AUTHOR NOTE:

I confess. I get all super-giddy when I get reviews because they get my maniacal mind primed and switched into overdrive as I plot this tale (which I have no real outline to; each chapter is written on the fly after I feed off the reviews) and plan the certain comeuppance for one character and the potential death of another. That said, this chapter is inspired by the horror many readers felt from the last installment. No, it won't be horrible.

Well, not for Ana ;-)

Please accept this humble submission as both a thank you for reading this far (huzzah!) and providing the reviews that make me want to crank this tale out just to get more reactions from you all. Those who have left reviews, thank you very much- you're the ones that get me updating frequently!

-MRS

Now onto our regularly programmed show.

Each minute of that hour seemed a week long, surely due to the unnatural posture I was made to maintain. My back cramped and throbbed in a way that seemed mocked by the aches emanating from my feet.

The fucking bastard, how dare he? How dare he take orders from that skanky bitch and how dare she tell me to accept it? If Christian thought leaving me tied up for an hour to meekly accept his dominance over me and my decisions, he's sorely mistaken. All it did was chuck a figurative barrel of kerosene onto an already smoldering fire.

Fucker done gone and pissed me off beyond any point of amicable break up. I won't go after alimony or whatever. I'll take my freedom and be damned glad to have it.

However, I was also curious about the salon proposal Kunty McSkankerson mentioned to Christian. I didn't want him to sign off on it, didn't want it to get off the ground. In that moment, I became determined to undermine Elena the Kunty McSkankerson in any way possible. I'd first escape Christian, find a safe haven, then do what I could to throw a wrench in the works for them both. They both deserved to crash and burn, full body road-rash.

My wrists sweated beneath the leather straps, and I just got more pissed off at Christian. Oh, if he wants submissive, I'll give him submissive. Maybe a little strychnine, too, while I'm at it. With time to kill, I worked on the frame of my escape plan. No telling what my husband has planned- and if I know him, I know that this was but a little taste of my punishment to come. There'd be a grudgefuck, no doubt. His dick always gets hard the moment I do something to anger him, which really isn't that difficult to do.

I need my secret cell phone. Get Jorge to contact my Ray, get him to pop in for a surprise visit. Christian can't nay-say my dad, and if he did, Jorge would make sure the police got called. A potential restraining order. Publicity Christian would do almost anything to avoid. Scandal that would make the Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and all the gossip rags when the details emerge of the abuse Mr McRichypants unleashed. Won't go the blackmail route; gotta take the high road and show my soon-to-be-ex the magic of dignity and integrity. And if shit gets leaked to TMZ, so be it. Perhaps if he didn't want it to make front pages, he shouldn't have done it. Wealth has a tendency to buy complacency from those who have not. A sense of entitlement none dare try to impede.

Asshole is due for a reality check.

Needed to get in front of a mirror, see the damage done to my face. If it's too horribly bruised, then I'd have to put off interviews with my potential security detail. Assuming I get out of this fucking room. Alive.

Sigh.

I'll do what I have to in order to gain some measure of freedom. And if all else fails, I suppose death is a freedom of sorts. But that's a very-worst-case scenario. He said he'd be back to talk. About what? My new-found repentance for wanting independence? I'd do as Taylor suggested in the car, and wear a mask. I can do this. I can free myself of him. I can give him enough rope to hang himself.

Since no clock displayed itself within the confines of the Magenta Room O'Torment, I don't know how much time passed, if it was indeed an hour when I heard footsteps echo in my ears. The door eased open and Christian stood on the threshold. His body filled the aperture and I struggled to appear meek.

"Ana, do you have anything to say?"

"Yes." This is my Oscar nomination. "I'm sorry, Christian. I just don't know how to cope with you and Elena and feeling so alone." It was truth wrapped in the lie of my tone. I didn't feel anywhere near as sorry as I pretended to be. It seemed to work, though. His shoulders relaxed and he took three steps toward me.

"You are forgiven. Please don't ever make me do that to you again. You understand why I used the gag?" Hands on hips, he made no movement to untie me.

"Yes. So Elena didn't hear me cry and demand a longer beating."

He shook his head in the negative. "It was correction."

"You're right, my soul was purified by the pain." Oh, and fuck you, too, hubby of mine.

A smile broke out on his face, pleased with my complacency. "Correct."

"Please untie me?"

He shook his head again and my heart fell. "Not yet."

"How long has it been?"

He checked his watch. "Almost two hours."

I saw movement behind him but kept my eyes on his face. "You promised you'd let go after an hour. Please, Christian. I'll be good, I promise."

"No, Ana. You've got a streak of stubbornness that is detrimental to our marriage."

With that sentence out of his mouth, he started convulsing before falling to the floor in a heap, twitching like a spastic. Taylor stood behind him, deployed taser in one hand, a tiny eyedropper in the other. With Christian passed out on the floor, a wet spot staining his chinos, Taylor dropped to one knee and expressed the clear contents of the eyedropper into Christian's open mouth. "It won't kill him, just keep him sedated for a day or two while I get you to a safe house."

Tears flooded my eyes, but not from pain. This time, happiness and hope shone in my soul, the likes I never felt before. "Where to?"

"I've got a friend in California. He's not someone your husband would ever think to look for, could even know existed. The man's a ghost and he owes me a favor."

"What if security audio recorded this conversation? He'll find out." Last thing I ever wanted is him to find me after leaving him. Only ugliness could come of it.

"I disabled the audio and three cameras. Hold on." Taylor left the room, only to return shortly with an armful of clothes. He bent down and unfastened my ankles from the cuffs before moving the heavy ottoman away. My arms were next. Placing the clothing on my lap, he strode to Christian and proceeded to pick him up. "Going to tuck him in bed. He's going to have a nasty headache when the Veronol wears off."

Freed and with blood flowing back into my limbs, I began to dress. After I put my sneakers on, I made my way to the spare room that had my book safe. Once I had it in hand, I'd be ready to bounce out of this house, this marriage and this life.

Freedom was in the air, and it smelled like the urine from an incapacitated asshole billionaire.

And in that moment I felt incredibly alive and eager to meet the man who owed Taylor such a favor.