I had been married to Pierce for five years, and for five years, he had been as cold as a tomb. When his mother pulled me aside that afternoon and pressed a small, discreet package into my hand—a "little help" to spark the fire, she’d whispered—I actually felt a flicker of hope. That night, when he was "sent" to my room by her decree, I was naive enough to believe our hollow marriage was finally turning a corner. I was wrong. I found the pinhole camera while I was showering, tucked into a dark corner of the marble tiles, its tiny lens shimmering like a predatory eye. By the next morning, the footage was everywhere. It wasn't just leaked; it was being auctioned off as a "Mystery Box" on a private, high-stakes streaming site. I stood outside his study, the door cracked just enough for the bile-slicked laughter of his friends to pour out. They were crowded around a monitor, their words a jagged edge against my skin. "Damn, Pierce," one of them chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "You’re really putting Norma up as a public service? First the shower show, and now a raffle? You’re actually going to let some random stranger have a go at her?" Pierce leaned back, a cloud of expensive cigar smoke curling around his head. His lip curled in a smirk that tasted of pure disdain. "I promised Mallory years ago I’d never touch Norma. It’s her own fault for being desperate enough to crawl into my bed last night. If she wants to be 'satisfied' so badly, I’m just letting her enjoy the experience." … The roar of laughter that followed nearly took the roof off. "The Ice Queen is actually a closet slut! Who knew?" "But for real, Pierce—when the 'Mystery Box' winner shows up to claim the prize, it’s going to be full contact. You’re not worried she’ll make a scene?" Pierce flicked an ash, his expression bored. "She brought this on herself. If she hadn't forced this marriage on me, Mallory wouldn't have fled to Paris in a heartbreak. Mallory hasn't called me once in five years because of her." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential, cruel conspiratorial tone. "And you guys don't see it. I’ve caught her taking matters into her own hands more than once. She’s like a parched garden; she’ll take whatever water she can get. A woman that hungry won’t fight. She’ll probably thank us." The room erupted again, a chorus of predatory agreement. "Serves her right for thinking she could replace Mallory. Now that Mallory’s back from her 'exile,' it’s time Norma learned where she actually fits in the food chain." I felt like I was drowning in a wave of cold, black ink. Since our wedding night, Pierce and I had been strangers in the same house. We slept in separate wings. I had watched the other women in our social circle announce pregnancies, throw lavish baby showers, and build lives. I had tried to fight for us once. I had demanded to know why he wouldn't even look at me. He had unbuckled his belt in front of me that night, his eyes burning with a terrifying, icy rage. “Look at me, Norma,” he’d spat. “I feel absolutely nothing when I look at you. Not even a spark. Have some self-respect and stay in your own room.” He’d practically thrown me out of the master suite, naked and shivering, while the house staff pretended not to hear my humilation. I spent years thinking I was the problem. I took hormones that made me sick; I underwent countless tests until my arms were a roadmap of needle bruises. I carried the reputation of the "Cold Wife," the woman who couldn't keep her husband's interest. And all this time, his "low libido" was just a shrine he’d built for Mallory. The absurdity of it was staggering. My mind drifted back to our wedding night, when his mother, Margaret, had sat me down in the library. “He and Mallory are just childhood friends, Norma. Give it time. Once you’re married, his heart will open to you.” Seeing my hesitation, she had offered a deal. A five-year contract. If, after five years, Pierce still hadn't accepted me as his wife, I could leave with my dignity and a settlement. I hadn't cared about the money. I had cared about him. But after five years of pouring myself into a void, he was selling me to the highest bidder. