Then why the hell did my entire core feel like it was being torn in two? It made no sense. Slavik could go and do whatever the hell he wanted. I didn’t care.

The bedroom door was pushed open, and the force had me falling forward. I caught myself before I face-planted the floor.

Slavik entered. “What the fuck is going on here?”

I’d started to notice his accent appeared more pronounced when he was angry.

“Nothing.” I got to my feet and kept my back to him.

I didn’t want him to see me like this. I had to get myself under control.

When he grabbed my arm, I yelled and told him to leave me alone, spinning around to confront him. I wanted to hit him again, but the last time I did, there was a real threat there. This man killed people with his bare hands. I wasn’t a match for him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked.

My hands clenched into fists. Had he been with a woman today? Had he fucked her? Had he enjoyed his time with her?

“I don’t have a problem. Just don’t touch me,” I said.

He glared and advanced toward me. I stepped back. I kept on doing this until the edge of the bed met my back and I stumbled, falling. I tried to get up, but Slavik grabbed my arms, pinning me down. “You are my wife. I will touch you if I damn well please!”

I screamed and tried to pull away.

Anger tore out of my throat, but I was no match for him. It would seem I’d never be a match for him as he held me down on the bed.

“Let me go. Get your hands off me.”

“Damn it, Aurora. Stop.”

“I don’t want you touching me with hands that have been on your whore!” I yelled each word, hoping he’d get the hint and leave me the fuck alone. I didn’t even know why I was so angry. It wasn’t like we had a normal marriage. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t like the rumors I’d heard. When I’d been given to him, I’d heard what my father had said. He hadn’t wanted to give Isabella, his precious daughter, to this man, but me, he was more than happy to. All it did was drive in deep the hurt of not being enough. I never was.

Now I wasn’t even good enough to use for sex.

I felt so … humiliated. I wasn’t good enough at anything for anyone.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.

I cried out as he gripped me a little tighter than what I was used to. His touch had me pausing, trying to capture my breath. None of this made any sense to me. Not my anger or the sense of betrayal.

Mistresses were common in our world. I knew for a fact my father had several. My mother never made a scene.