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“I’d have chased you to the ends of the world.”

All his words sound romantic. They sound like the kind of thing every woman dreams of hearing from a man.

Obsession. Devotion.

But the menace in them, the threat of punishment, twists them into something dark and ugly.

I shake my head. “You don’t even love me. What is the point?”

“Where were you going?” He’s pressing down on my flesh with his fingers, trying to force my mouth into forming words.

I stay silent.

“I asked where the fuck you were going, you little whore!” he demands again.

Fury unfurls in his eyes. He’s close to breaking. And when Tristan break, pain follows.

I’ve seen that look in his eyes only a handful of times in our married life.

They never ended well.

Once, I’d been hospitalized because I’d “fallen down the stairs.”

Another time, he cut my arms up and then committed me to a psychiatric ward for two weeks.

I don’t know if I’ll live through another episode like that.

But then again, I survived the others. I’ve survived thirteen years of him.

Maybe I’m more resilient than I realize.

He leans closer, pressing his sweaty, foul forehead to mine. “Where. Were. You. Going?”

“I don’t know,” I say coldly. “I hadn’t thought that far.”

“Fuck that. You planned this.”

“I dreamed about it,” I say. “I prayed for it. I fantasized about it.”

“Same fucking thing,” he spits. “But if you were a smarter woman, you’d know by now: there’s no escaping me. I am your fucking master. ‘Til death do us part, baby, remember?”

He backs me up until my back hits the cold concrete wall.

“Do you remember, my pet?” he asks so softly that it’s almost a purr. “Do you remember the vows we exchanged the day we got married?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He grinds me into the wall. I wince from the pain of his nails digging into my skin.

“I gave you everything,” he hisses. “A great fucking life. You had a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food on the table. You never wanted for anything.”

“Except happiness,” I reply.

I should stop talking.

But something inside me has snapped, too. Maybe it’s even enough to rival the fury inside Tristan.

I tasted freedom today. I saw Cillian. I got as far as the airport.


Tags: Nicole Fox Kovalyov Bratva Erotic