Chapter 3 3

Thunder rattled the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city outside was a blur of grey rain and smeared neon.

The front door opened. William was early.

He brought the smell of rain and stale whiskey with him. He kicked off his shoes, his movements loose, uncoordinated. He saw Mia sitting in the armchair, the blue folder on the coffee table between them.

"Waiting up for me?" He slurred slightly, walking to the bar cart. "How devoted."

"Sign this," Mia said.

William paused, decanter in hand. He looked at the folder, then at her. He smirked. "What now? A request for a vacation home? A pony for the twins?"

He walked over, picked up the folder, and flipped it open.

His eyes scanned the first page. The smirk vanished. His face went slack, then hardened into a mask of fury.

"Divorce?" He looked at her, his eyes dark and dangerous. "Is this a joke?"

"I'm serious, William." Mia stood her ground, though her knees were shaking. "No alimony. No fight for the shares. Just the children and my freedom."

"No money?" He threw the folder onto the table. It slid across the surface and fell to the floor. "You think you can play hard to get? You think threatening to leave will make me up the offer?"

He stepped closer. He towered over her, sucking the air out of the room.

"I don't want your money," Mia said quietly. "I want out."

"You don't get to walk away!" William roared. He grabbed her upper arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You trapped me! You used those kids to get into this family, and now you think you can just take them and leave?"

"I am taking them because you are unfit to be a father!"

The air in the room seemed to snap.

William's eyes went black. "Unfit?"

He yanked her toward him. The smell of alcohol was overpowering. "I'll show you who's in control here."

He crushed his mouth against hers. It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. A punishment. His teeth scraped against her lip, harsh and demanding.

Mia struggled, pushing against his chest. "William, stop!"

He didn't stop. He backed her into the sofa, his weight pinning her down. The lamp on the side table crashed to the floor, plunging them into semi-darkness.

"You're my wife," he growled against her neck, his hand tearing at the collar of her blouse. Buttons popped, scattering onto the floor like hail. "Fulfill your duty."

Mia froze.

The sheer degradation of it washed over her like ice water. He wasn't making love to her. He was marking his territory. He was hating her with his body.

But as his hand gripped her shoulder, he looked down. He saw the utter lack of resistance. He saw her eyes-wide, vacant, staring past him at the ceiling as if she were already gone.

His movement faltered. The drunken rage that had been driving him suddenly hit a wall of cold reality.

She stopped fighting. Her arms fell to her sides. She turned her head to the side, staring at the rain lashing against the glass. She went somewhere else. Somewhere far away where she couldn't feel his hands, couldn't smell the whiskey, couldn't feel her heart breaking into a million irreparable pieces.