Nasty Boss Wanted Guy's Wife as a Gift – Story of the Day

Amelia reluctantly dresses provocatively for her husband's dinner interview with Mr. Walker and tries her best to ignore his lewd stares and suggestive remarks. When he offers her husband the job in exchange for a night with Amelia, she’s shocked by his reply.

Owen, perched on the edge of the sofa with an air of disdain, scrutinized Amelia as she stood awkwardly in front of the full-length mirror. His gaze was sharp, his posture rigid, and his words, when they came, were laced with a callousness that cut deeper than the chill of the room.

"You can't wear that," he sneered. "Mr. Walker will think I brought my grandma to dinner instead of my wife. Get changed, and this time wear something that shows off your assets, okay?"

Amelia frowned. "But there's nothing wrong with this dress."

"Everything is wrong with that dress. Women are like cars, okay?" Owen rose abruptly, closing the distance between them with a few determined strides. "The better the car, the more impressive the man who drives it. Now, you're not a Ferrari, but this outfit makes you seem like a rusted old pickup truck."

As he spoke, his hands reached out, fingers grasping the hem of her dress and lifting it slightly, revealing more of her legs than she was comfortable with.

"We both know you have more under this dress than you're showing," Owen continued. "So wear something more revealing, okay? This job interview is important. It's the first serious offer I've gotten in months, and I can't show you off when you look like a nun."

Amelia's frown deepened, a storm brewing in the sea of her eyes. "But Owen, you've received other offers," she protested, her voice a mix of confusion and a plea for reason.

Owen's response was swift and sharp, cutting off any semblance of a dialogue. "Those companies weren't offering me what I'm worth," he snapped, his tone dripping with an ego that filled the room, suffocating in its intensity.

Amelia's voice faltered, her objection dying on her lips. Owen's attitude left no room for debate. His expectations were clear and his willingness to compromise was nonexistent as he marched to the closet. He rummaged through the hangers, pushing aside garment after garment until finally, he pulled out a dress with a plunging neckline and a hem that barely grazed the mid-thigh. Holding it up triumphantly, he turned to Amelia, a demanding look in his eyes.

"Put this on," he instructed, his voice brooking no argument as he thrust the dress into her arms.

Amelia's frown mirrored his earlier one, her eyes scanning the revealing outfit with clear dismay. The dress was a stark departure from her usual conservative style, designed more for allure than comfort.

Owen, oblivious to her reluctance, moved on to his next demand. "And put on some makeup," he added, "you need to look beautiful for the dinner."

His words, meant to be instructive, felt more like a decree, leaving no room for Amelia's input or comfort. Amelia's compliance was silent, her actions mechanical as she took the dress and headed towards the bathroom to change. The air in the room felt heavier, charged with a silent tension that neither of them addressed.

Once dressed, the transformation was undeniable. Amelia looked stunning, but the discomfort in her eyes belied the outward appearance. Owen, however, seemed pleased, his earlier frustration replaced with a smug satisfaction as he appraised her.

"Now, let's go over how you should behave tonight," Owen began, his tone shifting to that of a coach preparing his protégé for the big game.

He detailed every aspect of her behavior, from how to laugh at Mr. Walker's jokes to the topics she should avoid bringing up. Amelia listened, her expression a mask of attentiveness, but the spark of resistance flickered in her eyes.

"Why does it matter so much what I wear or how I act?" Amelia finally asked, her voice soft but firm. "Shouldn't this Mr. Walker be hiring you based on your skills?"

"It's not just about skills, Amelia," Owen retorted, his patience thinning. "It's about fitting in, about showing that we… that I can be a part of their world. You're a reflection of me."

The words hung between them, a clear demarcation of Owen's priorities. Amelia's role, as he saw it, was not as a partner but as an accessory, a means to an end.

Amelia turned away, her silence a cloak she wrapped around herself, hiding the turmoil that Owen's words had stirred. As they prepared to leave, the distance between them was more than physical; it was a chasm widened by unspoken grievances and a dawning realization of the unequal footing on which they stood.

Earlier that day...

The spacious office, bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through vertical blinds, served as the stage for the concluding moments of Owen's interview. Mr. Walker, seated behind a large, mahogany desk, leaned back in his chair, his expression one of measured approval.

