Chapter 1: The Leash and the Knife
The front door was slammed with so much force that it made the crystal chandelier overhead rattle, making Emilia flinch in the living room. She had woken up to Derek's absence as he had a "business meeting" with his father. The air around the house had felt lighter in his absence, almost bearable, but now it thickened again, heavy with the promise of violence.
He stormed in with his jacket already half-off as his eyes, which were usually cold and calculating, now burned with something darker and more sinister tonight, it was a sick mix of both rage and triumph.
Emilia stood up slowly, her heart-beat doubling its pace as it hammered against her ribs.
“How did the meeting go?” she managed to ask.
Derek didn’t answer immediately; rather, with three long strides, he crossed the room and stopped, so close to her that she could perceive the faint whiff of whiskey on his breath mixed with a metallic tang of anger and sweat.
“So now you think you can just ask me questions like we’re normal?” he retorted, his voice low, almost conversational, which only made it worse.
“Derek, I just...” she half replied when his right hand shot out as his fingers grabbed her jaw with bruising force. He forcefully tied her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze as pain flared along her cheekbone where his thumb had dug in.
“You don’t get to talk or even ask questions, the only thing you get to do is listen,” he snarled. “
Her breath came in shallow pumps because whenever she tried to pull away, his grip only tightened as she felt the delicate bones of her face grind together.
“I’ve had enough of your whining, and who even said you could leave? Walk out with your little divorce papers and go cry to Daddy? You forgot something, sunshine,” he spat as his voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
He leaned closer as his lips grazed her ear. He said, “You and your pathetic father are still breathing because of me and my family, The Carsons. Wallace Holdings is one bad quarter away from bankruptcy, and the only reason your father hasn’t lost the roof over his head is because of the various favors we render to him. That flimsy twenty percent of the shares? That was charity. A leash. And you’re the collar.”
Derek’s fingers flexed, making his nails bite into her skin. “So here’s the deal, wife. You will stay. You smile when I want you to smile. You shut your loud mouth when I tell you to, and you take whatever I give to you; bruises, words and nightmares you don’t want to remember, and you thank me for keeping your family's pathetic little empire on life support.”
He released her abruptly as she stumbled back, barely catching herself against the arm of the sofa, as she raised one of her hands to her throbbing jaw.
Derek smoothened his cuffs as if nothing had happened. “Try to leave again or even ask for a divorce one more time, and I’ll make sure your father watches the company burn before he joins your mother in the ground. Understood?” he said calmly.
Emilia couldn’t answer as her throat had become so tight that her pulse was roaring in her ears. He paused at the foot of the staircase, glancing back over his shoulder and gave a small, satisfied smile.
“Good girl,” he drawled as he retreated with footsteps fading up the stairs like a storm moving on leaving only wreckage behind.
Emilia slid to the floor with her back against the sofa and knees drawn to her chest. She pressed shaky fingers to the red marks blooming across her cheeks and jaw, tasting copper where her lip had split against her teeth.
She stayed there for a long time, staring into the dark window at the city lights which blurred through unshed tears.
The house had settled around her like a held breath, when she heard it. That soft scrape of metal on metal from the kitchen doorway, as Derek’s voice came next, low and almost gentle, it floated from the shadows just out of sight.
“You know what I hate most, Emilia?” he asked as he came back down the stairs and squatted before her.
“When you look at me like I’m a monster, but monsters don’t warn you first,” he drawled as the knife's blade caught the dim light from the window as he stepped fully into view, turning it casually in his hand.
He smiled, “So go ahead. Cry a little louder tonight.”
He tilted the knife toward her with its point down like an offering.
“I want to hear it when you finally beg."
