“Is this your wife, Law?” A male asks from behind him.
But I don’t look at him, I don’t even flicker. Though the outline of the figure is there right beside my husband, I keep my eyes fixed on Law’s. To glance away or acknowledge another man, would be a mistake I can’t afford to make.
Law stares at me, like a threat and dare all at once.
But I’ve been good tonight—I’m sure I have. Haven’t I? Yeah, I sighed, but no one else heard it. Did they?
“It is,” Law finally answers, the annoyance in his tone enough to make a lump rise hard in my throat, my eyes burning at the edges.
When the man steps around my husband and extends his hand toward me, the instinct to run nearly overpowers me. I can’t see Law now. I can’t see his reaction, and the not knowing coils tighter.
If I take the hand, will it offend him? If I don’t, will it humiliate him? Anxiety floods through my veins, my thoughts sprinting too fast to catch up.
“Nice to meet you,” the man says, but my gaze is already lowered before I even catch a glimpse of his face, keeping my eyes fixed on the black tiled floor below.
I can still see the shadow of his hand through my lashes, waiting, like an offered leash.
And for a moment, I’m at war with myself. But, eventually, I take a shaky breath, force my fingers to be steady, and slip my hand into his.
It’s warm, nothing like Law’s freezing cold grip, and for a second the world narrows to the small, traitorous contact. I keep my eyes down regardless, until I catch the flash of Law’s polished shoes to my left and everything inside me snaps.
I yank my hand back as he moves, like he owns the space, his hard chest brushing my shoulder. Then his fingers slideup the back of my long, silky dress, under my black hair, and closes around it with a discreet, yet harsh handful.
He tugs once, just enough, and I lift my chin, obliged to meet the motion he’s forced. My eyes lock onto his associates face, a man I’ve never seen before.
“Nice… nice to meet you too,” I mutter, voice thin and automatic, a puppet tied to a string I can feel wrapped around my neck.
The man studies my face, noticing the fear that pools in my shaded eyes. His expressionless stare flicks to Law as he slides behind me, fingers unwinding from my hair.
Before I can think, his large hand comes around my front, palm flat and fingers splayed over my stomach, using the contact to press me back against his solid body.
From the outside it might read as possessive, even intimate; from anyone else’s view point it could be mistaken for protection.
I know better.
I now know Law with every aching part of me.
He never touches me to show he cares—not anymore. His hands have learned only one language. To mark, to punish, and to remind me what I am beneath him.
Nothing.
My husband. The man who saved me. The man I loved with every part of me. The man I said my vows to just one year ago.
I didn't know then that I’d sold my soul to something extremely malicious. I thought I was safe beside him, but now I’m starting to realize he’s an outright psychopath.
Our marriage has taken a dark turn I don’t know how to escape from. He’s made his rules clear that the vows still stand, but their promise has been completely burrowed out.
What remains is something colder, an ownership wrapped in love’s name, and I’m left learning how to live in that loneliness.
I fear only death will part us now. I’m trapped in a closing chasm—an ending that smothers me a little more every time the sun rises.
My sanity is being pried loose, inch by inch, by a steady, joyless handsaw; every scrap of strength I built over the years is now being wrenched from its roots until I feel like an empty shell waiting for his next act of cruelty to finish the job.
When Law leans down, his whiskey infused breath scorches the shell of my ear. And as I catch a glimpse of him from the corner of my gaze, I notice he’s holding intense eye contact with the man in front of me.
“Go wait in the car,” he says darkly, the words coiling down my spine.
I swallow, my throat dry and useless when he finally lets me go. My fingers tremble against the glass in my hand as I set it down, the water rippling from my unsteady touch.