"You've got an impressive resume, Owen," he began, his voice smooth, betraying a hint of underlying scrutiny. "But what I'm really looking for is someone who'll fit in well here. A real man who I can get along with."

As they spoke, the door opened quietly, and an attractive, well-dressed woman entered, carrying a tray with two glasses of water. Her presence seemed to shift the atmosphere, drawing Mr. Walker's attention immediately. His eyes followed her every move, an obvious display of interest that bordered on inappropriate.

"Hello, Susan. You look fantastic today," Mr. Walker greeted, his voice taking on a tone that felt overly familiar, even in the professional setting of his office.

"Thank you, Mr. Walker." Susan smiled and batted her eyelashes at Walker as she set the glasses down on the desk. Her response made Walker grin even wider, and he let out a soft wolf whistle as she strode from the office.

Turning back to Owen, Mr. Walker's gaze was probing, as if assessing Owen's reaction to the brief interlude.

"What do you think of Susan, huh?" he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Owen, caught off guard but eager to ingratiate himself, managed a hesitant, "Uh… she looks good."

"Good?" Mr. Walker echoed. "Come on, boy! A woman's only purpose is to please a man's eye, and Susan? She's doing a darn good job of it." He glanced wistfully at the door. "Nothing like working late with a woman like that, know what I mean? Then again, you're married, right? Maybe you don't know what I mean."

"Oh, I know what you mean," Owen replied with a suggestive smirk.

"Good man!" Mr. Walker chuckled. "I'm glad you aren't one of those whipped men who fawn over their wives. Women come and they should also go, you know what I mean? Otherwise, the headaches they give us will never go away. I have an idea… let's have dinner tonight, and bring your wife. I bet she's a bombshell and I want to see your taste in women. I'll bring Susan. What do you say?"

The dinner invitation was clearly an opportunity for Walker to assess Owen's compatibility with the company culture, and was laced with implications that unsettled Owen, even as he agreed. He was beginning to think he'd enjoy working here, especially if all the secretaries looked like Susan and were open to 'working late,' but Walker's boldness was unusual and just a little rattling.

"It will be a great night, I just know it." Mr. Walker grinned. "Whenever I invite a woman onto my boat, I never wake up alone."

Owen smiled awkwardly, uncertain what he was meant to make of that remark.

"I like you, Owen, I really do," Mr. Walker concluded, leaning in as if to share a conspiratorial secret. "Don't disappoint me at dinner, and the job is yours."

As Owen left the office, the weight of the conversation hung heavily on him. The exchange, meant to solidify his standing, instead left a residue of discomfort, a stark reminder of the compromises and concessions one might make in the pursuit of success.

That evening...

The ambiance of the upscale restaurant enveloped Owen and Amelia as they stepped inside. Owen guided Amelia through the sea of tables with a hand pressed lightly against her back, his fingers tapping a silent, impatient rhythm against her spine. They were led to a secluded corner where Mr. Walker awaited, his presence dominating the space with an air of entitlement.

As soon as introductions were made, Mr. Walker's gaze lingered on Amelia with an intensity that bordered on invasive. Yet, she mustered a smile, a facade of politeness masking her growing discomfort as he eyed her hungrily.

"Amelia, is it? You are absolutely stunning. Owen, you've got exceptional taste in women," he proclaimed.

Amelia hid behind the menu until the waiter arrived and tried to ignore the too-frequent-to-be-accidental touch of Walker's feet against hers beneath the table. The waiter soon arrived and Amelia ordered the hot wings. Walker's gaze immediately locked on to her once more.

"Ooh, somebody likes it spicy, huh?" He leaned forward, a smirk curling his lips. "I was looking for something on the menu, but I couldn't find it. I think I'll have Amelia for my main course."

The comment hung in the air, a palpable cloud of impropriety. Amelia, quick on her feet, retorted, "Maybe you should order some cold water to cool off."

Her sharp words, a clear rebuke veiled in jest, only made Walker laugh. Susan glanced from Amelia to Owen, watching him for a moment before she placed her own order.

