I looked down at the man who had been my husband, his face a grotesque mask of terror and false remorse. His hands, which I had once held with such love, were now clawing at my dress, staining the fabric with his desperation. He was offering me the broken pieces of a kingdom he had stolen, as if that could ever mend the life he had tried to shatter.
"Love?" The word was a foreign object in my mouth, tasteless and cold. "You don't know the meaning of the word, Julian. You wouldn't recognize love if it was the one thing that could save you from the hell you've built for yourself."
I let the silence hang for a moment, letting the cameras drink in the spectacle of his complete and utter degradation. "You talk about the company," I continued, my voice level, cutting through his pathetic sobs.
