“What are you thinking about, honey?”

He returned his gaze to her, staring bleakly. “That could’ve ruined my whole damn life. It still could. One tweet about what just happened, one conversation with the head, one Facebook post, and I’m done. I’m over.”

“It sounds like you’re finally getting the point.”

He rubbed his hands up and down his face, then through his hair, and finally he sat forwards. “What do you want?”

“I’ve already got what I want. You on a hook, wriggling, trying to get free. But there’s no more free, not for you. Now be a dear and transfer me three thousand pounds.”

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter.”

She was tempted to start the entertainment early, though she’d planned to ease him into it, break him down little by little. His tone was unacceptable; his tone was – and she hated this cliché in herself, but it was no less true – her father’s voice.

“You’ve got seventy-two thousand in savings,” she went on, burying that hateful thought. “The remainder of what you inherited from your dear dead daddy; you’ve been quite a flagrant spender, sweet Scottie; cruises with Natalie, renovations for the house, play-acting the rich boy. And, of course, there’s the nasty business of your mother still being alive. Your stupid father left that swollen pig quite the sum, right?”

“Casey…”

“But it’s still a decent amount,” she cut in smoothly. “I would like three thousand. It’s not an unreasonable request.”

“No.”

Casey laughed. It started quiet, something like the laughter she’d affected when she was the make-believe Casey, the implausible wife who was always horny and always eager to clean the house and never had a word of complaint. She was a fantasy, and Scott had fallen for her; it wasn’t her fault he was so gullible. But then the laughter morphed, until she was gasping, tears rising in her eyes.

It was a release like a transformation; she was becoming a werewolf. She was growing into her real skin, not this fakeness. She wasn’t the woman who woke up early just to make her man breakfast. She wasn’t the bitch who stood there, silent, not even caring about her own kids, all to please the big bad man of the house.

It was pathetic. They were: men.

“No?” She picked up her phone. “You might want to reconsider, Scottie.”

He grinded his teeth from side to side, just one of his countless annoying habits. “Casey–”

“You’re not getting the point. You can give me all the puppy-dog eyes you want, but it won’t change anything. Send the money. Don’t make me end this before it gets good.”

“Why do you need three grand?”

“If you speak again before you’ve sent the money, I release everything I have. Dick pics and fuck vids and all the rest of it.”

More teeth grinding; more staring. He wanted to hit her, to hurt her. Which was hardly a surprise. “You’re not even my wife.”

“You’re an idiot. Don’t make me do it.”