Beneath Your Beautiful, page 1
BENEATH YOUR BEAUTIFUL
Copyright © 2024 Adaline Winters
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission from the author.
First Edition
Feb 2024
Cover Design: Liberty Champion
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
A Note From The Author
Content List
Also by Adaline Winters
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Beneath Your Beautiful is a dark romance and contains themes some readers may find upsetting. This book is intended for readers over the age of eighteen. Please read responsibly.
For a detailed content list, please click on the button below.
PLAYLIST
Paint It Black - Ciara
Miss Me More - Kelsea Ballerini
Lose You To Love Me - Selena Gomez
You Should Be Sad - Halsey
She Wolf - David Guetta ft. Sia
You Put A Spell On Me - Austin Giorgio
Lose Control - Teddy Swims
Set Free the Devil - Nick Kingsleyy
Losing Hold - Esterlt (Feat. Austin Jenckes)
Nameless - Stevie Howie
Love Is A Weapon - Letdown.
Uprising - Muse
Like No One’s Watching - Molly Sanden
Till The Stars Fall Down - Claire Guerreso
Ignorance is the greatest of crimes.
PROLOGUE
It started small. A comment about my body. Guilt trips into canceling plans with friends. New clothing bought one size too small. The gradual disappearance of the desserts I coveted. Lavish gifts for my parents.
Let me rewind.
Gideon Lowell swept me off my feet. A hot-shot lawyer, he was rich, handsome, and solely focused on me. That kind of attention is addictive, drugging, and makes you blind to the warning signs. It took him a mere six months to place a gold band on my finger and declare me as his. His wife, his trophy, his possession. A woman to mold and control.
It took another six months for the real Gideon to rear his head. That was the day I learned not to disagree with my husband. It was the first time I made an excuse about an injury to a medical professional, but not the last. I thought if I loved him harder, deeper, it would change. I would become worthy of the man I first met. I was wrong.
Now we stand on the precipice of our one-year anniversary, and I am a shell of the woman I once was. Gutted by his words, his hands, his emotions, and his control. But there’s a place deep inside of me, one he cannot reach, that clings to a thin ray of light. I just have to be brave enough to grasp it and jump, for there is no salvation in the vast darkness, and I am not ready to go without a fight.
CHAPTER 1
HONOR
NEW YEAR’S EVE
To love is to trust, which is why they hurt us the most.
My heart races in my chest, a galloping deer looking to escape the beast stalking it in the darkness. I don’t run. It never ends well. Instead, I await Gideon on the edge of the enormous bed, with my eyes trained to the floor and my spine ramrod straight. He enjoys letting the fear build until my limbs shake. I pluck at a loose strand on the white silk dressing gown shielding my body and try working through the steps of meditation I learned as a teenager. Breathe. Funny how people make millions teaching us to do something we are naturally born to. My deep breaths are hindered, getting stuck part way down. Instead, I entertain myself with fantasies of stabbing Gideon with the steak knife he cut into his beef wellington with last night. My mouth waters. How long has it been since I tasted steak?
The door to our bedroom swings open, and all my clever breathing techniques evaporate as his shoes tap on the hardwood floor. They pause in front of me, and the hair on the nape of my neck lifts. I’ve become intimate with the many pairs of shoes he owns, given they are the first thing I see each day.
A finger curves under my chin and tilts my head back. My gaze locks onto the startling baby blues the city has declared their savior. Gideon Lowell is now the district attorney for New York. Powerful, untouchable, and wicked. A dangerous combination.
His blonde hair is styled back, one lock seemingly escaping onto his forehead. But nothing about Gideon is accidental. He’s disarming, dressed in a classic tailored black suit and white shirt. The bow tie hangs undone around his neck, a job he considers important for his wife.
I don’t doubt that my husband covets me, but there is a difference between love and obsession. The beauticians did my makeup and styled my long ice-blonde hair into an elegant updo based on Gideon’s instructions. His excuse for such control is him having a special dress made for me as a surprise, so only he would know what matches. They made noises of approval, like he was Prince Charming. It astounds me how people gloss over the obvious facts and cling to the fairytale. Anyone looking close enough would see the cracks covering my facade. I am breaking piece by piece.
“You look stunning,” he utters.
My brain processes his relaxed shoulders, his steady breathing, and the calmness in his eyes. The beast he houses is not in control. I draw in a steady breath.
“Thank you. You look handsome.” My words are clear. I learned early on to not whisper or stutter.
He hums in the back of his throat. “Stand, Honor.”
I hide the wince as I comply. He tilts his head as he undoes the knot at my waist, and slides the gown off my shoulders. His fingers trail over my naked breasts, pebbling my nipples. His hands curve around the leather clinched around my abdomen.
