Chapter 1

After my divorce, I fled to Seattle with my daughter. As a Black single mother, the crushing weight of surviving in a strange city nearly broke me. 

That is, until David came along. A detective with the Major Crimes Unit, he became our safe haven. 

I thought I had finally made it through the darkness. I thought I was about to embrace a brand-new life. 

Until our six-month anniversary. I showed up for our date full of joyful anticipation, only to accidentally witness him tenderly kissing a pregnant woman. 

With his two young children clustered right by his side...

"You really should've changed your passcode, Elena. Using your daughter's birthday is way too predictable."

The voice came from the pitch-black living room.

I jolted, and my purse hit the floor. My hand froze in midair, too terrified to press the light switch.

By the moonlight filtering in, I stared intently at the towering silhouette on the sofa.

David Thorne. Senior Detective of the Seattle PD Major Crimes Unit.

Just a few hours ago, I had thrown a glass of ice water in his face at a restaurant, warning him: if he ever came near me or my daughter again, I would ruin him.

Because I'd found out his secret—not only was he married, but his wife was expecting their third child. He had played me with his bachelor charade for six whole months.

And now, he had effortlessly bypassed my security, sitting silently inside my locked home.

What did he want?

"Get out." I picked up my purse, my hand slipping quietly inside to grasp my pepper spray.

"I've already called the cops. Your colleagues should be on their way." I held up my phone in my other hand, warning him.

"Called the cops?" David let out a soft chuckle, his voice completely devoid of panic. "Elena, you're a brilliant architect. You draw blueprints, you calculate load-bearing walls, and you think you have everything under control. But you forgot—the shift supervisor at dispatch is an old buddy of mine."

He stood up, wearing his signature black tactical jacket. Gleaming faintly on his chest was his police badge.

"That 911 call you made? It'll be flagged as a 'domestic dispute, non-emergency.'"

He advanced on me, step by step.

I whipped out the pepper spray, but he was far quicker.

With just a slight shift of his weight, his massive hand clamped down on my wrist like a vise.

A sharp pain shot up my arm, and the pepper spray canister dropped to the floor.

"You despicable liar!" I screamed, struggling frantically. "You have a wife, two kids, and a third on the way! And you have the nerve to show your face here? You sickening piece of shit!"

Instead of getting angry, David let out a condescending scoff. He loosened his grip just a fraction, as if admiring my fury.

"Don't be so rigid, Elena." He looked down at me with utter contempt, his sense of entitlement chilling. "Emily takes care of the house and the kids. She's the perfect wife. But you... you're smart, gorgeous, and you satisfy my other needs in bed. There's no conflict."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"We can keep this going just like before, can't we?" Freeing his other hand, he rubbed his calloused thumb aggressively over my lips. "As long as you behave and keep your mouth shut. That downtown penthouse, that municipal contract you want so badly—I can pull strings for you behind the scenes."

"You still get to be the glamorous, independent career woman, and I—"

"Go to hell!"

Seizing the moment his guard dropped, I yanked my hand free and, with every ounce of strength I had, slapped him square across the face.

I screamed at him, "Take your filthy hands and get the hell out of my house! Or I swear to God, tomorrow morning the entire Seattle PD will be reading about your scandal!"

David's head snapped to the side from the impact.

When he slowly turned his head back, any facade of tenderness in his eyes had vanished completely.

"You disobedient bitch."

He violently grabbed a fistful of my hair. With tremendous force, he slammed my entire body against the wall.

Before I could even cry out, my back crashed against the hard drywall, making my vision swim.

"David, don't—"

I tried to push him away with both arms, but with a practiced tactical maneuver, he pinned my arms forcefully behind my back.

Immediately after, the cold, heavy bite of metal pressed against my wrists.

It was his standard-issue police handcuffs.

"Let me go! Help! Somebo—" My screams were brutally smothered back down my throat as he clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Assaulting an officer?"

David ground my face against the wall. He leaned in inches from my ear, his breath carrying that scent of mint and tobacco that used to bring me comfort, but now felt like a lethal poison.

"Right now, you're my prisoner."

Something rock-hard and burning hot pressed against my thighs through his pants.

"No... don't!" I struggled like a madwoman, twisting my body to escape.

But with just one hand, gripping like an iron pincer, he roughly grabbed my collar and yanked downward.

Buttons popped and flew. The entire blouse was ripped open, the cold air instantly raising goosebumps all over my skin.

In the next second, he whipped off his heavy police belt with one hand.

Smack!

The thick leather lashed viciously against my ass. A fiery, searing agony exploded on impact, sending violent spasms through my body.

Before I could even catch my breath, his knee forced its way in, ruthlessly driving my legs apart.

He tore off my panties. No foreplay. No lubrication whatsoever.

Thrusting his hips with brute force, his thick, scalding cock shoved inside me without warning.

"Ah—!"

A harrowing, ragged wail ripped from my throat, tears instantly flooding my eyes. The pain was so agonizing my nails clawed desperately into the drywall.

"You think your middle-class rules can protect you?" he panted heavily.

"Look closely, Elena. Take a good look at who really makes the rules!"

Gripping my waist from behind, he pounded into me with a frenzied, savage momentum, tearing into me as if interrogating a criminal.

Every brutal thrust was a ruthless invasion, driving into my deepest core.

When he finally climaxed with a harsh, guttural exhale, he let go of me like discarding a torn rag.

I collapsed onto the messy floor, my hands still cuffed tightly behind my back, completely naked, my thighs streaked with blood and his semen.

David methodically straightened his clothes. He crouched down and used the blood-smeared key to unlock my handcuffs.

"By the way," he said, tossing the key back into his pocket. "You just tried to assault an off-duty officer with a chemical spray. If I wanted to, I could arrest you right now for assaulting police."

"But I'm in a good mood today. Goodnight."

The door clicked shut.

I curled up on the freezing floor, shivering as if every bone in my body had been shattered. The excruciating pain radiating from between my legs and the raw abrasions on my wrists were constant reminders of what had just happened.

In this suffocating darkness, another face suddenly drifted into my mind—my ex-husband, Mark.

Five years ago, Mark had been exactly the same. When he forced himself on me against my will, he called it his "marital duty." He chipped away at my boundaries, piece by piece, with violence and a twisted need for control.

Back then, I chose to compromise, thinking that endurance could buy peace.

And the result? He only escalated. He nearly beat me to death. It cost me half my life just to get those divorce papers signed.

I thought I had clawed my way out of that abyss long ago. But tonight, David proved to me in the same ruthless way: in the face of absolute violence, I was still just prey waiting to be slaughtered.

No.

I will not let history repeat itself.

Then, gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up on battered, bruised arms and stumbled unsteadily to my feet.

I didn't go into the bathroom. I didn't wash away his filth. I carefully sealed my torn blouse, stained with his fluids, into a plastic evidence bag.

I slipped into an oversized trench coat, then drove to the downtown hospital's emergency room and requested the SANE (Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner) unit.

It was an agonizing four-hour examination process.

The forensics nurse swabbed every trace of DNA off my body, photographing the deep, bloody grooves around my wrists and the brutal tearing between my legs.

Every touch was excruciating, yet I didn’t shed a single tear the entire time.

At the break of dawn, clutching a thick medical report, I walked straight through the doors of the Seattle Police Department's Internal Affairs Bureau.

"I need to report a detective."

I sat in a cold metal chair in the IA office, staring at the agent across from me who had been half-asleep just a moment ago.

"David Thorne. Senior Detective. Last night... he raped me."