Law used to give me that, once, and I clung to it without realizing it was temporary. Just a weapon being forged with my name carved into the bullet.
We’ve only been married a year, and in that time I never truly told him how hollow I’ve felt in the past or how scared I’ve been lately.
Maybe, in some dark corner of my mind, I’m grateful I didn’t fully open up to him. Because now… now I see the depths of what he is clearly, and I know he will only use it against me.
Reaching behind me, my fingers fumble at the zipper, dragging it down my back before letting the soaked silk peel from my shoulders. It pools at my feet, leaving me standing in just my bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings.
Dragging my gaze down my front, I take in my thin arms, covered in little purple, yellow, and black dots of violence from his snatching fingers.
I continue until I land on my stomach, fixating as my chest expands, my brows pinching just slightly.
But my churning thoughts are interrupted when the door suddenly swings open, and I spin around, eyes wide.
Law stands under the threshold, one hand resting on the door handle, his dark stare creeping over me like he hasn’tseen this body a thousand times before.
But it’s been months—three to be exact. He hasn’t touched me in any way that wasn’t vicious. Not in the way it should be.
And, truthfully, a small, fucked up part of me is thankful. He doesn’t deserve sex—not until he untangles the wickedness inside him, and he’s capable of resembling anything close to care.
I reach for a towel beside me, desperate to reclaim some shred of dignity, some barrier between us.
“Don’t,” he growls, eyes narrowing on mine.
I pause, fingers hovering and pulse spiking as he straightens, hands sliding back into his pockets, effortless dominance radiating off him.
“Go on, then,” he says, nodding toward my broken body. “Show me what’s mine.”
My jaw clenches, arm dropping to my side, and I glare at him, the rage and fear coiling together.
“No,” I bite out, my lip quivering, the single word sharp and fierce, louder and stronger than what I feel running through my body.
And for a moment, I own it because I’m not just an object for his desire or cruelty.
“You haven’t wanted to touch, kiss or even talk to me for months, Law.”
He steps closer, his presence suffocating, and for a fleeting second, I almost wish I could swallow the defiance back down, erase the wordnofrom my lips.
But he stops, just inches from me, his dark gaze scanning my face like he’s trying to memorize every tremble.
“You don’t get to say no to me, Blaire. We’re married,” he declares, like that fact alone can claim ownership of me.
I shake my head sharply, tears now pricking my eyes.
“And you think that gives you the right to my body? To my pussy? To fuck me? To hurt me? To torment me? To turn me into some weak little thing that doesn’t even know who she is anymore?” I stare into his eyes as I continue. “You lost all entitlement the moment you laid your hands on me and showed me exactly what you are.”
I tilt my chin upward, eyes blazing with disobedience, teeth clenched so tight it hurts.
“A weak, sick man,” I snap, close enough for him to feel the heat of my words. “I refuse to fuck men like you. You don’t deserve me.”
His eyes darken, a shadow curling behind the storm in them, and for a moment, the air itself seems to shiver around him.
“Deserve… you?” He slants his head to the side, but I force myself not to jerk and hold his gaze instead.
“So, you want a divorce?”
My shoulders sag at his question, my boldness wavering as my head lowers.
“What I want is for you to be the man I used to love,” I whisper, voice breaking. “You lied to me.”
