You clumsy little fool. Marcus hissed, his fingers digging into her upper arm
with enough force to make her gasp. Do you have any idea how much that bottle
cost? Around them, the charity gala continued without pause.
Orchestra music swelled through the ballroom of the Belmont Hotel, and women in designer gowns laughed with men in
tailored suits, their conversations flowing like the expensive wine being served on silver trays.
No one looked their way. No one ever did. “I’m sorry,” Cassandra whispered,
her voice barely audible over the music. “Someone bumped into me. I didn’t mean to. You never mean to.” Marcus’ voice
was low, controlled, the kind of quiet fury that terrified her more than shouting ever could. His hand moved to
her elbow, guiding her through the crowd with the practiced ease of a devoted husband.
To anyone watching, they looked like any other couple stepping away for a private moment. We’re leaving now. Cassandra’s
heels clicked against the floor as he steered her toward the coat check, her mind racing through calculations she’d
made a thousand times before. It was only 9:30. If they left now, he’d have
the entire drive home to berate her. Then the house, the bedroom. She thought
of the bruises already hidden beneath her long sleeves. The ones on her ribs that made it hard to breathe when she
laughed, though she rarely laughed anymore. Marcus, please, we don’t have to go.
I’ll get them to clean it up. I’ll pay for the bottle myself. His grip tightened and she stopped talking. That
was the rule. When his hand squeezed like that, she stopped talking.
They were passing the grand staircase when a voice cut through the music, smooth and dark as aged whiskey. Leaving
so soon? And here I thought the evening was just getting interesting. Cassandra
looked up to find a man descending the stairs with the unhurried confidence of someone who owned not just the room, but
everything and everyone in it. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black suit that probably cost more than
her car. His dark hair was pushed back from a face that might have been handsome if not for the sharp angles of
his jaw. The cold assessment in his gray eyes, the thin scar that cut through his
left eyebrow. She knew who he was. Everyone in the city knew Nikolai Vulov,
even if they pretended not to. Especially if they pretended not to.
Marcus’ hand relaxed slightly on her arm. Mr. Volkoff. I didn’t realize you’d
be attending tonight. Last minute decision. Nikolai’s eyes moved from
Marcus to Cassandra, then down to where Marcus’ hand gripped her arm. His expression didn’t change, but something
flickered in those gray eyes. “Your wife looks like she could use another drink to replace the one she lost.” “We were
actually just leaving,” Marcus said, his salesman’s smile firmly in place. “Early
morning tomorrow, you understand?” I don’t actually. Nikolai reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped
directly in their path. It’s Saturday night. What kind of early morning commitment could be more important than
supporting the Children’s Hospital Foundation? He looked at Cassandra again. What do you think, Mrs. Brennan?
Should you stay? The question caught her off guard. No one ever asked what she
thought. Certainly not in front of Marcus. I She started, but Marcus cut her off. My wife
agrees with me, don’t you, darling? The endearment came out sharp as a knife.
Cassandra nodded, dropping her gaze to the floor. How convenient, Nikolai murmured. A marriage of such perfect
agreement. He stepped aside, gesturing toward the exit. Don’t let me keep you.
They were almost to the door when Cassandra’s heel caught on the carpet. She stumbled and Marcus yanked her
upright with enough force that she cried out. a small sound of pain she couldn’t quite suppress. When she looked back,
Nikolai Vulkoff was still watching them, his expression unreadable. Then a woman in red appeared at his elbow, whispering
something in his ear, and he turned away. The drive home was exactly as bad as Cassandra had feared.
Marcus drove in silence for the first 10 minutes, which was somehow worse than the yelling. She sat pressed against the
passenger door, watching the city lights blur past, trying to make herself smaller. “Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”
he finally asked, his voice conversational. “Is that what this is?” “Some kind of passive aggressive
rebellion.” “No, Marcus, I told you someone bumped into me. There’s always an excuse with you. Always a reason why
you can’t do the simplest things right.” He took a turn too fast, and she braced
herself against the dashboard. My colleagues were there tonight, important people, and you made me look
like a fool. I’m sorry. You’re always sorry. His hand shot out and grabbed her
knee, squeezing hard enough to make her flinch. Maybe if you tried being less
sorry and more competent, we wouldn’t have these problems. She bit her lip
hard enough to taste blood and said nothing. That was safest.
Say nothing. wait for it to pass. Survive until morning.
When they got home, he went straight to his study with a bottle of scotch. Cassandra stood in the kitchen, still in
her champagne soaked dress, and felt something crack inside her chest. Not break exactly. She’d thought she was
already broken. But this was different. This was the moment when she realized that if she didn’t leave, she would die
here. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually,
one way or another, she made it to the guest bathroom before she started crying. Silent sobs that shook her whole
body as she gripped the edge of the sink. In the mirror, her makeup was smudged, her carefully styled hair
coming loose from its pins. She looked like a stranger. She looked like a ghost. The bruises on her arm were
already darkening where Marcus had grabbed her. Monday morning came with gray skies and the kind of cold that
seeped into your bones. Cassandra sat in her car outside the medical plaza for 15 minutes before she
finally worked up the courage to go inside. The receptionist at Morrison Orthopedics looked up with a
professional smile. Do you have an appointment? No, I Cassandra clutched
her purse tighter. I fell down the stairs yesterday. My wrist really hurts
and I thought I should have someone look at it. Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. Let me see if we can squeeze you in. The
receptionist’s fingers flew over her keyboard. We actually have an opening right now if
you don’t mind waiting just a few minutes. Dr. Morrison just finished with his previous patient. That would be
wonderful. Thank you. The waiting room was quiet, decorated in soothing blues
and grays. Cassandra filled out the new patient forms with her left hand since her right wrist was too swollen to hold