"Oh, she's tough… I like that," he said, clearly amused by her defiance. He glanced at Owen and waggled his eyebrows. "Something tells me she's feisty where it counts."

Owen chuckled politely, and Amelia clenched her jaw. She whispered to Owen, requesting a moment of privacy. They excused themselves, stepping into the relative quiet of the restaurant's elegantly wallpapered hallway. Once alone, Amelia's facade crumbled.

"Owen, I can't do this. Mr. Walker is a horrible man," she confided, her voice a mix of indignation and disbelief. "How can you just sit there while he talks to me like that?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's just being a man, Amelia. That's how men act when they find a woman attractive. You'd know that if you put effort into your appearance more often," Owen replied. "You should be flattered that a powerful man like Mr. Walker is giving you his attention."

"Are you out of your mind?" Amelia asked. "He's been staring at me like… like he truly does want to have me for his main course!"

"So what?" Owen snapped. "Just deal with it. All you need to do is sit there and smile, okay? Is it so difficult? If he wants to look at you, then let him. It's a sacrifice you need to make for me to get this job."

Amelia could barely comprehend Owen's logic. "How can you be okay with this?" she implored, her voice a whisper of disbelief. "How can you stand there and say it's fine for him to look at me that way?"

Owen's response was unyielding, his vision clouded by ambition. "Because this job means we can finally move forward. It means a new house, Amelia. It means you won't have to work anymore; you can be a housewife, and we can start a family, just like we planned."

"But I love my job, Owen. I don't want to be just a housewife," she countered, her voice gaining strength. "And I'm not ready to have kids yet. I still want to—"

"You're so ungrateful, Amelia! Do you not see what I'm trying to do for us?" Owen said. "I can't believe you'd risk our future because you're too selfish to play your part tonight."

"Fine." Torn between her sense of self and her desire to support Owen, Amelia capitulated, her spirit deflated. She would play along, sacrificing her comfort to secure Owen's dream, a decision that weighed heavily on her heart.

As they returned to the table, the dynamic had shifted. Amelia's acquiescence to Owen's demands marked a pivotal moment in their relationship, one where her autonomy was sidelined for his aspirations. Mr. Walker's lewd comments resumed, each one a pointed reminder of the role Amelia was forced to play in this charade.

Susan, a silent witness to the exchange, noted the subtle interplay of power and submission, her gaze sharp and assessing.

Mr. Walker continued his barrage of suggestive comments the moment they returned to the table, each one aimed at Amelia with a precision that left her squirming in discomfort. As she tried to navigate her way through the spicy hot wings, Mr. Walker found every opportunity to remark on her choice, his words dripping with innuendo.

"Quite the fiery appetite," he commented with a leer as she finished her meal. "Don't be shy if you want to suck that hot sauce off your fingers."

"I'd rather wash my hands," Amelia replied. "If you'll excuse me…"

Amelia fled to the restaurant's bathroom. Inside, she was confronted with her reflection in the mirror—a woman barely recognizable under the layers of makeup and the seductive dress that Owen had insisted she wear. The woman staring back at her seemed like a stranger, her outward appearance clashing violently with the turmoil churning inside.

As Amelia stood there, lost in her reflection, the door opened quietly, and Susan entered. The air between them was charged with an unspoken understanding. Susan, with a knowing look in her eye, moved to stand beside Amelia at the sink.

"Tough night, huh?" she began, her voice low and empathetic.

Amelia could only nod, the weight of the evening pressing down on her shoulders. "I don't understand how it came to this," she whispered, more to herself than to Susan.

Susan, turning to face Amelia directly, leaned in closer. "I know it's hard. And I know you're in a difficult position. But just watch closely for the night's end," she advised cryptically. "Things might not be as they seem."

Amelia, puzzled by Susan's words, searched her face for any clue to the hidden meaning. But Susan offered nothing more, only a reassuring smile that seemed to say, 'trust me.' As Susan left, Amelia was left alone once again with her reflection, the seeds of intrigue Susan had planted beginning to take root in her mind.

What did Susan know that she didn't? And what did she mean by watching closely for the night's end? The questions swirled in Amelia's head, offering no answers. With a heavy heart, she steeled herself for the rest of the evening, unaware of the revelations that awaited her.

