Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Emilia
Istand in the kitchen the next morning, staring out at my pitifully small, weed-ridden courtyard, reminiscing over the garden I used to have back when my parents were alive.
They were well off; our large Victorian city centre house with two Range Rovers parked outside was proof enough. I used to spend many mornings outside with Mum, walking the length of the garden as she pointed out flowers she’d planted that week. She loved gardening.
And Eva, our cockapoo, loved testing her patience when it came to that garden.
A small smile pulls at the edges of my mouth. The memories of years ago are the only thing I have left—
A loud, brash knock rattles the front door, and I jump, dropping the glass in my hand. Water splashes as it hits the metal sink with a loud clang.
On instinct, my gut twists with panic.
But I’m being ridiculous.
Zachary will have just forgotten his keys. Or it’ll be Heidi and Sam checking on me after last night.
Maybe even Nina, here for round two. I snort a laugh.
Sighing, I leave the kitchen and head for the door. It’s my day off, so I’m still in grey joggers, and fully intend on staying in them all day. If I’m lucky, Zac won’t bother showing his face at all.
The thought of how he stormed off last night before anything was resolved tightens my chest, fierce fury burrowing beneath my ribs. I’m still scowling as I grab the handle, twist the lock, and yank the door open.
I freeze.
The scowl falls. My throat tightens, heart plunging straight to the floor. For a second, I forget to breathe.
The familiar uniform of the Enforcers is what I see first—green jumpsuits, dark polished boots, blue insignias.
There’s three of them.
The sight alone makes my stomach turn, fingers curling around the handle, trying to resist the instinct to run.
“Can we come in?” the woman in the middle asks. Her tone is clipped and official. It isn’t a question. It’s an order.
My fingers tremble as I step back and gesture to the living room. They enter without hesitating, dirty boots thudding over the carpet. The first one tramples one of my books as he turns to face me.
Don’t react, Emilia. Don’t speak unless spoken to. It’s not fucking worth it.
Behind my back, I wring my hands together, nails digging into my palms so hard it stings. When the Enforcers visit, it’s never for something good. My stomach settles into a thick knot.
“Emilia Hastings?” the woman asks.
“Y-Yes,” I manage, the word cracking.
The man to her right lifts a torn, water-stained envelope. The paper’s warped, almost falling apart, but the familiar scrawl across the middle makes my chest seize.
“Do you recognise this?”
Mine said Emilia Hastings.
This one says Zachary Hastings.
“That’s… It’s one of the envelopes from the ceremony earlier this week,” I say, swallowing hard.
“Yes.” The woman nods slowly. “Would you care to explain why one of yours was found discarded on Sneinton Dale?”
The room tightens around me, the air thinning. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Think. Think, think, think. Say something. Anything that won’t lead to me being dragged away.
“I didn’t… It wasn’t…” I stammer, voice small.
“It was Zac.” A part of me knows I should feel guilty for throwing him into the line of fire.
Maybe later I will, but right now, after last night, and after the argument we had when we first met about this exact issue, I don’t.
Not a single sympathetic muscle twitches.
“Zachary Hastings?” the woman repeats, lip twitching as though amused.
Yes. His name is on the goddamn envelope.
“Yes.”
“Your husband?”
I swallow. ‘Yes.”
“Then it is both of your responsibilities,” she snaps sharply. “How do we know you understand the law if you don’t have both envelopes? The rules? The expectations?”
Rules. Laws… The words bounce off the edges of my skull as my mind reels.
One of the men grunts. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they discarded the other envelope, too.”
Panic claws at my ribs. “No, no! I have that!” I blurt, louder than I mean to.
She cocks her head, slow and uninterested. “Show me.”
My hands are shaking so much, they’re practically useless.
I step past them, knees weak as I bend beside the armchair. Opening the small cupboard beside it, I pull out the only thing inside.
My envelope.
I unfold the marriage certificate, holding it out for them. My hand trembles.
The woman takes it from me, eyes scanning over the paper. “Well, this is good news, at least.” She looks up, assessing me the way she would if I were shit on her shoe. “At least one of you has a smart bone in your body.”
My shoulders drop a fraction at her words. I attempt a polite—but fake—smile, but it’s tight, no doubt more of a grimace.
“However.” My smile dies instantly and she gestures to the envelope still in the tall Enforcer’s gloved hand. “Without this other essential piece, you are not equipped to carry out your duties that this”—she jabs one sharp nail against the certificate—“dictates you need to.”
“What’s Homemaker Guidance, Rule fifty-five point two?” the tall one asks suddenly.
“I… Excuse me?”
“Answer him,” the woman says, tone flat with disinterest.
My throat clogs. “I… uh… I think… it’s…”
“That sounds like an admission if ever I heard one.” The woman laughs, glancing at her partners. The men chuckle and one of them tosses Zac’s envelope haphazardly onto the armchair.
“Admission of what?” I blurt, voice rising before I can stop it.
The woman steps closer. “You say Zachary is the one who discarded the envelope?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“And where is he?”
“I… Work.”
Her head tilts, slow and mocking. “Really?” She looks between her Enforcers with a smile. “Well, if you’d read what you needed to, you’d know that married couples get the same day off each week.”
She takes another step forward. The oxygen in the room disappears as she sizes me up like prey.
“And tell me, Emilia…” Her voice lowers. “Isn’t today your day off?”
The question hits like a slap.
I stare wide-eyed, thumb playing with the hem of my top as fear spreads over my entire body, cold and absolute, until it’s the only thing I can feel.
“So, where is he?” she asks.
“I… I don’t know,” I admit.
She smiles, sadistic and cruel. “Well, then”—she gestures to the man beside her—“I suppose I have no option but to take you instead.”
“What?” My voice cracks.
The word has barely left my lips before they storm towards me. Rough hands seize my arms, twisting them hard behind my back. Pain slices through my shoulders, and I gasp.
“Emilia Hastings,” the woman announces, “as members of the Enforcers and acting on behalf of our dear State, and under direct orders of Commander Elissa Germain, I sentence you to twenty-four hours in The Cell.”
I’m drowning in a sea of panic, terror, and dread, my breathing thick and fast as my knees nearly buckle.
The Cell.
Memories hit like a punch. The dark and the dripping water, the stench of mould and iron, the tight walls, the screams from down the hall. The hours dragging until I forgot what I was even there for, what I’d done—
“No!” The word rips from my throat, raw and wild.
They shove me forward, kicking the back of my knees. My legs snag on the carpet as I’m dragged towards the door.
“Please!” I twist and fight, my voice breaking. “Please, I didn’t do anything!”
They don’t listen. They never do.
I dig my heels in, but they take me anyway, my cries bouncing uselessly off the walls of mine and Zac’s home.