Welcome to my new book. It's taken some time to get back to writing but I hope you enjoy this latest fanfic. It's a narrative that will zig-zag back and forth between Meghan's diary and Shannon's life. Feel free to vote and comment if you enjoy or have questions. I always reply ASAP. Thanks so much for choosing this story!
The darkness closed in as slowly he pressured the skin on her neck.
The man's hands smoothed upwards, feeling her steady pulse beat on his fingertips.
She was calm.
Whatever she was thinking was masked behind the blindfold.
He tightened his grip.
Then came the rush of blood to the head and he knew she was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
She tried moving her legs but each kick became more labored as oxygen was cut off.
It was only when her body went limp that his fingers relaxed and he parted her legs.
The sexual high blinded him to the reality of what had happened at the party.
The business proposal, the handshake, the introduction to this glamorous woman.
Mark Jenson had made the rules: It was a game of strategy, and Meghan Mallory was the pawn in his boardroom deals.
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My diary
So I guess this is it.
I've finally had time to sit down and think about my life.
Mark is away on business in Europe, which has given me the headspace I need to work out where I'm going and what I'm going to do if I finally decide to do the unthinkable.
Don't presume this is an easy decision. It's not. Most people look at my life and can't see beyond the money, the glamorous parties, and designer clothes.
The Meghan Mallory they choose to see lives in a chic glass-walled home overlooking Lake Washington.
They picture me sipping sparkling wine from a balcony with music drifting from inside, as I watch the evening breeze cast ripples across the shimmering infinity pool below.
I'm sitting here laughing because that's the image portrayed by Mark Jenson. He'smy husband and CEO and owner of TronTech Inc.
You might have heard of him in those glossy celeb magazines. But I see beyond the tacky headlines and cliched, loved-up copy.
"Billionaire businessman Mark Jenson..." and "Tech tycoon Mark Jenson..."
They wear thin after a while when you live behind those closed doors.
Readers only see the fairytale princess living in opulence; I see the darkness of those stories lurking in the shadows.
They see money, luxury, and extravagance; in short, a life of easy indulgence.
What they don't see is that it comes wrapped in sex and grubby dollar bills.
I see that side of his life. I see the hard-fought deals, the handshakes behind closed doors, the friends who become foes, and the endless phone calls into the dead of night.
Those whispered conversations and occasional raised voices aren't meant to be heard. But I know what's going on.
I've lived in the shadows and dreamed of the day when I can finally spread my wings and find the real me.
I've been the pawn in his games for too long, now it's time for checkmate.
And that brings me to you Dear Diary. Why have I decided to put pen to paper?
To ease the pain?
To fill the hours?
To appease my demons?
Or to dish the dirt?
I'm old enough to know better for that last one but it's getting harder, the longer I stay here.
Last night we were at another of those parties and I watched him work his way through the room - smiling, networking like a pro. His steely gray hair, wide smile, and open-necked shirt give him that air of being the guy next door.
But I'm watching like a hawk. Does anyone else notice the way his hand touches hers? Do they see the brief smile he gives the girl with the shoulder-length blond hair? That hand then slides down to the small of her back as he guides her away from the crowd.
He thinks I'm stupid; that I don't see him for what he is. But I do.
And now I've decided to write it all down. I want the world to know that Mark Jenson is NOT the man most people think he is.
But before I tell you more about Mark, let me just fill in the background of my life. I've sat in the shadows for so long that I feel I've become anonymous. I'm not the girl I used to be.
Back then I had dreams of traveling the world and being free to live my life in the best way possible. All I wanted was to make memories and strive for those dreams that had inhabited my head since childhood.
Top of that list was to travel through Europe. I wanted to practice my French; taste the finest Italian pasta, and wander the ancient streets of Rome. When I was young, I'd sit around dreaming of all the things I would achieve; all the places I would visit; all those sights and sounds that would bring me to life.
Of course, they were dreams. I wouldn't say they were shattered dreams. They were just dreams that never came to fruition.
Maybe I didn't try hard enough. Maybe I didn't have the fight in me to speak out and be heard above the chaos in my life.
Instead, I let other people dictate my future. Some people might think I was stupid but I know there are plenty of you who'll understand what happened back then.
I wanted to please people so badly. My parents, I suppose, were top of that list. They wanted nothing more than to see me settled, preferably married, with kids. That was their life and that's what they wanted for me. What I wanted was of little importance to them.
And that's why I lived in my head. It was safe there. My dreams were just that: MY dreams. They didn't belong to anyone else and therefore they couldn't be shot down in flames. I hid them, kept them nourished in the belief that one day I would escape the reality of my life.
Don't feel sorry for me though.
Those dreams have never gone away. Occasionally I have fanned the embers in the belief that you're never too old to live your dreams.
I still want to see the world and all its wonders, dip my toes into azure waters and feel the sun caress my skin. I want all those things and so much more.
Despite everything, I still dream of finding love again. I know Mr Right is out there. I just need the courage to break free and find myself. But it's not that easy.
Mark would break me and make me suffer. I know I would have to fight him for every penny and I don't really know if I have the fight to go through with it.
Most people view me as, at the very least, lucky. Others are downright jealous of the life I lead.
As I said earlier, all they see are the column inches, the designer dresses, the glittering jewels.
The wife of Mark Jenson is always glamorous, always devoted, makes small talk with global businessmen and women. She smiles, laughs when appropriate, and then stands in a corner melting into the shadows.
She fades away as he talks to potential clients with that open smile, the hand clamped on their shoulders as he wins them over with his joie de vivre and enthusiasm.
Only then are my services called on.
I've seen it all before and I know if I don't make a move, I'll live in this weird groundhog day existence for eternity.
But first of all, you're probably wondering what happened to bring me to this point in my life?
Who is Mark Jenson?
Why do I feel I have to write this diary?
Well, it's a long story, like most stories.
It involves 19 years of marriage and a life, which to those of you who don't know better, looks like one of privilege.
But living with a billionaire has its drawbacks.
And I'm about to lift that curtain of luxury to reveal what lies on the other side of life here on the shores of Lake Washington.