His jaw ticks as his hands fail to touch as they circle the dip in my waist. “Almost there. Let’s tighten this up a little. Turn around, hold the bedpost.”
Ice inches down my spine as I spin and clutch the wooden post. “I think we can get this into its final position tonight, baby. Giving you the perfect body to show off.”
“Thank you.” He’s training my body into what he considers ideal—all for my benefit, of course—and he expects me to be eternally grateful for it. Secretly, I dream of wearing sweats and hoodies while eating pizza.
His fingers sweep the length of my spine, following the cold sensation. He undoes the heavy-duty laces holding the steel-lined leather in place. “Deep breath in, baby, hold it, then release slowly.”
Ha. Deep breath, what a joke. I drag in the air, spiced with his expensive cologne. It’s woodsy, with hints of tobacco and vanilla. As I exhale, my grip tightens on the bedpost and he yanks. My body lifts in the air, but gravity doesn’t help his cause.
Bones click behind me as he snaps his neck, an action which always heralds suffering. Mine, not his. I glance over my shoulder as he lifts his foot and braces it against my bare ass.
“Again,” he snaps.
As I exhale, he yanks on the laces and pushes against my butt to keep me in place. The leather tightens, and bile rushes up my throat. I swallow the burning liquid.
“Once more.”
Tears spring in my eyes, but no sound leaves my throat as he pulls the waist trainer into its ultimate position. He breathes heavily behind me as he secures the laces with knots. He curves his body around mine, kissing along my shoulder as he tests out the new positioning. I glance down as his fingers touch over my stomach.
“Perfect,” he utters against my ear. For now. “Come look at yourself in the mirror, Honor.”
He guides me to the gilded full-length mirror hanging opposite the bed. My mismatched eyes blink at the body shape he’s created. If it keeps him happy, then the pain is worth it. He curves one hand around my throat and puts pressure against my lower stomach with the other, so his erection presses between my ass. He towers over my five foot three height, at almost six foot.
“You’ll need to wear it continuously with only an hour or two breaks for the next month to ensure you maintain this shape. After that we can start reducing it. It also helps you maintain control over your diet.”
Diet? What a joke. My stomach is clamped inside a vise—that’s control. Anger burns for a second before I douse it. Luckily, he
“Me too.” Gideon’s expectation of a wife. If he loves me, then he has rights to my body at any time. These were his words the first time I woke to him moving inside of me. When I said I do, I gave up my right to consent. It’s bullshit. I know this deep down. But going against the city’s knight of virtue and warrior of justice isn’t an easy feat. It takes time, planning, and courage.
He drags his teeth over his bottom lip, and my stomach flops. That’s a bad sign. He has something else planned.
He turns and strides into the dressing room attached to our enormous bedroom. “Stay here.”
Where would I go? The only places I can escape are inside my mind, which makes him more violent. He doesn’t tolerate disconnection. I have to be aware of everything he does, every move he makes, and every demand he speaks.
He reappears with a large square black velvet box in one hand and a dress bag in the other. He hooks the bag on the top of the mirror and unzips it. A stunning black velvet floor-length gown spills out of the bag. He runs his hand along the material. The V in the neckline will plunge between my breasts, but not deep enough to reveal the trainer.
“It’s gorgeous, Gideon.”
“Only the best, as I show my wife off to the city’s elite tonight.”
He snaps open the box, revealing a complex set of rose gold chains and three clips. I swallow as my eyes rise to his.
He places the box on the floor and lifts the jewelry into the air between us. “This part goes around your throat.”
He unclips the gold heart locket he gifted me on my birthday and his arms brush my shoulders as he secures the snug thin chain around my neck. His eyes blaze with possessiveness. “Fold your hands behind your back.” I do so, weaving my fingers together and clenching them tight. His hands graze over my breasts, and he dips his head and sucks on my left nipple hard. I groan, a small concession I’m allowed and even expected to make noises of enjoyment. He lets it go with a pop, before he lifts one of the chains, ending in a small clip.
“These go here.” He pinches my erect nipple and snaps the metal clip onto the end, applying pressure until he’s happy with the tightness. My hands clench tighter to temper the scream in my throat. He repeats it with my other nipple, then he gives the chains a tug.
My breath stutters out. He glances at my face in warning. “Do they hurt?”
What do you think, asshole? I nod.
“Words, Honor.”
“Yes.”
He drops to his knees, and I squeeze my eyes closed. There’s a third clip. No prizes for guessing where that’s going. This is a new level of torture, even for him.
His mouth closes around my clit and he draws it into his mouth, manipulating the sensitive bundle to swelling before releasing me.
