Chapter 2 - The Trap and The Evidence
Yesterday, Derek had taken the microphone from the DJ and shouted to a cheering crowd, “I’m going to give her a great life!” My parents had wept tears of joy. To help us get on our feet, my parents had accepted a $30,000 traditional wedding gift from Derek’s family, but they didn’t keep a single cent of it. They handed it straight to me, and added $15,000 of their own hard-earned savings. That $45,000 cashier’s check was currently sitting in the hidden, zippered bottom compartment of my suitcase upstairs.
Seeing that I wasn’t weeping or dropping to the floor, Derek stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “I’m talking to you, Chloe. Are you deaf? Get on the floor.”
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered the towel. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. Instead, a strange, icy calm washed over me. I smiled. It was a textbook, customer-service smile. “I need to go upstairs and wash my face first,” I whispered, my voice eerily steady.
Before he could grab my arm, I turned and walked out of the dining room, my spine straight, feeling the burn of thirty stares on my back. I marched up the sweeping staircase, the adrenaline finally hitting my veins like a freight train.
I entered the guest bedroom that had been designated as our temporary marital suite. My suitcase was still in the corner. I dropped to my knees, frantic, my fingers tearing at the lining of the luggage. The stiff, rectangular shape of the cashier’s check was still there. Safety net.
I grabbed my backpack and began shoving my essentials inside: driver’s license, passport, and the ornate marriage certificate we had signed just twenty-four hours ago. I needed to leave. Now.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door slammed shut behind me. I spun around.
Derek stood there, his face flushed red with unadulterated rage. He stepped backward, pulling the door with him.
“You think you can walk away from me when I give you a direct order?” he snarled. “You’re going to stay in here and think about your absolute lack of respect.”
Click.
The sound of the deadbolt locking from the outside echoed in the quiet room. I rushed forward, twisting the brass knob. It wouldn’t budge. I pounded on the thick wood, but Derek’s footsteps were already fading down the hallway. I was locked in.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat. I backed away from the locked door, my chest heaving. He locked me in. On our first day. The muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted up from the dining room below. They were celebrating down there, completely unbothered by the fact that the new bride was currently a prisoner in the guest wing.
I paced the room, my mind racing. I couldn’t call the police, not yet. Brenda had half the local precinct in her pocket through her charity board connections; they would write it off as a “domestic misunderstanding” and I would be trapped deeper. I needed to get out quietly.
I rushed to the window. The bedroom was on the second floor, overlooking the expansive, manicured backyard. Directly beneath the window was the slanted roof of the sunroom, leading down to a sturdy oak trellis draped in ivy. I used to climb trees with my dad on weekends. I can do this.
But first, I needed everything. I shoved my laptop into my backpack. As I reached for my bridal clutch on the vanity to grab my phone, the screen lit up. I had left it on the dressing table yesterday evening during the reception while I was changing into my evening gown.
I picked it up and froze. A red banner sat at the top of the screen. Voice Memos – Recording.
It had been running for over fourteen hours. I must have accidentally bumped the app when I tossed the phone into the clutch. My hands shaking, I stopped the recording and hit play, dragging the slider to a random timestamp from yesterday afternoon, right before the ceremony.
The audio was muffled but unmistakable. It was Derek and Brenda, talking in this very room while I was getting my makeup done down the hall.
“I don’t like her, Derek. She’s poor and she’s arrogant,” Brenda’s voice hissed through the speaker.
“Mom, relax,” Derek replied, his tone chillingly callous. “We just have to play the game today. You hand over the thirty-grand gift in front of her parents to look good. We already know her old man is matching it with his savings. Once she moves in, I’ll break her down. She’ll be our maid, and within a month, I’ll force her to hand over the entire forty-five thousand to ‘invest’ in my startup. It covers the debts I owe, and she’ll be too isolated to do a damn thing about it.”
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“Just make sure you establish dominance early,” Brenda warned. “Don’t let her think she has a voice.”
I stared at the glowing screen, the breath completely knocked out of my lungs. It wasn’t just abuse. It was a premeditated, calculated financial trap. A felony fraud wrapped in white lace.
