I can manage the concrete cell, the torture, and the humiliation, but if I’ve truly lost her, I’ve lost everything.

I’ve built an international empire of revenge. Dozens of people do my bidding. I have more money than I can spend in this life.

Take it. Take it all. Take my freedom. Imprison me like an animal. Tie my guts in knots until every cell in my body cries out in pain.

I don’t care. Do it.

If she isn’t mine, I am no more solid than this reflection. The fire is hers, and I curl upward into the air, thinning and dispersing into nothingness.

Nothing I’ve fought for will endure. It’s smoke, and this whole time, she was the fire. She didn’t blaze into the sky, she smoldered quietly underneath, and she will grow, and change, and consume whatever stands in her way.

If she isn’t mine, everything I ever did will disappear with me, and that will be fair, and just, and right. It will be my destiny to fade away.

But if she is mine?

If together we are the fire and a billowing column reaching skyward?

If she is mine and she lets me be hers, then this cell cannot hold me. The glass cannot keep us apart. The men who stand between us are as good as dead.

If I am still hers, then this separation is so temporary it doesn’t even exist.

But I need to know.

“You stand there like a prim and clean little princess. But I’ve tasted your cunt. I’ve licked the sweat off your tits. I’ve made you beg for my cock. Do you think it matters that I’m on the other side of this glass? I spent most of my life getting to you. I fought for every scrap. I lived like a dog just to have you. I don’t need to touch you to own you. Your body and soul belong to me.”

She nods slowly and looks at the floor. “That’s the law.”

“Is it the law that I belong to you? Tired body and tainted soul, all I have is yours, or is your law too small for us?”

“I didn’t come to discuss things I don’t understand.”

Quickly, she looks away, where I can’t see. There’s someone at the end of the hall. Good. They can witness me claiming this woman.

“Why did you come then?”

“I didn’t believe they really had you. I needed to see for myself.”

“Here I am. You’re not a widow yet.”

She picks her head up, jaw tight, eyes on fire. “Not yet.”

For all her expressiveness, she’s unreadable. The determination on her face may be a determination to avoid widowhood or hasten it. For a moment, I’m not sure I should test whether or not I still own her. Then the moment passes. I need to know.

“Keep your feet where they are and put your hands on the glass.”

She swallows, gaze flicking up to me then back to the floor as she unlaces her fingers. I need her to do it. I need her to be mine, even if she hates me.