the very life out of me. I couldn't breathe. My vision swam. Black spots danced before my eyes.

Blood. I felt a warm gush, spreading rapidly beneath me. My body thrashed, but the restraints held firm. The pain was beyond anything I had ever experienced. It was an internal rupture, a tearing.

Just before I succumbed to the blackness, a distorted image flashed in my mind. Not the cruel, cold Jake before me, but the vibrant, laughing Jake from college. The Jake who had held me close when I was scared, whispered promises of forever. The Jake who had once promised to protect me from everything.

"Elliot," I choked out, the name a desperate, fading whisper on my lips.

Jake froze. His hand, still on the control panel, clenched. His expression, moments ago a mask of sadistic pleasure, suddenly went slack. His eyes, fixed on my fading form, widened slightly.

Elliot? His mind echoed, a jarring, unfamiliar thought. Elliot. The name. It was tied to a dream he often had. A dream of a sun-drenched beach, a woman with long, dark hair laughing, and a man, a shadow, calling her little dove as he held her hand. The man in the dream had a name. Elliot.

His hands flew to the controls, frantically pulling levers and twisting dials. The device whirred, then powered down. The crushing pain receded, leaving me with a faint, unbearable ache.

He stumbled towards me, his eyes wide, frantic. He shook my shoulder, his voice rough with a new, unsettling urgency. "Audrey! Audrey, wake up! Who is Elliot? How do you know that name? Did… did we know each other before?"

The world remained dark.

Audrey Wallace POV:

I woke up to the distant hum of the house, a sterile quiet that felt wrong. The blinding white ceiling of my bedroom stared down at me. My body ached with a dull, persistent throbbing, but the blood was gone. Someone had cleaned me up. Jake. It had to be Jake.

Jake stood at the foot of my bed, his face pale, eyes shadowed. He had dismissed his fleeting suspicion, I knew. Elliot? Nonsense. A hallucination from pain. He' d always dismissed anything that didn't fit his narrow, amnesiac view of the world. He preferred to believe Jada's carefully crafted narrative, the one where I was the villain.

His gaze was cold again. "You are my legal wife, Audrey. A contractual obligation. Nothing more, nothing less. And you will remain so." His voice was flat, devoid of the earlier confusion. "Don't ever mention that name again. Or any other name from a past that doesn't exist for me."

He paused, a calculated glint in his eyes. "Behave, and your family's logistics empire, the one I've been investing in and subtly expanding for you, will continue to thrive. Disobey, and you will lose everything. Understood?"

I turned my head away, my jaw clenched. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response. My silence was my only weapon now.

My heart clung to a single, burning hope: the car my father had arranged would be here soon. My escape. Real. Imminent.

Five years. Five years of this living hell. The casual cruelty, the dismissive words, the physical and emotional abuse. Each passing day had chipped away at my spirit, eroding the vibrant woman I once was. The pain was a constant companion, a dull ache that never truly subsided. I had endured it all, clinging to the phantom of a love he couldn't remember.

But that phantom was gone. Replaced by a monster.

I was done. Utterly, irrevocably done.

Suddenly, Jake's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, a soft smile touching his lips. It was Jada. He answered, his voice immediately softening.

"Jakey, darling!" Jada's voice, shrill and tearful, cut through the phone. "The baby! Something's wrong! She's bleeding! Audrey must have done this! She's always been so jealous!"

Jake's face hardened. He slammed the phone down. His eyes, now blazing with a terrifying rage, fixed on me. "You demon!" he roared. He yanked me from the bed, my still-tender skin screaming in protest. "What did you do?!"

He dragged me, half-dressed, out of the house and shoved me into his car. He drove like a maniac, tires screeching, leaving a trail of rubber on the pavement. The silence between us was thick with his fury, and my own growing despair.

We arrived at the retreat in moments. Jada rushed out, her perfectly made-up face streaked with feigned tears. Her eyes, however, were triumphant as they met mine.

"You monster!" she shrieked, her hand flying to my face. Her nails raked across my cheek, leaving angry red marks. "How could you hurt my baby?!"

"I didn't do anything!" I cried, trying to push her away. "Check the surveillance cameras! I was in my study!"

Just then, a young woman, one of my employees, stumbled forward, her face pale and trembling. She dropped to her knees before Jake, sobbing. "Mr. Foster! It's true! I saw her! Ms. Wallace… she told me to do it!"

My blood ran cold. Betrayal.

"She said… she said she was so jealous of Ms. Floyd and her beautiful children," the employee wailed, her voice cracking. "She offered me a large sum of money to… to hurt the baby, just a little. To make it look like an accident. She said Ms. Floyd needed to know her place!"

My world spun. This was a nightmare. A carefully orchestrated, malicious nightmare. "That's a lie!" I screamed, my voice hoarse. "She's lying! I would never!"

But no one was listening. A crowd of customers, drawn by the commotion, had gathered. "Monster!" someone yelled. "How could she?!" Another shouted, "I want my money back! I can't believe I trusted her with my baby!"

Someone was live-streaming the whole thing. My phone buzzed with notifications. My retreat's social media accounts were being flooded with hate. Calls for boycotts. My business partner, the one who had just confirmed the transfer, called, his voice tight with panic. He was backing out. The deal was off. My escape route, my future, was crumbling before my eyes.

Jake, his face a mask of primal fury, gently took the injured baby from Jada's trembling arms. The infant's lip was swollen, a small cut visible. He stared at me, his eyes burning with an inferno of hatred. "You call yourself a woman?" he growled, his voice a chilling whisper. "You call yourself human?"

"She deserves to be punished, Jakey!" Jada cried, clinging to his arm. "She tried to hurt our baby!"

"Oh, she'll be punished," Jake said, his eyes never leaving mine. His voice dropped to a terrifying calm. "Bring me a needle and thread."

My blood ran cold. Dread, a suffocating blanket, descended upon me. "No," I whimpered, shaking my head. "Please, Jake, no."

But he wasn't listening. A security guard, always silently obeying, appeared with a needle and thick, black thread. Jake watched, his eyes devoid of mercy, as the guard grabbed my head, forcing my chin up. The first stitch. The needle pierced my lip, a sharp, excruciating pain. I screamed, but no sound came out. Only a ragged, tearing noise. Another stitch. And another. The thread wove through my flesh, pulling my lips together, sealing them shut. Tears streamed down my face, hot and agonizing. My mouth was a raw, bloody mess. My cries were reduced to guttural mumbles.

Blood bloomed on my pure white dress, a stark contrast against the fabric.

Jake watched, his expression unyielding. "Still not enough," he muttered, his voice cold. "She needs to see nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing." He turned to the guard. "The eyes. The ears. Stitch them too."

My body convulsed, a silent scream trapped within my stitched lips. The guard hesitated, a flicker of horror in his eyes.

"Do it!" Jake roared, his voice cracking with fury. "She tried to hurt my child! She needs to understand that she will never speak, never see, never hear again if she dares to cross me! This is for trying to destroy my family! This is for trying to hurt my baby!"

A choked, gurgling sound escaped my stitched lips. It was a laugh. A broken, hysterical laugh. I thought of my past choices. My blind love. My foolish hope. My unwavering loyalty to a man who had forgotten me, replaced me, abused me.

I loved the wrong man. I loved him with everything I had. And he had broken me. Utterly. Completely.