After Every Beating, He Gives Me $10,000Chapter 2

Damian fell asleep.

Assaulting someone was physically draining, especially with his kind of hysterical rage.

I covered him with the blanket, looking at his sleeping face, which still held a hint of gloom.

When he wasn't having an episode, Damian was actually quite handsome.

High cheekbones, a straight nose, and eyes that held a deceptive allure, hinting at profound affection.

Who would have thought that beneath that attractive exterior lurked a beast?

I closed the bedroom door, walked to the balcony, and lit a cigarette.

I wasn't much of a smoker; I only lit one when the pain kept me from sleeping.

My phone screen lit up.

It was a SnapChat from Chloe, my best friend.

"Still alive?"

I took a screenshot of my balance and sent it to her.

Silence for a moment, then a long voice message came through.

"Cassie, are you out of your mind? Do you have some kind of masochistic complex? Twenty thousand dollars is all it takes to buy you off? Don't you know domestic abuse never stops once it starts? What if he kills you one day? Are you going to take those hundreds of thousands to spend in the afterlife?"

Chloe's scolding was harsh, but I knew she meant well.

She was the only one who knew Damian hit me.

I blew out a smoke ring, watching the smoke dissipate into the night.

I typed back: "Almost."

"Almost what?"

"The pig is getting fat."

Chloe sent a string of ellipses, probably thinking I was beyond saving.

Of course, I wasn't crazy.

I was perfectly lucid. More lucid than anyone.

I touched my stomach.

It was flat, soft, with no sign of life.

But I needed it to have one.

Damian's bipolar disorder was getting worse.

It started with throwing things, then pushing, and now it was full-on fists.

The frequency also increased from once a month to once a week.

I knew the breaking point was coming.

Once we crossed that line, I might actually die.

But I couldn't leave yet.

Damian, though remorseful, wasn't remorseful enough.

His guilt levels hadn't reached the sum I desired.

I wanted more than just twenty or thirty thousand in pocket money.

I wanted his entire fortune.

Or perhaps, his life.