"Gabriel, please—"
But he's already outside, standing on the flagstone terrace that extends twenty feet before dropping away to nothing. Beyond the terrace, there's a decorative iron railing—more art installation than safety feature—and beyond that, three hundred feet of air and rock before the ocean.
I follow because he's waiting and because turning back now would only make things worse. The silk nightgown plasters itself to my skin within seconds. The rain is cold, driving, and merciless.
Gabriel stands at the edge of the terrace, one hand on the railing, his cashmere robe already soaked through. He looks back at me, and his eyes have gone flat in a way I've never witnessed. It’s not rage, it’s emptiness, like he's made a decision, and the emotion has already drained out.
"Do you know what else Malcolm said?" he shouts over the wind. "He said most wives in your position would be grateful. Grateful for the life, the status, the security. But you—" He laughs, and the sound gets torn away by the storm. "You act like I'm holding you prisoner."
I am a prisoner. My own house—the one inheritance Gabriel couldn't buy—has become a cell he's furnished and controlled until even the walls don't feel like mine anymore.
But I don't say that. Instead, I move closer, trying to pull him back from the edge because even now, even hating him, I don't want him to fall. That's the sickness of it—five years of conditioning makes me reach for him even when every nerve screams to run.
"Let's go inside," I say, raising my voice against the wind. "We can talk tomorrow when we're both—"
"When we're both what? Sober? Calm?" He turns fully to face me, his back to the drop. "I am calm, Lana. This is a calm me. You want to see me not calm?"
He takes a step toward me. I take a step back.
"That's what I thought," he says. "You're afraid of me. My own wife is afraid of me."
"You're scaring me right now, yes."
"Good." Another step forward. I retreat again, and we're dancing, circling on rain-slicked stone while the ocean roars below. "You should be scared. You should understand what happens when you disrespect me."
"I haven't disrespected—"
"You exist in this house, spending my money, wearing clothes I bought, and you think you're entitled to secrets?" His voice rises. "You think you can carve out some little corner of your life that I'm not allowed to touch?"
"I think I'm entitled to be a person."
The words come out harder than I intended. Stronger. Something in me is shifting, some tectonic plate of endurance finally cracking under pressure.
Gabriel notices. His eyes narrow.
"A person," he repeats. "You want to be a person. Fine. Be a person. Go ahead. Walk away from this marriage, this house, this life. See how far you get."
"You'd contest the house," I say, because now that we're here, now that the pretense is stripped away, we might as well be honest. "You'd drag me through court and take everything my parents left me."
"Not everything." He smiles, and it's the smile he uses in boardrooms when he's about to close a deal. "I'd leave you with something. Enough for a studio apartment in The Hollows, maybe. Enough to remember what you lost."
The Hollows. The part of the city where the desperate and forgotten pile on top of each other in buildings that should have been condemned decades ago. He's thought about this, planned it. Weaponized my inheritance against me.
"You can't do that," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know he can. He has Malcolm. He has lawyers who specialize in taking things from people. He has money and patience and a vindictive streak as wide as the ocean below us.
"Watch me." He reaches for me, and I jerk back instinctively. His hand catches empty air. "Or don't watch. Just understand—you're mine, Lana. You agreed to that when you married me. For better or worse. Richer or poorer. Till death—"
"Stop."
"Till death," he continues, stepping closer, backing me toward the railing, "do us part. Remember that part? The vow you took?"
I remember. I remember standing in a church full of Gabriel's business associates and distant relatives, wearing a dress he chose, speaking words that felt like signing away my soul. I was twenty-seven and so tired of fighting my way through the world alone. Gabriel seemed strong, stable, safe.
I didn't know safety and control were just two sides of the same coin.
My back hits the railing. The metal is ice against my spine even through the soaked silk. Gabriel is close now, close enough that I can see water streaming down his face, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
I don't want to.
