After Every Beating, He Gives Me $10,000Chapter 3

The preparations were almost complete.

The blood pack I'd ordered online was film-grade special effects, disturbingly realistic, even carrying a sickly sweet, metallic scent.

As for the "fetal model."

I'd acquired it through some discreet channels. It was tiny, palm-sized, an unformed mass that sent shivers down my spine.

I hid it in the bottom freezer drawer, wrapped in three layers of black plastic bags.

Every time I opened the fridge for milk, I felt that thing silently watching me, radiating an unnatural cold.

It was insane, I knew.

But to hunt a beast, the hunter must be even crazier.

This Friday was Damian's birthday.

As was customary, he would have some wine.

Alcohol was a lethal combination with bipolar medication, especially when mixed.

But I still bought him the best red wine, a Romanée-Conti, which cost me half of what I'd saved from a year of enduring his beatings.

An investment, after all, always came with a cost.

At seven in the evening, Damian returned.

He seemed in a good mood, carrying an Hermès bag.

"Happy Birthday, darling."

I blinked, surprised. "But it's your birthday."

Damian smiled, walking over to kiss my forehead. "I know, but I wanted to give you a gift. As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

For a moment, I almost wavered.

If you ignored those violent nights, Damian truly was a perfect husband.

Wealthy, romantic, gentle.

Too bad he was a lunatic.

I unwrapped the gift; it was a limited-edition Birkin bag.

"Do you like it?" he looked at me expectantly.

"I love it," I said, smiling and nodding. "Let's eat. I made your favorite roasted lamb with rosemary."

At the dining table, candlelight flickered.

Damian drank one glass, then two, then three.

His eyes started to glaze over, his cheeks flushed, and his voice grew louder.

I knew the medication was taking effect.

Not the alcohol, but my special "ingredient" I'd added to the wine.

It was a potent neuro-stimulant designed to amplify emotions and trigger aggressive outbursts.

Damian had been taking the lithium prescribed by his doctor, but I'd swapped out his meds.

I'd replaced them with identical-looking vitamin supplements.

The real heavy-hitters were all in the wine.

"Cassie…"

Damian suddenly slammed his wine glass onto the table. Red wine splashed onto the white tablecloth, exploding into a blood-red stain.

"Do you look down on me?"

His eyes had changed.

That familiar, violent, murderous glint was back.

The show was about to begin.