The moment he was gone, I rushed to a corner where he couldn't see. I jammed my fingers down my throat, retching violently until I threw up everything—the pills, bile, the sour water from my stomach.
To ensure he wouldn't have to share a bed with me again, Connor called Jade to the house.
With his leg injured, she became his personal nurse.
The two of them were inseparable, sickeningly sweet. When I was present, they ramped up the intimacy just to spite me.
I cannot eat spicy food. Yet Connor ordered the nanny to cook only the heavy, chili-laden dishes that he and Jade preferred. I was left with nothing but a bowl of plain white rice.
Connor had a severe obsession with cleanliness. His intimate apparel had to be hand-washed, and he forbade the nanny from touching them. He specifically named me for the task.
In the past, I would have done it gladly.
Even though it was foolish, it was a service I had been willing to provide.
But to humiliate me further, he threw Jade's lace underwear into the pile for me to wash as well.
He installed Jade in the master bedroom—the room that belonged to me and him—and banished me to the guest room next door.