Chapter 4 4

Emma's gaze lingered on the pink shortbread. The floral scent hit her nose, sending a violent surge of bile up her throat.

The entire dining room held its breath.

Emma didn't scream. She didn't cry. She picked up the porcelain plate, her fingers gripping the edge so tightly the ceramic threatened to cut into her skin.

She walked around the table, step by measured step, until she stood directly in front of Ashlea.

"Emma, what are you doing?" Darius barked, pushing his chair back. "Don't start acting crazy."

Ashlea shrank back, her eyes darting between the plate and Emma's face. She looked like she was enjoying the tension, but a flicker of fear crossed her features.

"You made this for me?" Emma asked softly, her voice eerily calm. "Eat it."

She thrust the plate forward, shoving it directly into Ashlea's face.

Ashlea gasped, stumbling backward. "Emma! I... I don't like sweets."

"Liar," Emma said, her voice dropping an octave. "Your favorite is jasmine cake, not rose. You knew exactly what you were doing."

Ashlea looked pleadingly at Darius. "Brother..."

Emma turned away. She didn't hesitate. She walked to the trash can by the kitchen island and scraped the shortbread into the bin. She tossed the plate into the sink, where it shattered with a satisfying crash. She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, scrubbing them raw.

"You bitch!" Darius roared. He stormed over to her, grabbing her upper arm in a vice grip, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Let go of me," Emma warned, her eyes flashing.

"Ah!" Ashlea screamed from behind them.

Emma turned to see Ashlea sprawling on the hardwood floor. She had "tripped" over the leg of a chair, sending a side table crashing down with her.

"My ankle!" Ashlea sobbed, clutching her leg.

Darius released Emma and rushed to Ashlea, cradling her head. He looked up at his wife, his face purple with rage.

He stood up, his chest heaving. He raised his hand high in the air.

Crack.

The slap caught Emma across the left cheek. The force snapped her head to the side. A burning sting bloomed across her skin, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her ears rang.

She slowly turned her head back to face him.

Darius looked shocked by his own action, but he quickly masked it with rage. "You made me do this! Look what you turned this house into!"

Emma let out a breath. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, hollow and broken.

Darius reached out to grab her again, trying to assert dominance, trying to push her into submission.

But Emma was done submitting.

As his hand closed in on her shoulder, a cold shock of fear washed over her, freezing the blood in her veins for a fraction of a second. The memory of his past intimidations threatened to paralyze her. But hot on its heels came a surge of long-repressed, blistering rage. She was done cowering. Years of pilates and self-defense classes kicked in, transforming her terror into kinetic energy. Her body acted purely on survival instinct.

She stepped to the side, blocking his arm. She grabbed his wrist, pivoting her hips, and using his own forward momentum against him.

She pulled him over her hip and slammed him onto the floor.

Thud.

Darius hit the rug hard, the breath rushing out of his lungs. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, completely stunned.

Ashlea stopped crying, her mouth hanging open.

Sophie stood on the stairs, her eyes wide with shock.

Emma straightened up. She smoothed down her blouse and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked down at her husband, who was gasping like a fish out of water.

"We are getting a divorce, Darius Hardy," Emma said. Her voice didn't waver.

She looked over at Sophie. The child looked terrified.

"You can stay with him," Emma said coldly.

She turned on her heel and walked out the front door, leaving the silence behind her.