Escaping My Vicious Billionaire Husband

Keira's shrieks echoed down the corridor, piercing the heavy oak doors of the study.

Ferris ended his call and strode out of the room. He turned the corner and froze.

Keira was sobbing hysterically on the floor, clutching her red, swollen face. Colette stood a few feet away, her chest heaving, her hand still balled into a fist.

Keira pointed a shaking finger at Colette. "She attacked me!" Keira wailed, tears streaming down her face. "I was just walking by, and she went crazy!"

Ferris looked at the dark red handprint blooming on Keira's cheek. His jaw locked. The veins in his neck bulged against his collar. In his eyes, Colette was nothing but a violent, unrepentant monster.

"Alistair!" Ferris roared.

The butler appeared instantly.

"Get Keira up. Have the driver take her to the hospital to get checked," Ferris commanded, his voice vibrating with barely contained fury.

Alistair helped Keira up and led her away.

The second they were out of sight, Ferris closed the distance between him and Colette. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her fragile bones like iron clamps.

Colette let out a sharp gasp of pain, her face turning white, but she clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream.

He didn't say a word. He dragged her down the hallway, pulling her so fast she had to run to keep from falling. They reached the grand staircase, and he hauled her down to the massive foyer.

He let go of her wrist with a violent shove.

Colette crashed onto the cold marble floor, her torn dress pooling around her.

Ferris pointed a long finger at the expansive, gleaming marble floor of the foyer.

"Take off that dress. Put on a maid's uniform," he ordered, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. "And scrub every inch of this floor. On your hands and knees."

Ten minutes later, Colette returned. The heavy, coarse gray fabric of the maid's uniform scratched against her bruised skin. She carried a heavy metal bucket of freezing water and a rough rag.

She dropped to her knees. The hard marble sent a shockwave of pain up her bruised legs.

She plunged her bare hands into the ice-cold water, wrung out the rag, and began to scrub.

Her knees quickly turned raw and red. The muscles in her lower back screamed in agony with every forward motion. Sweat beaded on her forehead, sliding down her pale cheeks and dropping onto the polished stone.

Ferris sat on the plush leather sofa in the center of the room. He crossed his legs, watching her suffer with cold, detached satisfaction.

Two brutal hours passed. Colette's hands were blistered and numb. She finally reached the edge of the rug near Ferris's feet. She sat back on her heels, gasping for air, the floor behind her spotless.

Ferris stood up. He held a crystal glass filled with dark, expensive Burgundy wine.

He walked over to the section of the floor she had just finished cleaning. He tilted his wrist.

The red liquid cascaded onto the white marble, splashing against Colette's cheek and staining her gray uniform like fresh blood.

He looked down at her. "Do it again."

Colette's hands shook violently. She slowly lifted her head, staring up at him with eyes full of pure, burning hatred.

Ferris ignored her gaze. He turned and walked into the mudroom near the front door.

He returned a moment later holding a pair of heavy leather riding boots, completely caked in thick, foul-smelling horse mud.

He threw them down. They hit the marble inches from her knees, splattering mud across her face.

"Wipe this mud clean," he ordered, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. "And then, with the exact same hands you used to scrub this filth, you will go upstairs and draw my bath. I want you to remember exactly what you are."

He didn't wait for her response. He turned and walked up the grand staircase.

Colette closed her eyes. A single tear escaped, cutting a clean line through the mud on her cheek. She reached out with trembling fingers and picked up the filthy boot.