The Maybach slowed to a stop in front of a dilapidated red-brick apartment building in a part of Brooklyn that tourists were warned to avoid. Puddles the size of small ponds had formed along the broken curb, reflecting the flickering streetlights.
Catalina let out a breath she seemed to have been holding since Manhattan. She fumbled with the seatbelt buckle, her movements jerky with her eagerness to escape the suffocating luxury of the car.
"Thank you so much," she whispered, her hand on the door handle.
The rain was still a torrential downpour outside, a solid wall of water.
"Wait." Evangeline's voice cut through the quiet.
She leaned forward, her arm stretching between the two front seats. From the side pocket of the driver's door, she retrieved a long, sleek, black umbrella. It was a Brigg, custom-made for Kellan in London. His initials, K.M., were discreetly engraved in silver on the polished Malacca wood handle. It was one of his favorite things.
She shoved the umbrella into Catalina's lap.
"Take this," she said.
Catalina stared at the object as if it were a venomous snake. The sheer quality of it, the weight and feel, was so out of place in her world. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. It's yours. I'll just run for it."
"I insist," Evangeline's tone was flat, leaving no room for negotiation. "You can return it to me. Sometime." She let the last word hang in the air, a promise of a future encounter.
From the back seat, Kellan watched his personal property being given away to a complete stranger from the slums. His face was a thundercloud, his silence more menacing than any shout. He didn't intervene, but the temperature in the car dropped another ten degrees.
Overwhelmed, Catalina clutched the umbrella. "Thank you. Thank you," she repeated, then pushed the door open and scrambled out, disappearing into the building's dimly lit entryway.
The passenger door clicked shut.
Ben put the car in gear, and the Maybach pulled away from the curb, leaving the grim Brooklyn street behind. It headed back toward the glittering cage of Manhattan's Upper East Side.
The journey back was executed in absolute silence. Kellan stared out his window, a rigid silhouette of fury. Evangeline, for her part, closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool leather. She could feel his anger radiating across the space between them, a palpable heat. It no longer intimidated her. It fueled her.
The car descended into the private underground garage of their penthouse apartment building. They rode the private elevator up to the top floor without exchanging a single word. The soft chime announcing their arrival was unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
The elevator doors slid open directly into their apartment foyer. Kellan strode out first, ripping his loosened tie from his neck and tossing it onto a marble console table. He didn't stop, his long strides carrying him straight to the living area.
Evangeline took her time, slipping off her damp heels and sliding her feet into a pair of silk slippers. She walked to the wet bar, her movements unhurried, and poured herself a generous measure of Macallan 18 into a crystal tumbler.
She was lifting the glass to her lips when he appeared behind her.
He moved with a predatory silence she hadn't anticipated. One moment he was across the room, the next his presence was a suffocating blanket at her back. He snatched the glass from her hand, slamming it down on the marble countertop. The whiskey sloshed, a dark amber wave against the crystal.
His hands were on her waist, spinning her around. He backed her against the edge of the bar, trapping her. His large frame loomed over her, blocking out the light, caging her in with his body and his rage.
"What," he bit out, his voice a low, dangerous rasp, "was that tonight? What game are you playing, Evangeline?"
His face was inches from hers. She could see the fury simmering in the depths of his dark eyes. He lowered his head, his mouth aiming for the sensitive skin of her neck. It was a familiar move. A punishment. A reassertion of ownership. A way to end a fight without words, to smother her objections with a possession she was supposed to crave.
A wave of revulsion, so powerful it was physically sickening, churned in her stomach. The ghost of his touch felt like a brand.
She reacted without thinking.
She jerked her head to the side, and his lips met empty air. His entire body went rigid with shock. He had never, in three years of marriage, been denied.
Her hands came up, pressing flat against the hard wall of his chest. She pushed. Hard. It wasn't enough to move him far, but it broke the contact. It created a sliver of space.
"Don't," she said, her voice shaking with a mixture of disgust and adrenaline.
He stared down at her, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. The surprise was slowly being replaced by a darker, more dangerous anger.
"I have my period," she lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. It was a weak excuse, a shield she had never had to use before, but it was the only one she could think of in the moment.
Kellan's eyes raked over her, from her pale, defiant face down to her hands still pressed against his chest. He was searching for a crack in her facade, for the wife he thought he knew. He found none.
A humorless, ugly sound escaped his lips. It wasn't a laugh. It was a sneer.
He stepped back, releasing her. He straightened his shirt, his movements sharp and precise, as if trying to restore his composure.
"Fine," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "But this little tantrum of yours is over. Do you understand me?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and strode toward the master bedroom suite. The bathroom door slammed shut with a crack that echoed through the silent apartment.
Evangeline sagged against the bar, her legs suddenly weak. The sound of the shower starting was a dull roar in her ears. She reached for the whiskey glass, her hand trembling, and drained it in one long, burning swallow.
The liquor did nothing to warm the ice in her veins. She looked toward the closed bedroom door, her eyes glinting with a hard, unyielding light. This was only the beginning.
