"Why do I smell like sterile office soap instead of the cedar you swore you applied?" Damien demanded, kicking the front door shut behind him.
It was barely six in the evening. He never came home this early.
I stood at the base of the staircase, my hand freezing on the banister. "I applied it."
"Did you?" He crossed the foyer in quick, heavy strides. "Because Colette told me a very interesting story when I walked up the driveway. She said she saw you at the corner cafe this afternoon. Laughing."
He stopped inches from my face.
"Laughing with Elias."
"I haven't left the house," I said, keeping my voice entirely flat. "You ordered the guards to lock the gates."
"Then where was your mind all day?" he snapped, his fingers digging into my shoulders. "Why do I get this miserable, sour face every single night, while he gets your smiles?"
"Let go of me, Damien."
Instead of releasing me, he yanked me forward and crushed his mouth against mine.
I shoved my hands against his chest, twisting my neck to break the contact. He clamped a hand onto the back of my head, forcing me to stay. He tasted like scotch and bitter espresso. I kicked at his shins, thrashing wildly against his iron grip.
He didn't stop. He pushed me backward until my spine hit the plaster wall.
The fight drained out of me.
I dropped my hands to my sides. I stopped moving. I let my body go completely limp, staring blankly at the crystal chandelier above his shoulder. I offered zero resistance and zero response. Just a dead, empty shell.
Damien froze.
He pulled back, his chest heaving. He stared at my lifeless expression, and a dark, violent storm broke across his eyes.
He swung his fist.
The knuckles crashed into the plaster right next to my ear, sending a shower of white dust over my shoulder.
"Can you only smile for him?" Damien roared, his voice tearing through the quiet foyer. "Was getting an abortion for him that fun?"
My numbness vanished, replaced by a blinding, white-hot fury.
I looked him dead in the eye.
"Yes," I said, enunciating every single syllable. "I only want to have his children in this lifetime."
Damien struck me.
The slap cracked like a whip across the entryway. My head snapped to the side. The force sent me stumbling to my knees, my cheek burning with a fierce, radiating heat.
Eleven months of marriage. This was the first time he had raised a hand to me.
I didn't cry. I reached into my pocket, my fingers closing around the cold, broken metal tip of Nathaniel's wax-carving knife. The sharp edge dug into my palm, grounding me.
I stood up, walked past my husband, and pulled the front door open.
Twenty-four hours later, the bass of a downtown bar thumped against the soles of my shoes. I hadn't gone back. I spent the entire day and night walking the city streets, eventually ending up in a dim corner booth with a glass of tap water.
The five-finger red mark still blazed across my left cheek.
A tall figure slid into the vinyl booth across from me.
I didn't need to look up to recognize the sharp line of his jaw. Elias. Seven years had passed since we last spoke without an audience.
"How is married life?" Elias asked, signaling the bartender for a drink. "Are you happy marrying the man you love most?"
I traced the rim of my water glass, keeping my mouth shut.
Elias leaned forward, his gaze locking onto the bruised skin of my face. "Does he know the truth about your miscarriage?"
I shook my head.
"You let him believe it was mine," Elias stated, his voice dropping into a quiet, steady rhythm. "You let the whole city believe it."
"It was the easiest way," I answered.
"For who?" Elias laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. He took the whiskey glass the bartender set down. "I loved you, Vivian. I have loved you since you were eighteen years old. Since that night on your porch when Nathaniel interrupted me."
I gripped the wax-carving knife hidden inside my coat pocket.
"I never stopped," Elias continued, staring at the amber liquid. "But I lost. I lost to your desperate, blinding love for Damien. I stepped back because I thought he would protect you." He pointed a finger at my cheek. "Clearly, I was wrong."
"Stop talking, Elias."
"Come to my place," he offered, sliding out of the booth and standing up. "You can't stay on the streets. I have a guest room."
"No." I stood up and faced him. "If I go with you, Colette's lies become the truth. Damien will use it to destroy what little I have left."
"You have nothing left, Vivian."
"I am going back to the estate," I said, walking past him toward the exit.
The taxi dropped me off at the wrought-iron gates. The guards let me through without a word.
I walked up the long, winding driveway, the gravel crunching under my shoes. The massive house stood silent against the night sky, but the living room windows glowed with a warm, yellow light.
I pushed the front door open, stepping quietly into the marble entryway.
The house was entirely quiet.
I walked toward the arched doorway of the living room.
Warm light spilled from inside. I stopped at the threshold, and the air left my lungs.
