Chapter 1 - The Moment My Husband Locked the Door
The moment our honeymoon cruise left the Florida coast, my husband locked our cabin door and pulled an aluminum baseball bat from his suitcase.
“I’m going to teach you how to be a wife.”
My name is Ashlynn Hartman.
Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I had stood beneath white flowers in a Miami hotel ballroom and promised to love Gregory for the rest of my life.
Now rose petals scattered beneath my heels as he raised a weapon toward my face.
Outside the balcony windows, sunlight glittered across the Atlantic. Champagne waited in a silver bucket. Heart-shaped balloons floated above the bed.
Everything around us had been designed to look romantic.
That only made Gregory’s expression more terrifying.
The charming smile I had known for a year was gone. His eyes were flat. Detached. Almost relieved, as if he had spent our entire courtship holding back the person standing before me now.
“Well,” he said softly, “we’re finally alone.”
I forced myself not to look at the locked door.
“Should we open the champagne?”
He ignored me.
Gregory stepped toward the leather suitcase he had insisted on packing himself. He released the brass clasps and reached beneath folded shirts.
I expected a gift.
Instead, he pulled out the bat.
“What is that?”
“My father gave it to me before the wedding.”
He tapped it against his palm.
The sound was light.
Almost playful.
“He said marriage is like breaking a wild horse. Establish control early, or you spend your life chasing it.”
I stared at the man I had married.
“You brought that through security?”
His smile widened.
“You’ve always had a strong personality, Ashlynn. That’s one reason I chose you.”
“Chose me?”
“But strength needs direction.”
He moved between me and the cabin door.
Gregory believed the ship had solved every problem for him.
No neighbors.
No relatives.
No easy exit.
Miles of ocean between me and anyone who might hear me scream.
He expected a polished corporate executive in a short white lace dress.
A frightened bride in designer heels.
He had never asked why sudden movements did not startle me.
Never questioned the scars across my knuckles.
Never wondered why I automatically noted exits whenever we entered a restaurant.
Before I met Gregory, I spent four years in the United States Marine Corps as a hand-to-hand combat instructor.
When my service ended, I packed away my uniforms and promised myself I would never live like every room contained a threat again.
I traded combat boots for heels.
Turned scarred hands into manicured ones.
Built a quiet life.
Then married a man who mistook quietness for weakness.
Gregory lifted the bat.
“This is how my father kept my mother in line.”
For one second, I was afraid.
Then my breathing slowed.
My heartbeat settled.
May you like
I stopped seeing my husband.
I started assessing a threat.