As the dinner drew to a close, Mr. Walker raised his glass in a gesture that commanded attention.

"To Owen and Amelia," he began, his voice carrying through the quiet hum of the dining room. "This evening marks the enormous opportunity that lies ahead if I decide to bring Owen aboard. And let's not forget," he added, his gaze shifting towards Amelia with a predatory glint, "the great opportunity it presents for me too, if I get lucky."

The toast was met with a chorus of clinks. Amelia's smile was taut, her discomfort palpable. Owen's response to Mr. Walker's toast was hesitant, his eyes flickering towards Amelia, torn between his ambition and the price it demanded.

Mr. Walker, sensing hesitation, leaned forward, his voice dropping to a coercive whisper. "Now, Owen, I want to show Amelia my boat tonight. Do this, and the job is yours. What do you say?"

The question, heavy with implication, hung in the air, a test of Owen's resolve. Owen's glance at Amelia was fleeting, filled with turmoil that went unnoticed by the others. Susan watched intently, her expression unreadable.

"I don't think—" Owen began, but Mr. Walker cut him off.

"Oh, don't tell me I was wrong about you, boy." Mr. Walker stared at him through narrowed eyes, his displeasure clear.

Feeling cornered, Owen's ambition won over. "No, you weren't wrong about me," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of hesitance. "Amelia is yours for the night."

Amelia's shock at Owen's compliance was palpable. "Yours for the night?" She echoed. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Mr. Walker's retort was chilling. "A man doesn't need to ask their meat if it wants to be eaten," he declared, a statement that left an icy silence in its wake.

Owen, still hesitant but driven by a desperate need to secure his future, reached for Amelia's hand. "Do what he says, honey, whatever he says, okay? I'm sure you'll love the boat."

Amelia felt numb. It seemed to her that there was an implication about being invited to Walker's boat that she didn't fully understand, but she could imagine all too well what he'd do once they were alone together. And Owen had just traded her off to him, no doubt knowing full well that Walker intended to have his way with her. She felt like livestock that had just been sold at an auction.

Mr. Walker rose from his seat, the deal sealed in his eyes. "There you go! The man has decided," he announced, gesturing for Amelia to join him. "Come on, gorgeous, let's go. And don't worry, Owen, I'll make sure she gets back to you in the same good condition I got her in."

Amelia turned to Owen, but he wouldn't even look at her. Amelia stood, thinking only of getting away from the man who'd traded her off for a job, and found herself pressed against Walker's side as he slung his arm around her shoulders.

"And she knows when to be obedient, too," Walker remarked. "You really have a good woman here, Owen."

With that, Mr. Walker bid Susan goodbye and guided Amelia to the exit. She didn't even say goodbye to Owen, the shock of what he'd done to her, what he'd reduced her to, was too raw. She wasn't sure she could go through with this, but either way, this night had already changed her relationship with Owen forever.

Owen found himself alone at the table with Susan, who was watching him intensely. As if this evening wasn't unsettling enough. He smiled at her and tried to make light of the whole situation.

"Does Mr. Walker always act that way?" Owen asked, breaking the silence.

"No, only when I pay him to," Susan said, her eyes locking with Owen's, ensuring she had his undivided attention.

Owen's confusion deepened, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. "What?" he uttered, the single word heavy with disbelief.

"That's what actors do, Owen. They play the role that you pay them to play," Susan clarified, her tone implying a revelation that was yet to fully unfold. She extended her hand across the table, a gesture of formality that felt out of place in the context of their conversation. "It's time I introduced myself properly. I'm Susan, the CEO of Walker Enterprise."

Owen recoiled slightly, taken aback by the revelation. "That's crazy! You're Walker's secretary," he protested, struggling to reconcile the image of the woman before him with the role she had played.

Susan shook her head. "Mr. Walker, as you know him, does not exist. Like I said, the man you met, and sent your wife off with, is an actor. All of this has been part of your interview, Owen. I was looking for a good trader with solid ethics but someone who loans out their wife in exchange for a job…" She trailed off, her disappointment in Owen palpable.

Owen rushed to defend himself, his voice tinged with desperation. "You've got me all wrong. I'm an excellent trader and I've taken several courses on Ethics. It's all on my resume."

