Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

PART 1

“She’s completely out. Bring her over, but make sure you don’t leave any marks on her this time.”

When I heard my husband’s voice on the hidden recording, something inside me broke beyond repair.

That night, I woke up in the passenger seat of my brother-in-law’s SUV. We were parked in the underground garage of our high-rise condominium in Southlake, Texas. The time was 11:08 p.m.

I had left my office in downtown Dallas at 9:40 p.m. Under normal circumstances, the drive took less than thirty minutes.

My neck ached with a dull, throbbing pain. A sharp twinge shot through my lower back, and my tights had a snag near the knee. But what disturbed me most was noticing that the passenger seat had been reclined much farther than I ever left it.

My brother-in-law, Marcus, was nowhere in sight.

I sat there motionless for several seconds. This was the third time something like this had happened.

The pattern was always the same. My husband, Julian, would tell me he had a late-night dinner with a client or some corporate function to attend. Then he would arrange for his brother to pick me up from work. When Marcus arrived, he would always have an already opened bottle of water in his hand.

“Here you go, Sofia. Drink some water. You look absolutely exhausted.”

I would take the bottle and drink.

After that, my memory would disappear completely. Hours later, I would wake up feeling weak, sore, and covered in mysterious bruises.

Whenever I tried to discuss it with Julian, he would laugh as if I were being ridiculous.

“Sofia, you spend ten hours a day bent over spreadsheets. You’re simply out of shape. You need to start going to the gym.”

His explanation seemed believable enough—until the third incident. That was when I purchased a tiny digital voice recorder and tucked it deep inside an inner zippered pocket of my handbag.

That night, I finally gathered the courage to play back the recording.

At first, I heard myself thanking Marcus for the water. Then came approximately ten minutes of complete silence.

Suddenly, Marcus made a call through the SUV’s Bluetooth system.

“She’s out cold again,” he said.

Then I heard another voice.

Julian’s voice.

My husband. The man who slept beside me every single night.

“Good. Bring her over. Vanessa is already here. And don’t be stupid this time. Don’t leave any marks on her like you did before.”

Marcus gave a nervous laugh.

“It was barely even a bruise.”

“Even a bruise could get us into serious trouble. Just do what I told you.”

The call ended.

About a minute later, the SUV came to a stop. I heard the click of my seat belt being released. Then the electric motor hummed as the passenger seat reclined even farther.

A moment later, Marcus muttered under his breath.

“You trust us far too much, sister-in-law.”

Then I heard the unmistakable rustling sound of his hand against my clothing.

I immediately switched off the recorder. I couldn’t bear to listen to another second.

I rushed straight into the master bathroom and locked the door behind me. Standing in front of the vanity mirror, I slowly lowered the neckline of my blouse.

Just beneath my collarbone was a dark purple bruise. For the past several days, I had convinced myself that I must have bumped into something without remembering it.

Now I knew there was a reason I couldn’t remember.

Then an even more terrifying thought struck me.

Julian knew exactly what was happening to me. He might have been the one who arranged everything from the very beginning.

But one sentence kept repeating in my mind.

“Vanessa is already here.”

Who in the world was Vanessa?