Teddy's Caramel: An MC Shifter Romance

**TRIGGER WARNINGS:: DV/AB.USE/IMPRIS*NMENT** CARMEN POV Arthur’s voice cracked through the mansion like a whip. “Carmen, get your lazy ass out here.” My stomach twisted. Sharp, immediate, instinctive. My body reacted before my mind. My fingers tightened around the thin blanket, breath stuttering as I stared at the cracked ceiling. He was angry. That wasn’t unusual. Arthur Nelson lived angrily—at least when it came to me. It was like he had poison in his veins. But this wasn’t quite irritation—his tone meant real danger. This was the kind that ended with blood. My blood. I swung my legs off the narrow bed. The mattress creaked, springs groaning. The room smelled of dust and cheap detergent. This tiny staff bedroom, once a maid’s, was mine now. Arthur had made that very clear the day he moved me into it. The room held almost nothing: a twin bed, a three-drawer dresser with one crooked handle, and a cracked mirror above it that split my reflection whenever I looked. Sometimes I wondered which half was the real me. Was I the Carmen determined to escape this prison? Or was I the one who, slowly giving in to submission, hoped he’d eventually go too far so I would be freed from him and the pain? “Carmen!” His voice roared again from somewhere down the hall. I flinched. He was coming closer. “I’m coming,” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. I had learned not to speak loudly; now my voice was only ever just loud enough for myself. It was safer that way. I opened the bedroom door slowly and stepped into the hallway—a showhome-styled mansion I supposedly lived in. Marble floors stretched beneath tall windows. White walls, decorated with expensive art, completed the pristine scene. A perfect house. A perfect prison. Arthur was waiting for me at the end of the hallway. His face was red, jaw tight, his expensive suit jacket tossed over the arm of a nearby chair. Even from where I stood, I could see the vein pulsing in his temple. I’d long stopped trying to understand what triggered his wrath. It was about two years into this arranged marriage that the truth finally sank in. Everything I did would always be wrong in my millionaire husband Arthur Nelson's eyes. Every word. Every breath. Every step. I lowered my head and walked toward him slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on the marble floor. I remembered the day I first met him. He stood in my father’s office—tall, confident, with a polished smile. He seemed like a man people trusted. He was a business partners with my father, William McCready. Most people called him William McCready, the ruthless businessman who dominated boardrooms and crushed competitors without mercy. But to my mum and his close friends, he was always just Billy. William ‘Billy’ McCready struck fear in most who dared to counter him in business deals. But at home, he was a completely different person. Gentle. Warm. The kind of father who kissed my forehead before leaving for work and brought flowers home for Mum every Friday evening. Mum used to say something that always made me laugh. “It takes a good and patient woman to tame her beastly man.” She’d chuckle every time she said it, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear while Dad grumbled playfully from across the room. Mum had been a preacher’s daughter before she met my father. She used to say Dad’s sins led her astray. But she said it with a smile every single time. Now, when I visit their graves, there are no more laughs. No soft, funny memories floating through the air. Now, kneeling in the grass by their gravestones, I wept alone into the soil where they rested together. I was never meant to be a bargaining chip for a business merger, but Arthur Nelson was a sharp businessman. Just like my father. And after a few bad deals and tightening markets, my father made the choice he believed would protect the company. He married me off. At the time, I was naive enough to believe I could do what my mother had done. I believed I could tame my husband. Arthur could still be ruthless in business, but our marriage was meant to be different. My father negotiated the terms: no violence, no mistresses, no abuse. I was to be treated like a Queen by my husband, as I was always treated like a Princess by my father. Arthur had agreed. And for a short time, I believed him. We all did. The beatings didn’t start until exactly one week after my parents died. The car accident was sudden. Violent. The kind of tragedy that makes headlines for a few days before the world moves on. But my world never moved on. At first, the violence started small. A slap, a few harsh words. Constant cold silence. Back then, I told myself it wasn’t bad. Now, ‘small’ feels laughable. No form of abuse should ever be considered small. But, compared to broken bones and swollen welts—the stitches and scars—I’d give anything for my day to end with something as “small” as a slap. Over the year following my parents’ death, I became a literal prisoner in my own marital home. Arthur stopped allowing