Susan was unmoved. "I know men like you, Owen, men who treat women like possessions," she countered, her voice firm, reflecting a resolve forged from personal experiences too painful to recount. "When I was younger, several men tried to buy me, sell me, and do horrible things to me. I promised myself that I'd never accept such behavior in my company."

Owen attempted to interject, to explain, but Susan cut him off, her verdict clear and final. "You let a woman you claim to love go to a boat with a stranger you barely know, and now you're still here with me, begging for a job. You don't care about her at all, and you never will."

With those words hanging in the air, Owen stood, a mix of shame and urgency propelling him toward the door as he called out Amelia's name, a plea for forgiveness, understanding, and perhaps a chance to explain—a chance that seemed as distant as the night was long.

Outside the elegant facade of the restaurant, Amelia felt the cool night air brush against her skin, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she had just escaped. The man she had known as Mr. Walker stood before her, his demeanor changed, and the predatory character shed as easily as a costume after a performance.

"I'm truly sorry for the role I played tonight," he confessed once he finished explaining everything, taking her hand in a gesture of sincere apology. "It was all an act, but I understand if the damage feels very real to you."

Amelia, still processing the surreal twist her evening had taken, managed a nod. "It's... it's okay," she stammered, her voice a mixture of shock and a dawning sense of clarity. "If nothing else, tonight was a wake-up call about how little my husband seems to care for me." Her words, spoken with a shaky resolve, revealed a hurt that went deeper than the night's charade.

The actor, now out of character, attempted to offer comfort, his expression one of genuine concern. "I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you," he breathed. But their moment of shared understanding was abruptly cut short by a familiar voice piercing the night air.

"Amelia!" Owen's call, desperate and laden with panic, echoed from the restaurant's doorway. Amelia's heart skipped a beat, torn between the impulse to flee and the inevitable confrontation that awaited her.

The actor, sensing her distress, offered a supportive squeeze of her hand before releasing it. "Whatever you decide, remember you deserve respect and honesty," he said, his words a beacon of support in the tumultuous sea of her emotions.

"Please, I need to get away from here," Amelia pleaded, her gaze locked with the actor. "I can't face Owen, not after everything."

The man hesitated. His job usually ended at the door of revelation, not in the parking lot with a distressed woman seeking an escape. Owen's voice was close now. Amelia gave him one last, desperate look before bolting out into the parking lot.

"Wait!" He called out as he followed her. "Come with me."

Amelia spun around. She followed the actor to his car and climbed into the passenger seat just as Owen burst through the restaurant's doors, his eyes wild with a mixture of fear and confusion. His voice, laden with anger and desperation, faded into the background as they pulled away.

"Thank you," Amelia said, turning to the man who had unwittingly become her ally in a night full of unexpected turns.

"It's the least I could do, Amelia." The man glanced at her and smiled shyly. "I'm Donny, by the way."

Amelia smiled back at him. She couldn't pinpoint whether it was the sheer relief of not having to go through with Owen's plan to pimp her out or the fact that Donny seemed so kind now he'd dropped his character, but she somehow felt safer here with him than she'd felt in a long time. They pulled up to an intersection, and he turned to her once more as they waited for the red light to change.

"Where do you want me to take you?" Donny asked.

"I'm not sure." Amelia frowned. "Home, I guess, but Owen…"

Suddenly, a familiar car screeched to a stop beside them. Owen had followed them. He leaned out of the window, his face twisted with fury.

"You're kidnapping my wife!" he screeched, his voice laced with anger and confusion.

Donny, unfazed by the accusation, pressed the button to wind down Amelia's window, leaned over, and retorted with a calmness that belied the tension of the moment, "You were only too happy to let her go with me about fifteen minutes ago."

Owen's face reddened with rage at the comment, his fists clenching as he struggled to process the rapid unraveling of his plans. Turning his attention to Amelia, he pleaded for understanding, "Amelia, this is all a misunderstanding. Please, let's talk about this."

Amelia, her resolve steeled by the evening's events, leaned towards the open window. Her voice was steady, her words cutting through the night.

