The driver's door opens, and Callum stumbles out.
He's drunk. I can tell from fifty feet away by the way he catches himself on the car door, the unsteady sway as he finds his footing. He's wearing a suit, charcoal grey, but the jacket is wrinkled and the tie hangs loose around his neck. His hair, usually styled perfectly, sticks up in disheveled clumps.
He looks like a man who's been drinking alone in an expensive hotel room for several days.
Good.
"Jessica!” His voice cracks through the quiet night, startling a pair of crows from the oak tree near the garage. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
I pull out my phone and text Sergio. Two words: He's here.
The response comes immediately: On my way.
I pocket the phone and step off the porch, circling around the side of the house. My boots are silent on the grass. The cold air bites at my face, carries the scent of woodsmoke from our chimney and dead leaves from the forest.
Callum is still shouting, stumbling toward the front steps.
The front door opens.
Sergio stands in the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the living room. He's in jeans and a black t-shirt, barefoot, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is carved from granite.
"Leave." One word. Flat. Final.
Callum stops at the bottom of the steps, swaying slightly. His face changes and becomes darker.
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Negrorio. She's my fiancée."
"Ex-fiancée." Sergio doesn't move. "And you're trespassing."
"I have a right to see her."
"You have no rights here." Sergio's voice drops lower. "This is your last warning. Get in your car. Drive away. Don't come back."
I round the corner of the house and take up position at the base of the porch steps. Callum's head swivels toward me, and I see recognition flicker through the alcohol haze.
"Sheriff." He spits the word like a curse. "Going to arrest me for wanting to talk to my woman?"
"She's not your woman." I keep my voice level. Calm. "She never was."
"The hell she wasn't. Two years. Two years I invested in her. Shaping her. Teaching her. Making her into someone worthy of being a Morrison."
The words hit me like ice water.
Shaping her. Teaching her. Making her into someone worthy.
This is how he sees it. How he's always seen it. Jessica wasn't a person to him. She was a project. Raw material to be molded into the perfect omega wife.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
"She was always worthy." My voice comes out harder than I intended. "You were just too blind to see it."
Callum laughs. The sound is harsh, broken. He takes another unsteady step toward the porch.
"You think you know her? You think three weeks of fucking gives you some special insight?" He gestures wildly at the house, nearly losing his balance. "I spent two years with that woman. I know every flaw, every weakness, every pathetic insecurity she tries to hide."
"You know how to exploit her." Sergio descends one step. "That's not the same as knowing her."
The front door opens wider.
