AN: There's some dubcon elements here, so beware.
"Bella!" Joseph greeted his daughter eagerly, wrapping her in a tight embrace. He kissed her cheek. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too, Daddy," she agreed, settling beside him on the couch in the sunroom. "I'm sorry it's been so long since I've come to see you – I've been rather tied up..." She winced at the unintended double meaning.
Her father, though, didn't seem to notice. "You know, that nice young man – Derek – came to see me," he informed her, almost apropos of nothing. "He seems to really care about you..."
"I know," she said with a sigh, her smile turning sad. "But I can't see him anymore."
"What? Why not?" he demanded, seemingly more upset than the situation warranted in her mind.
She sighed, stared down at her hands where she was unconsciously picking at her nails. "I made a promise," she murmured. "It's for his own good."
He seemed to want to argue the matter, but she didn't give him the chance.
"I think I'm going crazy, Daddy..." she whispered.
"What makes you say that?"
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone before whispering, "I'm starting to remember...things. It feels like this isn't my life – like I used to have another one, a better one." She shook her head, tongue flicking out over her top lip.
When Derek had handed her the rose and she'd brought it close to inhale deeply of its scent, Emily had been hit with a barrage of memories from another life. At first, she hadn't understood what was happening, but hearing Ian say that she was remembering had confirmed for her that she wasn't imagining things. Now, though, she needed to hear it from someone she trusted.
"I keep getting these flashes of memories – a castle, a rose...magic. I know it sounds completely insane, but it feels real. Am I going crazy, Daddy?"
"It doesn't sound crazy to me, Bella," he assured her. Then, he laughed. "But what do I know? I'm literally a mental patient..."
"Oh, Daddy, no," she soothed. "You're not..."
He shook his head, squeezed her hand. "I know why I'm here," was all he said on the matter.
She nodded slowly, thinking on that for a moment. "What do I do now?" she asked. "I can't keep living like this knowing that there's something better out there... How do I make sense of everything? How do I keep living a lie?"
"You're a smart girl," he said, reaching for her cheek, stroking his thumb along her skin. "You'll put the pieces together. I know you will."
"How was your visit with your father?" Ian enquired, from his armchair where he'd been reading the paper, clearly waiting for her.
He'd allowed her to leave the house as proof that she was seemingly now free from Derek's supposed clutches. She'd known what he was doing, but anything was better than the basement prison she'd spent the last several weeks locked up in.
"Fine," she said simply. Then, remembering she was supposed to be playing the good little wife, she plastered on a smile. "Shall I start cooking dinner?" she offered.
"Actually, I've got a much better idea..."
The way he said it, the way a smirk curled his lips set her on edge, but she did her best to remain stoic, standing there without reaction like he wasn't making her skin crawl with the way he was looking at her.
Slowly, he stood, approached behind her, one hand coming to rest on her hip.
She knew immediately what his intentions were. "Oh, Ian, I-I don't know..." she stammered, heart hammering in her throat. They hadn't been intimate in over a month, not since things had started to change, little by little, in the sleepy town where everything had remained the same for so very long.
He clicked his tongue scoldingly. "You promised to play the part of the loving, dutiful wife and this is what a loving, dutiful wife does." His hand slid along her hip and found its target, undoing the button on her jeans. His breath was hot on the back of her neck as he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply.
She swallowed thickly, but nodded. "Okay," she whispered, afraid of what happened should she refuse.
"Good girl." He slipped his hand into her panties then, finding her clit with one finger and rubbing it with more pressure than was comfortable or pleasurable.
Her hips bucked and she let out a little whimper in spite of herself. She could feel him getting hard as he pressed up against her back. She sank her teeth into her lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to retch.
Her new memories had brought with it the realization of how little she truly felt for Ian, his hands on her body bringing a wave of disgust over her.
She gasped sharply as he pushed two fingers inside of her, moving them roughly, making her mewl. She didn't want to react, to respond to his ministrations, but her body seemed to be acting independently of her will.
He brought his lips to her neck almost as if to be tender, but instead bit into her skin, then hissed by her ear, "You're a fucking slut, Emily. And you belong to me." When she failed to respond, he demanded, "I want to hear you say it! You're mine, Emily."
She nodded, fighting back a sob as she repeated, "I belong to you."
"And don't you fucking forget it!"
"Ian, please," she begged.
Mistaking her pleas for encouragement, he slammed her against the wall, tugging her jeans down. Behind her, she heard the distinctive sound of his zipper, followed by him stroking himself in preparation to enter her.
Before he could, though, she pleaded, "Ian, stop!"
He wrapped a hand around to cover her mouth. "Shh, Emily," he scolded. He once again moved to enter her, but this time, she elbowed him in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards, winded.
She turned, pulling up her jeans. "I'm sorry, Ian, but I can't do this," she said firmly, glaring at him. "I can't pretend anymore."
"You'll regret this, Emily," he vowed. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll make sure of that."