Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 4

**Twilight Carves Destinies**
*by George Orwell*

**Chapter 4**

The pain radiating from my wound was unbearable, leaving me utterly powerless to resist. My clothing lay in tatters around me, reduced to mere scraps that barely concealed my dignity.

I gazed at Ethan, disbelief etched across my face, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling me down. “Ethan Rivers, have you completely lost your mind?!” My voice trembled with a mix of shock and desperation, echoing in the tense air.

Malicious stares bore into me from every corner, their cold intent wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. The memory of a past incident flickered in my mind, when Ethan had fiercely defended me against a group of street thugs, nearly beating them to a pulp. How had we fallen so far from that moment of fierce loyalty?

Now, here he was, the man I once believed would protect me, personally stripping away my clothes, exposing me to the prying eyes of a crowd that reveled in my humiliation.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, sounding almost mad in the silence that followed.

Victoria stood off to the side, her eyes glinting with a wicked triumph as she fanned the flames of this twisted spectacle. “Oh, come on! Since Stella is married to a renowned photographer, surely she can make a small sacrifice for the sake of art? Look at all these enthusiasts! Why not ask Stella to grace us as our model?” Her words dripped with mockery, igniting the flames of my shame.

I blinked in shock, disbelief washing over me like a cold wave.

Ethan’s gaze flickered away from mine, devoid of any denial or protest. “Isn’t this what you always wanted? Something to connect us? Well, here’s your chance.” His tone was disturbingly casual, as if discussing the weather rather than my utter degradation.

Desperation clawed at me as I struggled to cover my exposed body, clinging to the last remnants of my dignity while pleading with him to awaken his conscience. “Ethan Rivers, I am your wife!” My voice was a desperate whisper, filled with the weight of my despair.

He cast a fleeting glance my way, barely registering my words, before turning to assist Victoria, his hands gently helping her fasten her dress. “Be careful not to catch cold,” he murmured, his concern directed solely at her.

Once upon a time, he had shown me the same kindness, but now it was painfully clear that I was no longer the one he cared for.

Overwhelmed by despair, I slumped to the ground, allowing the leering onlookers—who masqueraded as photography enthusiasts—to point their cameras at me, capturing my humiliation for their twisted pleasure.

“Quick! Strike a more provocative pose!” one shouted, his voice dripping with excitement.

“Change positions!” another barked, their laughter ringing in my ears.

Countless flashes erupted around me, each one cutting deeper than the last. I had grown so numb to the torment that one more camera felt inconsequential.

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