Chapter 2 - The Cold Marble Floor
The pain was immediate, a sharp, blinding fire that radiated across my scalp.
Before a scream could even form in my throat, Daniel yanked backward, tearing me completely out of my chair.
My plate crashed to the floor, shattering into jagged porcelain shards.
"Daniel, stop! Please!" I cried out, my hands flying up to clutch at his thick wrist, trying to lessen the pressure pulling at my roots.
He didn't speak. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, fueled by years of secret insecurity and the toxic whispers of his parents.
He tightened his fist, twisting his fingers deeper into my hair, and began to walk.
My knees hit the floor. The cold marble scraped through my slacks, tearing the fabric instantly.
He dragged me past the dining table as if I were nothing but a sack of garbage he was clearing out before trash day.
I looked up through tears of physical agony.
Behind us, the roast beef still steamed beneath its silver covers. The crystal glasses still glittered under the warm glow of the chandelier.
And on either side of the table, his parents watched.
Patricia didn't blink. She merely lifted her wine glass in a silent toast to her son’s display of authority.
"A useless wife doesn’t deserve a seat at our table," Daniel snarled, his breath hot against the back of my neck as he hauled me into the grand foyer.
"About time you trained her," Richard chuckled, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. "Show her what happens to parasites."
Daniel flung me toward the front door.
I threw my hands out to break my fall, but the momentum was too strong. My shoulder struck the stone step of the porch outside, a sickening crunch echoing in my ears as a wave of white-hot pain shot down my left arm.
He reached inside the closet, grabbed my trench coat, and tossed it onto my face.
"Don't come back until you're ready to apologize for your existence," Daniel said, his voice cold, devoid of any human emotion.
The heavy oak door slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked into place.
I lay there in the dark, the autumn rain beginning to fall, tasting the iron metallic tang of blood warming my split lower lip.
The physical pain was immense, but inside my chest, something else was happening. The last lingering shred of guilt, the last foolish hope that the boy I married five years ago was still in there somewhere, died completely.
I sat up slowly, clutching my throbbing shoulder, and listened through the heavy wood of the door.
"She’ll crawl back," Daniel’s voice carried through the glass transom. "She has no family left. No money. She’ll be begging on her knees by morning."
"Of course she will," Patricia’s voice replied, fading back toward the dining room. "Women like her have nowhere else to go. Now, let’s finish the roast beef before it gets cold."
I wiped the blood from my mouth with the sleeve of my coat.
I looked up at the corner of the porch ceiling. A small, black dome camera sat there, its little red light blinking steadily in the darkness.
Daniel had installed it three months ago to spy on delivery drivers, convinced people were stealing his expensive wine shipments.
He had completely forgotten that when the security company came to set up the encrypted cloud network, I was the one who filled out the paperwork.
I was the administrator. I controlled the account.
My phone trembled in my wet hand. I opened the app, pulled up the live feed from the last ten minutes, and watched the high-definition footage of my husband dragging me by my hair and throwing me into the rain.
I saved it, encrypted it, and forwarded it to a private, off-grid server Daniel didn't even know existed.
A notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was a text message from Maya Chen, my closest friend and the fiercest corporate attorney in the city.
Did he take the bait?
I stared at the locked door of the house I owned, paid for by the blood and sweat of my ancestors.
For the past month, I had deliberately left draft documents on my study desk—papers that suggested I was willingly signing over my inherited voting rights in Blackwood Manufacturing to Daniel to "ease his stress."
I typed back with numb, shaking fingers.
Yes. And he just assaulted me on camera.
May you like
Three dots appeared instantly on the screen. Maya was typing.
Then we move tonight. I’m driving to you now.