"You dressed me up and let a strange man have me in exchange for a job. We have nothing to discuss, Owen. All these years, we've been living in my father's house, and from now on, you don't have a home. You've lived on my salary while you looked for a job, and now you have no money either. Last, but not least, you no longer have a wife." She removed her wedding ring and tossed it into Owen's car.

"Please, honey, I was desperate! I thought this was the only way to get the job," Owen stammered.

Amelia's retort was as poignant as it was final. "You still don't see the problem, do you? Let me put this another way... remember how you told me that women are like cars? Well, you just lost your driver's license."

As the light turned green, Donny accelerated away from the intersection, leaving Owen in the wake of his own unraveling decisions. Amelia turned her gaze forward as her eyes filled with tears, transforming the city lights into colorful blurs.

Donny glanced over with a mix of concern and uncertainty. "It's going to be okay, Amelia. You're safe now," he said, his voice gentle to soothe her distress.

However, before he could continue, a sudden jolt interrupted him. A car had rear-ended them with enough force to snap both passengers' heads forward. Donny quickly regained control of the vehicle and glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the car behind them.

"It's Owen," he muttered, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

Amelia turned to look, her heart sinking as she saw Owen's car close behind them, his face visible in the glare of the streetlights, contorted with anger and desperation. Donny, realizing the potential danger, pressed the accelerator, weaving through the late-night traffic to put distance between them and Owen.

But Owen was relentless. Catching up to them, he maneuvered his car into the lane next to Donny's, driving recklessly close. Without warning, he swerved, his vehicle's side colliding with theirs. Amelia screamed, her hands bracing against the dashboard as the impact jostled them violently.

"I'm going to pull over," Donny said, his voice calm but firm. "We can't let this escalate further. He might get us all killed."

The seriousness of the situation was clear; Owen's actions were unpredictable and dangerous. Pulling into a nearby parking lot, Donny brought the car to a stop, his hands still shaking slightly from the adrenaline. Amelia, her emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and sorrow, looked at Donny as Owen's car screeched to a halt behind them. He was out in an instant, marching toward them.

Donny turned to Amelia, "Stay here, it might not be safe."

But Amelia was already undoing her seatbelt, determined to confront Owen, to end this once and for all.

Owen wasted no time as he rushed up to Donny. "You liar! You were part of this charade all along, doing everything you could to ensure I fell into Susan's trap! How dare you make a fool out of me!" he spat, his voice echoing off the empty storefronts.

"Hey, man, I had a job to do, that's it," Donny replied. "You may not like to hear it, but you landed yourself in this mess by not standing up for your wife. That's all you had to do, you know, show Susan that—"

"Not another word!" Owen jabbed his finger at Donny's face. He then spun to face Amelia, who was still standing near Donny's car. "Get in the car, honey. We'll go home and—"

"I told you, you don't have a home anymore, Owen." Amelia crossed her arms and stood tall. "Now just go away. I can't bear to look at you, to be near you after what you've done."

Owen, in a last-ditch effort to regain some semblance of control, reached out and grabbed Amelia's arm.

"You can't just walk out on me like this," he snarled, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions.

"Let her go!" Donny stepped in between them, set his hands against Owen's shoulders, and pushed him back. "This attitude is what got you into this situation in the first place, Owen."

Owen snapped. He let out an enraged yell as he rushed at Donny, fist raised to strike. Donny expertly deflected him and dodged to one side, but Owen kept coming. Within moments, the situation escalated into a full-on brawl.

Amelia, her heart racing, fumbled with her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed the police. But fate, it seemed, was not on her side tonight. In her haste to avoid the flailing arms and shuffling feet of the men, she stumbled, her phone slipping from her grasp and crashing onto the concrete. The screen shattered on impact, rendering her attempt to call for help futile.

The fight reached its peak when Donny, using a combination of adrenaline and self-defense, landed a decisive blow that sent Owen staggering backward. Owen's foot caught on a piece of loose asphalt, and he fell, his head connecting with the hard ground with a sickening thud. The sound echoed in the silent night, bringing the conflict to a sudden, jarring halt.

Donny, panting and wide-eyed, looked down at Owen, who lay motionless, a dark figure sprawled against the gray concrete. Amelia, her fear giving way to concern, rushed to Owen's side, her anger softening at the sight of his vulnerability.

