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Setting her down, he went to his home office to check his messages.
She scanned their crowded living room in delight.
“Preston,” she called out, adjusting the spaghetti strap of her summer dress. “Do you want to go through this stuff now or later?”
Countless gift boxes, delivered while they’d been away on their two-week honeymoon, were mixed with moving boxes from her studio apartment. Everything was stacked neatly, labeled, and organized by size.
“Wow, your assistant definitely needs a raise because—”
The words died on her lips as Preston stalked back into the living room. His face was red with fury, his eyes blazing. What was going on?
Run, a voice in the back of her head whispered.
But that was ridiculous. He was herhusband. “Preston, what’s wrong?”
His expression turned glacial. Dread curdled her stomach, and her heart began to pound.
The living room spun, and when her vision refocused, it was nighttime. She was in the entryway. And Preston was prowling toward her. She stepped backward and tripped on the hem of her evening gown.
Preston, clad in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, remained unnervingly calm. “Who is Joe?” he demanded. “Did you fuck him?”
The back of his hand cracked against her cheek, stunning her. She turned to run but was too slow. Her scalp stung as he grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to him. His knee connected with her ribs, and she crumpled to the ground.
The room spun again. Now she was in the kitchen. Curled into a little ball on the floor. The sweater she wore was tangled around her torso. Numbness threatened to envelop her. And she welcomed it. Who was this man?
Preston’s fist connected with her nose, and she saw stars. Warm blood oozed across her face. She tried to fight back, but her limbs wouldn’t move. She tried to cry for help, but her voice was gone. She tried everything she could, but it was all useless.
He loomed over her. His eyes, once gentle and calm, were now those of a monster. His fist rose, a kitchen knife clutched within it.
Everything slowed.
Her mouth opened, but before she could scream, the knife came crashing down, stabbing into her stomach. Again and again and again...
Alex shot up in bed, gasping for breath. Heart racing, her gaze darted around the dark room, frantic and disoriented. Her hands flew to her stomach.
Blood!
Her heart stopped.
Pulling her damp fingers away from her body, she held her shaking hands in front of her face.
Seconds passed before her brain caught up with her eyes.
No blood.
She patted herself down, confusion muddling her thoughts.
Sweat. It was only sweat that had her nightshirt sticking to her. Not blood.
Gripping her blanket to her chest, she continued to quake.
A dream. It was just a dream.
She flinched when the phone next to her rang.
Holy crap. Had it been ringing the entire time? She snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?” she answered, her voice wobbling.
