Chapter 4

Azalea Vitiello POV

I lifted the heavy vase, my knuckles white.

My reflection caught in the shattered mirror-hair wild, eyes manic, chest heaving. I didn't recognize myself. I looked like a woman possessed.

The bedroom door crashed open.

"What the hell is going on?"

Caleb stood in the doorway, framing the chaos. He took in the scene instantly: me, holding a weapon; Kimberly, cowering on the bed, bleeding, wearing my robe.

He did not ask if I was okay. He did not ask why I was there.

He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed my wrist. His grip was bruising. He wrenched the vase from my hand and shoved me backward. I stumbled, hitting my hip hard against the dresser.

"Are you insane?" he shouted, his voice cracking like a whip.

He turned to Kimberly. He touched her face gently, examining the cut on her lip. "Are you hurt?"

"She's crazy, Caleb!" Kimberly sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "She broke in! She attacked me! I was just getting dressed!"

I stood there, frozen, watching my husband comfort his mistress in our bedroom.

"She broke my mother's rosary," I said. My voice sounded small, pathetic even to my own ears.

Caleb looked at the scattered beads on the vanity. He looked back at me with pure disgust.

"It is jewelry, Azalea. We can buy another one."

I felt the air leave the room. It is jewelry. He knew exactly what those beads meant. He had held my hand while I prayed with them at her grave.

"It is not just jewelry," I whispered.

He turned fully toward me, shielding Kimberly with his body. "Look at yourself. You are violent. You are unstable. Kimberly was right. You need help."

Kimberly peeked out from behind his arm. The tears had vanished. She was smirking-a tiny, victorious curl of her lips that only I could see.

He chose her. In front of me, in the wreckage of our marriage, he chose the woman who mocked my dead mother.

"You told her I was damaged goods," I said. The words tasted like ash.

Caleb stiffened.

"Kimberly told me," I continued, my voice rising. "You told her about the assault. You used my trauma to entertain your whore."

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It came up in conversation, Azalea. You are making a big deal out of nothing. Everyone has baggage."

Baggage. My rape was baggage to him. My pain was nothing more than conversation filler.

I looked down at my arm. Kimberly's nails had left deep red welts. I felt a strange calm wash over me. The sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. If he wanted a monster, I would give him a dragon.

I reached up and deliberately scratched my own arm, right over the marks she left, digging in until I drew fresh blood. The pain was sharp and clarifying.

Caleb watched, horrified. "What are you doing?"

I stepped forward. The fear was gone. The man I loved was dead. Standing before me was just a stranger in an expensive suit.

I walked right up to Kimberly. Caleb tried to block me, but I moved fast. I reached out and raked my nails down her cheek, mirroring the mark she left on me.

She screamed.

Caleb grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the wall.

"Enough!" he roared.

I looked into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide. He was furious. But for the first time, I saw something else there too. Fear. He didn't know this Azalea.

"You think I am unwell?" I laughed. It was a jagged, ugly sound that bounced off the walls. "You have no idea, Caleb. You want to see crazy? I will show you crazy."

I leaned in close.

"I will burn this building down with you inside it," I promised.

He let go of me as if I burned him. I slid down the wall, still laughing, while Kimberly sobbed about her face.

"You are a monster," Caleb whispered.

I looked up at him, wiping the blood from my arm.

"I learned from the best, husband."