He Brought His Mistress, I Brought My Lawyers Chapter 04

He Brought His Mistress, I Brought My Lawyers Chapter 04

Sloane’s voice faded, and the hallway fell silent.

But the darkness seemed to come alive, squeezing my lungs, the claws of claustrophobia seizing my throat. Every breath felt like swallowing razor blades.

This secret, this humiliating weakness hidden beneath my elegant mask—I had only ever told one person.

The summer I was eighteen, at the Caldwell house in Nantucket, I’d half-jokingly told Ethan about getting locked in a wardrobe as a child and the ridiculous fear that followed.

He had held me and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. You have me now. I’ll be your light.”

Now, he had locked me in the dark with his own hands.

And he’d given Sloane the key to tear open my oldest scar.

In that moment, my heart didn’t shatter.

It turned to ash.

I forced myself into a ball, mimicking the breathing techniques from my yoga class. Inhale, imagine fresh air. Exhale, imagine the fear leaving with it.

My brain spun through the dizziness of oxygen deprivation.

False imprisonment.

Intentional infliction of emotional distress.

I repeated the legal terms in my mind, clinging to them like driftwood. I would fight this breakdown with cold, hard reason.

The next two days were a slow execution.

Sloane appeared outside the door at irregular intervals, a diligent jailer. Sometimes she hummed off-key, her heels tapping a smug rhythm. Sometimes she pressed her face to the door and described, in a dreamy voice, trying on my wedding dress.

“Avery, your size is a little big, but once the waist is taken in, it’ll be perfect. Vera Wang’s designs are so classic. Ethan always did have good taste.”

Food was inconsistent—a hard piece of bread, a bottle of water. I forced myself to eat. I needed to survive. I needed my strength.

On the morning of the third day, the lock finally turned.

Blinding light flooded in. I lifted a hand to shield my eyes.

The estate butler, Mr. Harrison, stood in the doorway, his face a mask of panic I’d never seen before.

“My God, Miss Caldwell! How did you get in here?”

Behind him, two maids wore equally shocked expressions.

I didn’t have the strength to call out their clumsy performance.

After nearly sixty hours of confinement, my body was at its limit. Dehydration and mental strain made me dizzy. My legs felt like noodles.

Mr. Harrison and the maids “supported” me, half-dragging, half-carrying me downstairs.

They didn’t take me to the front door. Instead, they led me through a long corridor, out a side entrance, and into a black sedan that was already waiting.

The car stopped at the back entrance of a private clinic. I was helped out and staggered against the cold wall, every breath a stab of pain.

Just then, a pair of polished John Lobb shoes stopped in front of me.

“Avery?!”

A voice I knew so well it made me sick sounded above me, filled with theatrical shock and a flicker of panic.

I slowly lifted my head and met Ethan’s handsome face. He looked completely unprepared to see me like this. Surprise flashed in his eyes, quickly masked by a thick layer of “guilt” and “concern.”

He immediately crouched down, reaching out to help me.

“What happened? How did you—”

I summoned every bit of strength I had, lifted my arm, and blocked his touch.

It was a small movement, but it was an invisible wall, shutting him out.

Ethan’s hand froze. The color drained from his face, and the carefully crafted mask of pain cracked.

“Who… did this to you?” he asked, his voice urgent, as if he knew nothing. He stared at my pale face and cracked lips. “Was it the guards?”