me to leave. He controlled the finances. Somehow, he even managed to take control of my inheritance. I still don’t understand how he pulled it off. On top of that, he seized control of my family’s company. Then he dismantled it. Piece by piece. Brick by brick. Within a year, the McCready name was gone from the business world. Erased. And I was the last living McCready. The forgotten heiress. Arthur seemed determined to break me completely before the day he eventually discarded me for one of his many mistresses. Yes. There were mistresses. Most nights, they sat at the grand dining table down the hall with Arthur, drinking wine and laughing like they owned the place. Meanwhile, I hid in my tiny bedroom, making sandwiches out of whatever scraps I could find. After my parents’ funeral, Arthur moved me out of the master bedroom. He didn’t even bother explaining. I returned from the cemetery to find my belongings thrown into boxes. And this room was waiting for me—the staff bedroom. Arthur’s mistresses had access to the entire house. In contrast, I had a lock on my door, which locked from the outside. If it weren’t for the housekeeper, Nancy, I would have starved long ago. Every week, she secretly brought me bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Sometimes, she even slipped a few apples into the bag. She risked everything to do that for me, but things changed when Arthur brought home his newest woman. She didn’t like Nancy; she said the housekeeper made her uncomfortable. So Arthur fired her. Just like that. And now I was completely alone. Every morning, Arthur’s doctor came by. He handed me a small white pill and told me to take it. I didn’t know what it was. But I knew what it did. It made me tired, foggy, weak, and compliant. Every night, I fell asleep with the help of Arthur’s fists. Sometimes I would wake up and realize an entire day had passed while I was unconscious. No one checked on me. No one bandaged my wounds. No one cared if I lived or died. “Finally decided to show your face?” Arthur’s voice snapped me back to the present. I stopped a few feet away from him. “You think you’re really smart, don’t you?” he said coldly. I stayed quiet, head lowered, eyes fixed on my feet as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. Men like Arthur didn’t want answers. They didn’t want eye contact. They only wanted submission. And I gave it to him, hoping maybe it would hurt less this time. Tomorrow was the one day I was allowed to leave the house. It was my parents’ anniversary. It’ll mark the third year since they left me here alone with this monster. I never missed that day. It was the one day a year I could step outside, and I couldn’t risk losing it. The slap came without warning. My head snapped to the side as pain exploded across my cheek. I stumbled back a step. “I said,” Arthur snarled, “you think you’re smart, don’t you?” Another slap. Heat spread across my face instantly. Still, I remained silent. He pulled out his phone and shoved it toward my face. “Look at this, you f*cking b*tch!” The headline filled the screen. ‘The Lost Heiress of McCready — Missing or Prisoner to Her Husband?’ My heart stopped. I barely had time to read anything before Arthur jerked the phone away, but I saw enough. The article questioned what happened after my parents died. It suggested Arthur dismantled the McCready company suspiciously fast. Suggesting that he may have been behind it. It mentioned that no one had seen me in public for years. Some unnamed sources claimed something wasn’t right. They suggested that I might be trapped, or worse—Dead. There were no quotes or statements from me. Just whispers. Suspicions. Questions. But to Arthur, that was enough. His fist smashed into my face, and pain burst through my skull as I collapsed to the marble floor. “You stupid b***h!” Another punch. “You think you can embarrass me like this?!” I tried to curl into myself, I tried to shield my head, but Arthur’s boots slammed into my ribs. A crack echoed through my body. There was no way he couldn’t have heard it himself. It was loud. Or at least it seemed that way to me. I screamed. Air vanished from my lungs as agony ripped through my side. I tried to crawl away, just a few inches, just enough to breathe. But Arthur grabbed my ankle. His grip tightened like iron around my skin as he dragged me down the hallway. My nails scraped helplessly against the marble. Then he threw me into my tiny bedroom. The door slammed shut behind us, and the beating continued. Fists. Kicks. Blows were raining down faster than I could process them. My screams filled the hallway, but I already knew no one would come. The house staff never intervened. Not after Nancy was sent away. Eventually, the world started to blur as the pain burned through every inch of my body. My vision darkened at the edges, but I welcomed it. The darkness. The silence is creeping closer. Maybe this time I wouldn’t wake up. Maybe this time I could finally be with my family again, because even if it meant death, anywhere would be better than here with Arthur.