Married To The Fake Comatose Billionaire

Justice stood over the bed. She looked down at Auguste's face. He looked like a marble statue, perfect and untouchable.

She grabbed a stainless-steel medical stool. She dragged it across the floor. The metal legs shrieked against the tiles. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.

Justice sat down. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She stared at him, her eyes tracing the line of his nose, the curve of his lips.

Auguste felt the weight of her gaze. His skin prickled. His hands curled into tight fists under the blanket. He hated feeling like prey.

Justice reached over to the rolling medical cart. She picked up a plastic bottle of ice-cold saline solution. She twisted the cap off.

She held the bottle directly over Auguste's face. She tilted her wrist.

A stream of freezing water poured down. It hit the bridge of his nose and splashed directly into his nostrils.

The shock of the ice water hitting his nasal cavity was brutal.

Auguste's chest seized. His throat spasmed violently as his body fought the instinct to inhale the water. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, trying to clear his airway without coughing.

"Oh, my," Justice said. Her voice was flat, completely devoid of apology. "My hand slipped."

She grabbed a handful of rough paper towels from the cart. She slammed them onto his face, scrubbing the water away with aggressive, bruising force. She rubbed his skin until it turned pink.

Auguste clamped his jaw shut. He used every ounce of his interrogator-resistance training to keep his heart rate steady. He forced his muscles to remain limp.

Justice tossed the wet paper towels onto the floor. She looked at the monitor. His heart rate had barely moved.

Her eyes gleamed with dark amusement.

She turned back to the cart and picked up a long, sterile medical swab.

Justice leaned in close. Her face was inches from his ear.

"Let me help you clean that out," she whispered, her breath brushing against his skin.

Before Auguste could brace himself, Justice shoved the long cotton swab deep into his right nostril.

She didn't stop there. She twisted it. Hard.

The sharp, burning pain shot straight into Auguste's sinus cavity. It was an agonizing, eye-watering violation.

Auguste's body betrayed him. A single, hot tear leaked from the corner of his right eye and slid down his temple. His fingers dug so hard into the mattress that his knuckles turned stark white.

The heart monitor above the bed let out a rapid series of high-pitched beeps. His heart rate had spiked to 120 beats per minute.

Justice pulled the swab out and tossed it into the biohazard bin.

She looked at the tear tracking down his face. A soft, genuine laugh escaped her lips.

Justice leaned down again. Her lips hovered just above his ear.

"Nice endurance, fiancé," she breathed.

Justice stood up. She walked to the corner, plugged the camera back in, and went to the door. She punched in the code, unlocking the deadbolts, and walked out into the hallway.

The doctors, panicked by the heart rate alarm, rushed past her into the room.

Justice saw Silas running down the hall. She gave him a sweet, innocent smile as they crossed paths.

Silas burst into the room. He saw his boss lying there, face red, a tear on his cheek, surrounded by doctors.

As soon as the doctors declared it a random muscle spasm and left, Auguste's finger began hammering against the mattress sensor. The morse code was frantic and furious.

Get this psycho out of my house. Now.