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a phantom hand. My phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket—notifications from the dark corners of the internet, comments tearing my dignity to shreds. With trembling fingers, I dialed Margaret. "The five-year mark is up," I whispered into the receiver. "Please. Let me go." I returned to the house in a daze. For the first time in years, Pierce was waiting for me. He handed me a glass of milk, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. He pointed to the bed, which was covered in a collection of silk ties and adult toys that made my blood run cold. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his breath hot against my ear. "I’ve been too distant, Norma," he murmured. "Let’s start slow. Just us and some toys. Don’t you want that?" I drank the milk, my brain fuddled by exhaustion and grief. But as his hands moved over me, I remembered the laughter in his study. I pushed him away. "Not tonight. I’m tired." His face transformed instantly, the mask of affection slipping to reveal the jagged stone beneath. "You’ve been begging for a child for five years, Norma. Now that I’m offering to 'help' you, you’re playing hard to get?" He stripped me and shoved me onto the bed, but he didn't stay. He took a call and walked out, locking the door behind him. I tried to get up, but my limbs felt like lead. My vision blurred. Through the haze, I saw the door open. Two figures entered—Pierce and Mallory. "You're a genius," Mallory giggled, her voice like wind chimes. "Drugged and surrounded by toys... the photos will be way more lucrative than the shower video. The 'Mystery Box' sales are going to skyrocket." "I promised you, Mal," Pierce said, his voice tender in a way it never was with me. "I’ll never touch her. She’s just the product." I lay there, paralyzed, as hired "security" posed my limp body for the camera. I couldn't scream. I couldn't move. I could only watch the flashes of light explode against my skin like tiny, silent bombs. "I've always wondered what the Ice Queen looked like under those silk suits," one of the guards muttered, his hand lingering too long on my hip. "Easy there," another laughed. "Save it for the raffle. Buy a ticket like everyone else. I hear they’re even using that 'compliance' serum for the winner. It’s going to be a hell of a show." Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, the only part of me still under my control. Eventually, the room went dark. I don't know how much time passed before Pierce kicked my foot with his designer shoe to wake me. "I told you to wait for me," he said, his voice thick with feigned annoyance. "You fell asleep." My body ached with a deep, systemic throb. Looking at his calm, handsome face, I almost doubted my own memory. He tossed my clothes at me as if touching them would contaminate him. Even after I layered up in a heavy sweater, the chill wouldn't leave my bones. Pierce checked his phone, a frown creasing his brow. "My mother is flying back early. I wonder what’s up." I looked away. "Maybe it's just business." He grunted, satisfied with that, and set his phone on the nightstand while he went to get a glass of water. The phone exploded with notifications. I reached for it. The group chat was a nightmare of scrolling text. “Those shots are filthier than I expected. Everyone knows she’s a total wreck now.” “The stream sales just cleared three hundred thousand. People are going to go feral for the raffle!” “The 'Wife' is still a looker, but after tonight, she’ll be too broken for anyone to want, even for free. Haha!” My mind went white. I looked toward the wastebasket. There, resting on top, were several used wrappers. The memory wasn't a hallucination. While I was drifting in and out of a drug-induced stupor, Pierce and Mallory had used my bedroom—and my presence—as a backdrop for their own reunion. Pierce walked back in, seeing my tears. He rushed over, his face a mask of concern. "Norma? Baby, what’s wrong?" As he "comforted" me with one hand, I saw him glance at the phone with the other, a smirk ghosting across his lips before he hid it. He handed me the water, his voice casual. "You know Mallory is back, right? We’re throwing her a 'Welcome Home' dinner tomorrow at The Gilded Lily. You should come. Wear something... revealing." At the mention of her name, my hand shook. The glass shattered on the floor. "I’m not going. I need to rest." Pierce’s expression turned venomous. "I married you, and it drove her away for five years. Don't you feel a shred of guilt? You’re going. I’m not letting you embarrass me by moping at home. It’s settled." He didn't see me as a person. I was a scapegoat, a product, and a prop. The next night, the VIP lounge at The Gilded Lily was packed with his "brothers" and