Crossing Lines
1292 Words
Lyke's POV
I was quiet for a long moment, my eyes on the chopping board. "Because you've been through hell. Because everyone in your life has used you or lied to you or tried to destroy you. Because—" I glanced at her. "Because I want you to remember what it feels like to be treated well."
I watched her shift on the seat from a corner of my eyes. "That's not part of our contract." she said
"No. It's not."
"Then why..."
"Because I want to." My voice was firm. "Is that allowed? Can I just want to do something nice for you without it being part of the transaction?"
Now it was her turn to stay silent.
"Make yourself comfortable," I said after a while, gesturing to the living room. "I need to grab a few things from the store. Won't be more than twenty minutes."
She looked around the penthouse, her fingers trailing along the back of the couch. In that red dress, she looked like she belonged here. Like she'd always been here.
Such dangerous thought.
"You're leaving me alone?" She turned, one eyebrow raised. "What if I snoop through your things?"
"Then you'd be disappointed. I keep all the interesting stuff locked up." I grabbed my keys. "There's wine in the kitchen if you want. I'll be right back."
"No way," she said as she walked to the car.
The grocery store was three blocks away. I moved quickly through the aisles, salmon fillets, soy sauce, fresh ginger, sesame oil, green onions. My grandmother's recipe. The one thing I knew I could make perfectly.
Because tonight needed to be perfect.
I told myself it was about maintaining the illusion. About making our marriage look real. About protecting both our interests.
But the truth was simpler and more complicated. A part of me wanted to impress her.
I paid and headed back to the car, my mind already on the cooking process, on timing everything perfectly—
"Hey, sweetheart."
I looked up and saw two men blocked my path to the car. The first was tall, covered in tattoos, with the kind of build that said he spent more time in the gym than was healthy. The second was shorter with eyes that darted around nervously.
Through my car window, I could see Ethel in the passenger seat.
And the tall one had his hand on her door handle.
"Nice car," Tattoo Guy said, grinning. "Nice woman, too. She your girlfriend?"
I set the grocery bag down carefully. "My wife. And you need to step away from my car."
"Your wife?" The shorter one laughed. "Damn, man. How'd you land someone like that?"
Tattoo Guy pulled Ethel's door open.
Everything in me went cold.
"Hey!" She shouted. "Get away from me!"
I was moving before conscious thought kicked in. I dropped the groceries and crossed the distance in three strides.
Tattoo Guy had his hand on Ethel's arm, trying to pull her out of the car. She was fighting—one hand braced against the doorframe, the other pushing at his chest.
"Let go of her." My voice came out deadly quiet.
He looked up, still grinning. "Or what? You gonna call the cops? We're just being friendly..."
I grabbed his wrist and twisted hard. The kind of move you learn in self-defense classes.
He yelped, releasing Ethel immediately.
"Back off," I said, not letting go. "Now."
"Jesus, man..." He tried to pull away but I tightened my grip.
"You don't touch her. You don't talk to her. You don't even get to look at her." I leaned in closer. "Understand?"
The shorter one stepped forward. "Hey, we don't want trouble—"
"Then leave."
I released Tattoo Guy's wrist. He stumbled back, cradling his arm.
"Crazy bastard," he muttered, but he was already backing away. "Come on, let's get out of here."
They disappeared into the parking lot.
I turned to Ethel. She was still in the car, her hands were shaking, and her eyes were still wide.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice gentler now. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. I'm—" Her voice cracked. "I'm fine."
She wasn't fine. I could see it in the way her hands trembled, the way her breath came too fast.
I grabbed the groceries and got in the driver's side, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot without another word.
She sat still in her seat, staring straight ahead.
"Thank you," she finally said. "For...for that."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do. You didn't have to..."
"Yes, I did." I kept my eyes on the road, my hands tight on the steering wheel. "You're my wife. Contract or not, that means something."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Does it?"
I glanced at her. "What?"
"I mean, does it mean something?" Her voice was soft. "This marriage. Does it mean something to you, or am I just another pawn in your..." She stopped. "Never mind."
"Ethel—"
"Just drive. Please."
Back at the penthouse, Ethel went straight to the bathroom. I heard water running and it stayed running for a long time.
I unpacked the groceries and started prepping. I needed something to take my mind off thinking about how Ethel had looked in that car.
How much I'd wanted to hurt those men for touching her.
When she finally emerged, she'd taken off the heels. Her makeup was smudged, like she'd been crying.
"Sorry," she said, not meeting my eyes. "I just needed a minute."
"Don't apologize." I poured her a glass of wine. "Here. This will help."
She took it, sank onto a barstool at the kitchen island and watched me work in silence.
The salmon was already marinating.
"You really do cook," she said, sounding surprised.
"I really do." I stirred the glaze. "When you live alone, you learn, unless you want to starve to death."
"I lived on takeout and soda for months after..." She stopped. "After I left Morris."
It was the first time she'd mentioned him voluntarily. "Was it hard? I mean leaving?"
"Yes and no." She took a sip of wine. "It was hard because I'd built a life around him but once I knew the truth, staying was impossible."
"What truth?"
She was quiet for so long I thought she wouldn't answer. "That I was replaceable and I mean literally. That he'd been planning to swap me out like...like I was a car he was tired of driving."
Anger flared in my chest. "He was a bastard."
I turned off the heat to face her fully. "When I asked you to marry me, it was for the inheritance. But..."
Thunder cracked outside, so loud it rattled the windows.
We both jumped.
Rain followed immediately, the kind that comes out of nowhere and doesn't stop.
"Jesus," Ethel breathed, moving to the window. "Where did that come from?"
I checked my phone, Weather app showed clear skies. "No idea. Forecast didn't say anything about rain."
Another crack of thunder and the lights flashed
Ethel tensed. "I should go home."
"In this?" I gestured to the window, where rain was coming down so hard we couldn't see the building across the street.
"You won't make it to the car without getting soaked."
"I can't stay here."
"Why not? We're married. It's not—"
"That's exactly why." She set down her wine glass, her hands shaking again. "Lyke, I can't... we can't..." She took a deep breath. "I need boundaries. This...tonight...the dress, the dinner, pretending this is real, it's too much."
I moved closer, close enough that she had to look up to meet my eyes.
"What if I don't want to pretend?"
"What?"
- Writer
