The fabric rips as I pull the gown over my head, and the sound is so satisfying I do it again, grabbing fistfuls of emerald silk and tearing, shredding, destroying this beautiful, expensive thing that represents everything I’ve lost.
The gown comes apart in my hands, seams splitting, fabric tearing with sharp, violent sounds that fill the silent room.
I rip it into pieces, letting the shreds fall to the floor like green snow, and with each tear I feel something loosening in my chest—rage, grief, desperation, all of it pouring out through my hands as I destroy this symbol of my captivity.
When the gown is nothing but tatters scattered across the marble floor, I turn to the jewelry.
The diamond necklace goes first.
I unclasp it and let it drop with a satisfying clatter.
The earrings follow, then the bracelet, all of it piled on top of the ruined silk.
The pins in my hair are next, scattering to the floor with barely a sound.
My hands are shaking, my breathing ragged, but for the first time in nearly two weeks, I feel something other than helpless.
This small act of destruction, this petty rebellion that will probably earn me punishment tomorrow, it’smine.
He can control where I go, what I say, who I see, but he can’t control this.
He can’t stop me from destroying the pretty costume he dressed me in.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror again.
My hair is disheveled from pulling out bobby pins, my makeup smeared from angry tears I didn’t realize I was crying.
I stand in my underwear surrounded by tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of destroyed clothing and jewelry.
I look like a disaster.
But god, it feels good to fight back, even in this small, ultimately meaningless way.
I roughly wash off the makeup, scrubbing until my face is red and raw.
I pull out some missed bobby pins, letting my hair fall in tangled waves.
I transform myself back from trophy into person, from the perfect accessory into a furious woman.
Fuck him. Fuck him fuck himfuck him.
Once I climb into bed, I stare at the ceiling in the darkness.
My stomach roils and my body feels jittery from the adrenaline of destroying the gown.
I’m not just trapped in this fucking sham of a marriage.
Luca’s enemies want to hurt me.
And Luca doesn’t fucking care. What happens to me is “irrelevant beyond my usefulness.”
The rage burns hotter than the fear.
He paraded me around like property tonight.
He dressed me up like a doll.
He made me smile for criminals and politicians.
