Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

Rewrite. Hope you enjoy it

Chapter 2

(Baylee)

I stared at myself in the mirror while I repeatedly stroked my long brown hair. I took a wipe from a container in my drawer and began to remove the thick makeup I'd worn that day, exposing the purplish yellow around my eye. It was still swelled and there was nothing I could ever do to disguise that.

The sound of bedroom door swinging open then shutting hard made me jump.

"What are you doing?"

"Just getting ready for bed."

"People don't jump when their husbands enter the room, Baylee." He spat. "Unless they were doing something they shouldn't be doing." My husband, Brock strolled the room, bent low and I winced as his arm came my way. But instead of striking me he crossed my body and plucked my cell phone from the vanity. He scrolled through it, reading every message and screening every phone call.

"Who the hell is this?" He put the device in my face, so close I couldn't read it.

"I don't know."

"Right here!" he screamed. "Who is it?"

"It was a wrong number," I told him when the numbers came into view. And it had been. I had never cheated on Brock. I was with him or at home and when I wasn't in either of those places, I was running errands, but that still didn't stop him from accusing.

"You're lying." He pressed the phone against my nose with force. "Who was it?"

"No one." I sobbed. "I swear."

"I really wish I could trust you." He spat, dropping his thick arms to his side. He was silent for a moment and I thought maybe the worst was over.

He stared at me, eyes wide. Nearly bulging. That chiseled jaw twitching. That wild stare scared me so much. I was never sure what he would do when he looked at me that way.

"Brock. It was just a wrong number." I appealed. "Baby, I love you. Please tell me what I've done to make you think I would …"

"Shut up. Just shut up." He touched his hand gently to my chin. "You're beauty never fades." His face softened and I hoped he was sorry for accusing and for striking me the day before.

Wishful thinking.

"The pretty ones are always whores!" he suddenly screamed, thrusting my phone against the wall. It crumbled. Brock was a big man. Tall and muscular. He spent two hours in the gym every day. Every muscle of his body was sculpted except for his gut, which wasn't overly soft, but it wasn't as fit as the rest of him.

I'd been attracted to his strength in the beginning. He's made me feel so safe, but now, I wondered if he realized how strong he was when he put his hands on me.

He stomped around the room. Brooding. Accusing. I felt like a small child and I wished I curl up in a fetal position and sob. I couldn't think of anything worse than having every flaw pointed out and thrown in my face. The softness around my midsection was the focus of his harassment that night, using its existence to prove my laziness.

Then like a light switch, his demeanor turned calm again.

"But I won't have to worry about it soon." He took off his jacket, undid his tie and slipped it from his collar. He bent low and kissed my cheek. I couldn't remember when his kiss started to cause knots to form in my stomach.

"Are you coming to bed tonight?" I asked as he showered and put on a fresh suit.

"No. I got a business meeting with a foreign partner. I'll be back late." Then he was gone, leaving me to spend the night watching television alone beneath the plush comforter.

I spent a lot of nights alone. Brock had a lot of late meetings and took a lot of business trips, but he did call to check on me – a lot. And if I didn't answer there would be hell to pay.

I used to be thrilled when he'd come home after days or weeks. I remember throwing myself in his arms. I remember the smile that spread wide across his lips when he laid eyes me, but somewhere down the road that all changed.

Brock worked for my father. That's how we met. I was a secretary. A temp of sorts, filling in for here and there when needed between my college classes. I worked for him one time and after that, he couldn't seem to forget about me. He called me. Sent me texts until I finally agreed to go out with him. We dated a few months and he was a fairy tale. A real gentleman. When I took him to meet my father I never imagined I'd have to introduce him like he was just an ordinary stranger – but to be fair daddy had a lot of employees. He couldn't possibly remember them all. To get his attention an employee had to do something major to stand out. Brock had yet to do that. But he had grabbed my attention romantically.

Three years. I never thought the romance would be gone so soon. Oh, how in love we had been in the beginning. I fondly remembered nights on the town, dinner in Manhattan, private jets to the opera and long nights lying awake just talking. We had danced together, laughed together – it was so perfect. Then something in him just snapped. Oddly enough I remembered exactly when – exactly two years ago.

Brock invited his colleagues and clients to the home we shared. It had taken a year to gain my father's respect. A year to prove he was good enough to represent the family. He'd worked hard. Lots of late nights and the moment he got the promotion he wanted to celebrate.

I had never seen so many people in our home before. That's when I found out how much he liked to show off. He arrogantly showed off every possession, leaving me standing by myself. I kept myself busy playing the perfect hostess until his friend, Seth hit on me.

I paid him no mind. He was drunk and persistent. but Brock who hadn't paid one bit of attention to me the entire night managed to notice that. And when Seth said his goodbyes, he whispered something in Brock's ear that I assumed was funny by the way he laughed until he closed the door and turned a hateful glare on me. It was the first time he hit me.

Ever since then, Brock had been a monster, convinced I'd snuck off with Seth during that party and he was sure I was still seeing him behind his back. I dealt with accusations every time Seth wasn't at work and every time he was a few minutes late.

Nothing was the same. Nothing I did could change his mind. I did everything, went overboard to show him that I only loved him. I cooked extravagant dinners, all his favorites. Cleaned the house to perfection and picked up tricks on the internet and in books that would wow him in bed. Nothing worked. If anything it had made it worse and he started accusing me of learning the techniques through experience with other men.

I sighed. I believed in marriage, believed in my vows and I had meant till death do you part – but I wasn't sure I could live as someone's doormat.