Mallory. They looked like the elite of the city, all tailored suits and expensive watches, but their eyes were hungry as they tracked me. "Norma! Come sit over here," one of the guys said, grabbing my arm and trying to pull me onto his lap. I recoiled as if he were a leper, terror vibrating through my marrow. Mallory let out a performative pout. "Stop it, you guys. Norma’s a 'virtuous' wife. I heard she only just 'found herself' recently. She’s sensitive." The table erupted in knowing smirks. Pierce sat on the velvet sofa, sipping bourbon, looking at Mallory with pure adoration. "I'm leaving," I whispered, my throat tight. "My friends are being nice to you," Pierce’s voice cut through the air, cold as a razor. "Don't be a 'dead fish.' Sit down." I gritted my teeth. "Pierce, I am your wife." He didn't even blink. Mallory stood up, her silk dress shimmering, and draped an arm around my shoulders. "Norma, honey, sit with me. Pierce is just grumpy. He’s got a... sharp tongue... but he doesn't mean it." She and Pierce exchanged a look that dripped with a foul, shared secret. Mallory picked up a glass of champagne. "Look, I was immature before I left. I almost ruined your wedding. Let me apologize. Drink this, and let's be friends." I saw the bubbles dancing in the glass. My skin crawled. "I don't drink." Pierce sat up, his eyes darkening. "Don't be ungrateful. She’s trying to be the bigger person. Drink it." I stared him down, refusing to touch the glass. "Oh, don't scare her, Pierce!" Mallory chirped. She swapped the champagne for a cup of steaming tea. "Just some hot water, then? For the nerves?" She winked at me, a playful, terrifying gesture. I looked at the expectant faces around the table. "I don't want anything." As I pushed the cup back, Mallory "tripped." The hot water splashed onto the floor, and she let out a piercing shriek, clutching her arm and collapsing into Pierce’s chest. "Norma! I know you hate me, but you didn't have to scald me!" she sobbed. Pierce lost it. "That is enough!" He gave a sharp nod. Before I could move, a heavy, wet cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose from behind. "Thought she might be jumpy," a voice hissed in my ear. "Good thing we had the backup ready. The 'Mystery Box' event is live in ten minutes." The chemical scent filled my lungs. My insides felt like they were being eaten by ants. I looked at Pierce, trying to scream through the fabric. Pierce, what are you doing? He avoided my eyes, stroking Mallory’s hair. "You love being touched, don't you? As your husband, I’m just making sure you get exactly what you want tonight. Enjoy yourself, Norma." The world began to tilt. "The participants are waiting," Pierce told the men, checking his watch. "Move fast." Hands began to roam over me. "Don't worry, Boss. The penthouse suite is ready. It’s going to be a show they’ll never forget." They threw me over a shoulder like a sack of grain. As they carried me toward the elevator, I glared at Pierce with every ounce of soul I had left. "You... will... regret... this," I croaked. The elevator doors hissed shut. In the penthouse, they forced a pill down my throat. I thrashed on the floor, my screams turning into ragged gasps. Outside the door, I heard muffled footsteps. Pierce's voice sounded momentarily hesitant. "I gave her the 'compliance' drop," his friend said. "She won't remember a single thing that happens tonight. Relax." I lay on the floor, a broken doll waiting for the storm. Suddenly, the door burst open. Not a raffle winner. Not a stranger. "Pierce, you absolute monster! How could you do this to your own wife?" Margaret stood there, her face a mask of cold fury. I sobbed, a broken, visceral sound. With the last of my strength, I reached for the legal folder she held out. I signed the contract. Margaret’s security team swarmed the room, shielding me. They whisked me out through the service entrance. Back in the lounge, Pierce gave the signal to start the stream. "We've got thirty million viewers in the lobby!" his friend shouted. "The 'Wife' is the biggest draw we’ve ever had! Let’s see who wins the prize!" The chat was a blur of filth. The "draw" button was clicked. Pierce watched the screen, waiting for the feed from the penthouse to go live. But the room on the monitor was empty. "Where is she?" Pierce demanded. A voice like a whip-crack came from behind him. "Don't bother looking, Pierce. Norma is no longer your wife."
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