My voice booms from the tape. The gathered men shifted in their seats.
“You fucking bastard!” she screamed again.
“We’re in a meeting.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck? Dismiss them. Send them away. We need to talk.”
“Not now.”
That had been my first mistake. I should have dismissed them immediately, before she asked. I'd know better now. But back then, I was determined not to let her change my plans. Plans she knew I’d been making for months.
She approached me, her eyes wild, and slammed her fists into my chest. I let her get in three good hits before I grabbed her and twisted her around so her back was pressed against my chest.
She screamed hysterically and tried to break from my grasp. Her legs kicked out at the chair I’d just vacated. It hit the table and some of the men leaned back in their seats in alarm.
“Let me take her,” Lev hissed urgently.
“You touch me, Lev, and I’ll fucking kill you!” spat Marina.
“Out!” I roared. “Get the fuck out of here. All of you.”
No one needed to be told twice. I noticed the glance that Lev gave me as he followed the men out of the office on the second floor. A space I haven't been in since.
As soon as we were alone, I watch myself fling Marina on top of the table. Her legs dangled pitifully over the side and for a moment, I wondered if I’d gone too far. She was making an unholy, animalistic noise of pain.
But then she bolted upright, her teeth bared, and lunged for me. “Who the fuck is she?” Marina roared as she made a swipe at my face.
I easily dodged her first hit without even having to try. The woman was wild, but she was predictable. After a few physical confrontations with her, it was easy to predict where her next strike would go.
Usually, I let her tire herself out before I'd step in and shut down the tantrum. But that day was different. There was something desperate in the way she came at me. At the time, I was ignorant to what had pissed her off.
“Who the fuck is who?”
“The woman you were with last night,” she demanded, coming at me slower, more cautious this time around.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."
“The fuck you don’t!”
Her eyes flared as she lashed her hand out, meeting the very corner of my jaw. My head snapped to the side. She wanted more—more blood, more pain—but the next time she tried to claw at me, I was ready.
I caught her arm and twisted it back. She screamed, but it didn’t seem to slow her down at all.
My eyes slip from the screen for a second, and my hand rises to my jawline. She left a scratch that day. It didn’t scar or anything like that. Within a week, it was gone altogether.
But sometimes, when I think of her, the spot where she marked me still tingles.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” she shrieked.
She lunged at me again, but I stepped to the side and grabbed her by the hair. She gasped as I jerked her backwards and swept her feet out from under her.
She went down and I landed on top of her with her long blonde hair still tight in my grip. “Listen to me, you psychotic bitch. You cannot come in here. You may be my wife, but it’s in title only."
"You have my father’s support and money because of me!”
“What makes you think I need your father’s support or money?” I asked her.
“You need me… You need me…”