Chapter 2
When the car finally halts, I turn my head to the window, and through the sheet of rain and splatter, the huge lake house looms, its windows black.
Each tick of Law’s expensive watch feels louder, dragging me closer to something I can’t name but feel.
As soon as the locks snap open, I don’t wait. I shove the door wide and bolt into the storm, heels slipping on wet stone as I sprint toward the gates.
The towering metal bars are grinding shut, inch by inch, but desperation drives me faster.
“Blaire!” Law’s powerful voice barks through the night, and my body seizes on instinct, freezing mid-stride, as though my name itself has chains.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, drenched and trembling, before I finally hear the heavy gates slam closed with a finality that clatters through my bones.
Blinking through tears, I force myself to turn ,and he’s there, at the end of the car, hands buried in his pockets, gaze flat and unreadable.
Law strides toward me, each step devouring the distance until we stand face to face. Rain runs in rivulets from his dark hair, streaming down his chiseled features, his blue eyes sweeping over my soaked face.
“Come inside,” he commands, and it’s soft, yet somehow still devoid of any real emotion.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask, eyes glassy as I look for a flicker of the man I married.
But he says nothing, and the silence is an answer stronger than any response.
Something hot and furious flares inside me at the sight of him, small but there, and the anger tastes like betrayal.
My chest tightens, and my hands curl into fists at my sides.
“I can’t do this anymore, Law,” I blurt, voice frayed, but I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and tell him the things I’ve rehearsed a thousand times in the dark. “I refuse. I won’t wait for you to change. I won’t wait for you to kill me. I want a divorce.”
And I mean it. Even if it destroys me inside. Even if I’m all alone in this world. I can’t do this anymore.
He listens like a man hearing distant thunder, then slowly reaches up and lets the backs of his knuckles skim my cold cheek.
The touch is kind, perfectly timed, and it fucking ruins me.
It’s the touch from a man I love deep down, and for a beat I’m a naive child again, believing that affection proves love, not danger.
My chest loosens and a foolish, traitorous faith blooms where my fear lives.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Blaire,” he says, gentle and sincere, and all the reasons I should run gather like cold stones in my stomach.
I tell myself I’m not weak, that I won’t be fooled, but the memory of better mornings is louder than the hurt.
Suddenly, he dips, and before I can react, his wet, soft lips crash against mine, stealing the breath straight from my lungs.
The world seems to tilt, and every argument, every ounce of fury I built to protect myself, shatters in the heat of his mouth.
He hasn’t kissed me in weeks, maybe months.
Time blurred long ago, and the shock of it burns through me.
For a single heartbeat, I’m not here, I’m somewhere else.
Back when he saved me, back when his love didn’t hurt, and when his touch didn’t feel like a cement block was dragging me down to my grave.
When his lips peel away from mine, we linger close, eyes searching each other’s like we might find a reason to make this work.
Then he tilts his head toward the house.
“Let’s just talk about it,” he says quietly.
“And if we can’t work it out anymore? What if we’re too far gone?” I whisper, my eyes dropping to his lips.
“Then, I’ll let you go,” he responds immediately, and my gaze shoots up to his.
Holding steady eye contact, I take a moment to think while searching his gaze, wondering if it would be worth hearing him out.
Because this is our marriage after all.
Then, foolishly, I nod before moving past him. And as I get closer to the door, I hear him gradually trailing behind me.
◆◆◆
The foyer swallows the rain’s noise as he closes the door, and the warmth hits me, a false hug of home.
With my hand on the banister, I steal a glance to the side, and see he’s still by the door, motionless, with steady eyes fixed on me.
“I’m going to get out of these wet clothes,” I say, my voice carrying none of the tremor I feel inside. “Then we can talk.”
With that, I turn away and begin to climb the stairs, but he doesn’t follow me, he only watches my every move, letting me go.
◆◆◆
When I reach the bathroom, I let the door click shut behind me, pressing my forehead against the cool black wood.
My gaze lingers on the silver knob for a second, then I draw a deep, shuddering breath, kicking off my heels, the relief brief before I step toward the large mirror.
I stop in front of it, taking in the reflection. My eyes are dark, rimmed with smudged mascara, my black hair clings to my face in damp strands, plastered by the relentless rain.
The woman staring back looks strange—soaked, fragile, and defeated. I hold the same weight in my eyes as I did when I was a little girl.
The bathroom is quiet, but the silence isn’t respite. It’s full of all the words I’ve swallowed, and all the screams I never let escape.
Going over what I need to say to him, I know I have to make sure he knows that the way he has twisted my heart has almost drained it of all its goodness.
A goodness he helped build once upon a time.
I force the words into my mind, talking to the pieces of myself that used to fight back, that refused to bow to bullies, or to men like this. The part that remembered my father, and the way he left scars inside me I swore I’d never let happen again.
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’t seen 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 word no from 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.”
“How so?” Law asks, tone almost bored, as if he truly doesn’t care.
But this is more than I’ve gotten out of him in a long time.
“You’ve changed. I hardly recognize you anymore,” I breathe. “You bought me, offered me safety, and when I finally felt it, it seems like you want to rip it away from me all over again.”
Law leans down, hands landing on either side of the counter behind me, boxing me in, and the sudden closeness makes my body coil, muscles taut.
“I never changed,” he says, the words drenched with dark satisfaction. “You were just too stupid to see it. I’ve always been this—the one who bought you and built you, just to let you fool yourself into thinking I could be anything else.”
I shake my head, bottom lip trembling.