“Look at me,” he demands. My eyes fly open, and he grins at me. “Watch in the mirror.” He shifts to the side, giving me a full view of his actions. He scissors his fingers on either side of my clit, exposing it. “Brace yourself, baby.”
My hand cramps with how hard I squeeze my fingers. The last clip is attached to the central chain, and it tugs as he pulls it. He snaps it on, and I double over as sharp pain lances between my legs. My hands land on his shoulders to stop me from falling over.
He places his hands over mine and rises to his feet, forcing me to stand straight. The position pulls the chains taught. He finishes fixing a few more decorative chains disguising the whole thing like sexy jewelry, not torture.
“These have little metal teeth that grip tighter the more you tug them.” He demonstrates by giving a small pull on the central chain. “This way, you’ll feel my touch every moment tonight. The longer they remain on, the more restricted your blood flow, and the more pain you’ll feel when they come off. Don’t worry, I’ll be inside of you when that happens.”
Of course, he can’t pass up feeling the evidence of my pain. He unhooks the gown from the hanger and helps me inside of it before zipping up the back. He grins over my shoulder at the result. The pretty chains look like they are part of the dress’s design, while the waist clings to my figure, showing off the shape he’s created.
He selects a pair of heels, completing the outfit. He stands behind me, once again trailing his hand between my breasts and catching the chains. My eyes prickle. The burning pressure is already too much, and the throbbing between my legs builds. How is this going to feel hours from now?
“Don’t ruin your makeup,” he snaps. I close my eyes and will away the tears. “Last thing. Your allowance for the night is three canapés of your choice and a glass of champagne. I don’t want you vomiting later when I take you.”
It’s more than some nights. I should be grateful. I guess we can’t have our guests suspicious of the fact that their golden boy is, in fact, the worst of monsters.
CHAPTER 2
HONOR
Beneath the glitter and gold lurks poison.
Nestled amongst the trees, tucked away at the end of a private road, is the thirteen million dollar mansion we call home. Gideon is from old money and it shows in the elegant, classy details embedded into every inch of our house. We descend the sweeping staircase decorated for the season with garlands and twinkling lights. People turn to watch us. Excited chatter dies down as the women skim over me with disdain and over Gideon with longing. If only they knew they wouldn’t be on his bed screaming in ecstasy, but in agony.
Not to say he isn’t capable of giving pleasure. He is. That’s the absolute devastation he commands. I know what he could give, what he gave prior to our marriage, and yet he chooses pain. It’s his love language. Rain taps on the windows, transporting me back to the day my life altered its course.
I shiver as the early evening air turns muggy. The first splash of cool rain against my overheated skin makes me giggle as I rush along the street back to my apartment. I’m high on the company of good friends and great food. My feet pause on the sidewalk as a town car races past and splashes me from head to toe, soaking my short flirty red summer dress. I curse the occupants with a grin on my face. My father would be proud, and my mother mortified.
The car skids to a halt, blurry red lights winking at me as it reverses. They couldn’t have heard me, right? I dart my gaze up and down the street, getting ready to make a break for it. This isn’t like the smut books I love. If some masked dude exits this car, I am running.
Left or right? I turn right as the car door opens and a huge black umbrella snaps out. My feet freeze, and my heart pounds in my chest. My fingertips tingle as adrenaline floods my body. If they’re after a fight when their driver gave me an impromptu shower, I’ll damn well give it to them.
The umbrella lifts, and a real life Prince Charming steps forward, shielding us both under the umbrella.
“Are you okay?” His voice is cultured, smooth, lulling.
I blink the water off my eyelashes as his baby blues examine me from head to toe. Not in a slimy way, but assessing for any damage. Be still my beating heart. Did I stumble upon the rare breed of gentleman in New York? According to my best friend, they are the things of myth and legend. Sucks to be a nonbeliever right now, huh, Jen?
“You’re shivering. Here, hold this.” He hands me the handle of the umbrella and shrugs off his long dress coat before wrapping it around my shoulders. Damn, he smells good. What is that? Woodsy, smoky, with a hint of vanilla. I inhale again. I’m aware I look like I escaped from a locked room, but I don’t care.
“Can I give you a lift home?” He wraps an arm around my waist and ushers me toward the car. My survival instincts kick in, and I dig my heels in.
“What? No. I’m good. Thank you. It’s a little water. I’m not going to die.”
“You’ll catch a cold.”
“It’s a common misconception that being cold gives you a virus. It doesn’t.”
He laughs. “Beautiful and smart. You get more intriguing with every word, Miss…?”
“Honor.” Wait, no. I shouldn’t be giving out my name to gorgeous strangers. Did he call me beautiful and smart?
“Honor.” My name graces his lips, and it’s all I can do to not beg him to say it again so I can watch the way his mouth forms the syllables. “I insist.”
