I looked at Linda. She sat there, the light catching the faux-innocence in her eyes, waiting for her victory. Then I looked at Jake.
"No."
The word was small, but it cut through the room like a blade. Jake’s thumb stopped its gentle circling on my hand. His gaze darkened, the ‘soft’ husband mask beginning to crack.
"Stacy," he warned, his voice dropping a threat. "Don't ruin this. Just say the words."
"I won't apologize for something I didn't do," I said, my voice gaining strength even as my heart hammered against my cracked ribs.
"You tried to kill me, Jake. You sabotaged my car and watched me drive toward a cliff. And you want me to apologize to the woman who orchestrated this entire lie?”
Jake didn't argue. He didn't shout. Instead, his hand moved with lightning speed. Before I could flinch, his fingers closed around the thin gold chain at my throat—the only thing I had left of my mother.
"This necklace," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You told me once it was the only piece of her you still had. That you’d rather die than lose it."
"Jake, stop!" I gasped, reaching up to grab his wrist.
He threw the chain towards Linda. "Apologize, Stacy. Or I’ll wrap it around Linda’s legs like an anklet. I’ll turn your mother’s legacy into Linda’s dirt."
“Though it's an old fashioned cheap accessory,” Linda began, hiding a smirk behind her wine glass. “It will look better around my legs than your neck,”
My pride was screaming, but the thought of my mother’s last memento being destroyed by her filthy legs was too much.
I would be gone the next day. I thought. The humiliation… I can bear it one more day for the sake of my dead mother.
"I'm... I'm sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "I’m sorry, Linda. I... I shouldn't have tried to hurt you."
The tension in Jake’s eyes relaxed for a fraction of a second. A triumphant glint appeared in his eyes. "There. Was that so hard?"
He then instructed Kinda to give the chain back. But, as she went to release the chain, her fingers gave one final, cruel jerk.
Snap.
The gold links shattered. The small locket hit the hardwood floor with a hollow thud, skidding toward the corner of the room. I stared at the empty space on my chest, then at the broken chain still clutched in her hand.
"Oops," Linda said, her voice devoid of any actual regret. "My hand slipped."
Something inside me snapped along with that gold. The fear that had kept me paralyzed for years evaporated, replaced by a searing, white-hot rage. I stood up, knocking my chair backward.
"You're pathetic, Linda," I spat, raising my hands to slap her. But, they were held by a strong force.
“Enough, Stacy!” He said, “It was a mistake. Linda didn't mean to break it.”
"You bastard!” I snapped back. “You destroyed your wife’s only treasure for a woman who has been playing you like a fiddle. You think she loves you? She loves your bank account and the power you give her. She’s been whispering poison in your ear while she sleeps in your bed, and you're too blinded by her act to see she’s nothing but a home-wrecking parasite!"
Linda’s eyes welled up instantly. "Jake... how can she say such things? I... I've only ever wanted this family to be whole! This is defamation! She's slandering my character in front of Leo!" She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with practiced sobs.
“I’m Taylor’s widow. What will people talk about me if words like these go out? And the servants…They have listened to everything.”
"Enough!" Jake roared. The rage was back, more violent than in the driveway. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "You like humiliating another woman? You want to assassinate Linda’s character?"
He turned to one of the footmen standing near the sideboard—a man who had always looked at me with a discomforting leer.
"If you can't act like a lady at this table, you don't deserve the clothes of a wife," Jake growled.
Before I could process his words, he reached for the zipper of my dress. With a violent tug, the fabric tore. I scrambled to hold the silk against my chest, my face burning with a shame so deep I felt sick.
"Marcus," Jake called out to the servant, his voice cold and lethal.
He shoved me toward the man. I stumbled, my bare shoulders hitting the servant’s rough uniform. The man’s arms instinctively went around me to steady me, his touch lingering far too long on my skin.
"She’s yours for the night," Jake said, turning back to the table to comfort a 'crying' Linda.
"Take her to the quarters. Maybe a night among the house helps will teach her how it feels to be humiliated.”
