Her eyes widen and her already pale skin goes even paler. Hmm, intriguing.

“This is my stuff, y-y-you c-can’t just go prancing through it whenever you like,” she stutters.

I raise my eyebrow; she has always been soft-spoken, but I have never heard her stutter. “Can’t I? You are my wife after all.”

“This is my private space. I don’t go sifting through your office.”

“I should hope not. If I ever hear of you doing so I will not be happy.” I glower down at her.

“I have a right to privacy too you know. And if—”

I cut her off. “You lost your right to privacy when you sold yourself into this marriage,” I say in a dark voice.

Brooke takes a step back, as if I have shocked her with what I said. And is that a glimpse of hurt? We stare in silence for a breath. Two. The words that come out of her shock me more than they should have.

“If we’re both so unhappy in this marriage then it’s time we divorce.”

I step closer to her and she shrinks back. I never noticed how much I tower her before. She hunches her shoulders, making herself as small as possible but she never losses eye contact.

“What did you just say?”

She raises her head higher and in a clear voice repeats, “I want a divorce.”

Brooke

London’s grey eyes become stormy as he lords his body over me. I try my best not to cower. London’s never hit me before, but I do not know him well enough to know that he would not resort to violence. I refuse to break eye contact no matter how intense it becomes. His voice is low and menacing.

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Brooke Campbell.” He spits my name out. “You sold yourself into this marriage. You propositioned me. I will decide when and where you can have privacy.”

He takes another step forward, and my back presses against the bookshelf. He reaches his arm up, and to my regret, I flinch. He rests his arm on the shelf by me ear trapping me. Suffocating me. I cannot breathe, and then his voice rumbles low and thick with his Irish accent.

“Do not ever ask me for a divorce again. Am I understood?”

I give a slight nod frozen against the bookshelf. With one last look, he turns to leave. When the door slams close, I sink to the floor. Silent tears pour down my face. I wish my throat were not swollen. Then maybe I would have told him not to confuse me with my father.

After sitting on the floor for about a half-hour, I decide I am not going to be able to get any work done today. Using the shelf, I heave myself up only to collapse to the ground in pain. My stomach feels like it is on fire, and I shudder in an agonizing breath. Curling into a ball, I focus on moving air in and out. A mantra I have perfected over the years, of bruised ribs and tender muscles. But as my world slowly turned black, I thought, This is it. I am going to die.