"We need to get help," Donny said, his voice strained with worry. "Go fetch my phone, it's in the car, and call 911."

Amelia ran to Donny's car and did just that, her gaze fixed on Donny as he crouched down beside Owen to provide first aid. The moment she hung up, she rushed back to join them.

As they waited for the sirens that would cut through the silence of the night, Amelia glanced across at Donny and noticed the wounds he'd suffered at Owen's hands.

"You're also hurt," she remarked with a frown, tentatively reaching out to cup his cheek, tilting his head to better asses the extent of his injuries.

"It's okay," he assured her, gently wrapping his fingers around hers to guide her hand away.

She looked into Donny's eyes as he continued to hold her hand. In those moments of silence, Amelia realized the depth of the crossroads she faced. The decision to walk away from Owen, to reject the life she had known with him, had been made in the heat of confrontation. Now, as the adrenaline faded, she was left to contemplate the reality of her newfound independence and the uncertainty of the future.

A few hours later, Amelia stepped through the doorway of her home with Donny following close behind. The dim light of the living room cast long shadows across the floor, mirroring the exhaustion that clung to them like a second skin.

"I should go," Donny said, his voice low, "now that you're safe at home."

Amelia, however, hesitated at the thought of being alone. The adrenaline that had fueled her resolve was waning, leaving a vulnerability in its wake.

"Would you stay? Just for a little while?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think I can be alone right now, not after everything."

Donny looked at her, a mix of concern and understanding in his eyes. "Your wish is my command," he responded, a gentle attempt at lightening the mood that instead struck a chord within Amelia.

The phrase, so benign in its intent, echoed ominously with the memory of Owen's domineering presence. Owen, who had always dictated her life with the expectation of obedience, had never offered her a choice. The realization hit Amelia with the force of a revelation. She reflected on the myriad ways Owen had subtly and not so subtly shaped her existence to his liking, dismissing her wants and needs as secondary to his own.

For a moment, Amelia was lost in the tumult of her thoughts, questioning how she had allowed herself to become so diminished, and why she had accepted it for so long. But as the spiral of self-doubt threatened to engulf her, she halted it firmly. This moment, this night, was a turning point.

"It's weird how everything has worked out, isn't it?" Donny remarked. "You met me in character, playing the role of a man no woman would ever want to be alone with, and now, here we are."

Amelia couldn't help but smile a little. "You're a talented actor, Donny. I was convinced you were going to do terrible things to me. Now that you're just being you, however, I can't understand how I ever believed you would hurt me."

Donny smiled shyly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Amelia moved closer to him and placed her hands around his wrists, leading him toward her kitchen. "Come on, that bruise on your cheek looks awful. I have a bag of frozen peas in the fridge with your name on it."

As dawn broke, painting the sky with streaks of pink and gold, Amelia stood at the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The tranquility of the morning belied the tumult of the night before, and yet, within her, a sense of calm prevailed. Donny, the unexpected companion of her ordeal, slept peacefully on the sofa, a silent guardian in the aftermath of chaos.

In this quiet moment, Amelia felt the weight of her decisions, the gravity of stepping into the unknown. Yet, as she watched the sunrise, an idea took shape, as surprising to her as the events that had led her here.

With a newfound determination, Amelia turned from the window, her eyes settling on Donny. The night had revealed truths she could no longer ignore, not just about Owen, but about herself and the life she truly desired.

She quietly kneeled beside the sofa and shook Donny's shoulder until his eyes cracked open. He yawned and looked at her in confusion then sat up suddenly.

"Is everything okay?" He asked. "Owen's not banging down the door is he?"

Amelia shook her head. "I was just wondering, do you really have a boat?"

"Yeah," Donny replied uncertainly, his brow crinkling into a frown, "but it's not some fancy yacht, just a houseboat."

"Call me crazy, but I think I'd like to see it after all, if you want to show it to me?" Amelia tilted her head.

Donny chuckled. "Um, sure, whatever you want, Amelia."

Amelia grinned at him. She didn't think she'd ever tire of having someone around who was so willing to cater to her whims.

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