Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“The indiscretions aren’t comparable.”
“I’m not going to let you go, so you may as well try—”
“Why do you want a woman so badly who doesn’t want you?” I snapped. “Look at you. You can get any woman you want with a face like that. Your bed could have a different woman every night. You can live the ultimate bachelor life. Why the fuck do you even want me, Bolton?”
“Because I don’t want anyone else but you. I see that now so fucking clearly. Just give me another chance, and you’ll see that. I will be the best husband there ever was. You just need to let the past go.”
“I can’t keep having this conversation. It’s giving me a fucking migraine.” I grabbed my glass and took another drink, downing all of it before I snagged the bottle to refill it.
He pulled it out of my hand. “No more, Astrid.”
“I won’t be able to tolerate you without it.”
He kept the bottle out of reach as he sank into the chair. He stared at me during a bout of silence, a depression in his eyes like a stormy sea. Seconds turned into minutes, and he still didn’t speak.
I waited, eyes tired from the wine and the bullshit.
“You’re going to try, Astrid.”
“Bolton—”
“I’m speaking.” That tone had returned, the malevolent one he’d used before. “You’re going to try. And if you don’t…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication in his words was red ink on a white page.
Disassociating from reality and hiding in a corner of my mind had gotten me through the last two weeks. But now he took away my refuge, stripped away everything in the room until it was empty. I had nowhere to run. No table to crawl under.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
It was a hard week.
Disassociation had many different compartments. I had no idea the mind had so many different floors and endless hallways. My mind seemed to be separated into two distinct halves. There was the version of me at the gallery or home alone, back to my wine and my regrets. And there was the version of me in his company, the one that engaged like I cared, that asked questions without listening to the answers.
Bolton made good on this threat. When he felt like I was being disingenuous, he would twist my arm until it was about to snap, or he would grip me by the throat. He demanded sex from me, and when I resisted, I was forced.
It only happened the one time, and instead of going through that subjugation again, I chose to accept it rather than face those consequences. I’d already had sex with him, so what did it matter? At least, that was what I told myself.
I clipped my diamond earrings into my lobes, looking at myself in the vanity, a woman I didn’t recognize anymore.
“Ready, baby?” Bolton called to me from downstairs.
My hair was pulled back in a low updo, showing off the diamonds Bolton had given me. I left the vanity, slipped on my heels, and then walked downstairs.
Bolton was waiting for me, dressed in all black, texting on his phone.
I grabbed my coat from the rack.
He slid his phone into his pocket and helped me get my jacket on. “You look beautiful.”
I smiled, the most painful smile I’d ever worn. “Thanks.”
He smiled back, fooled by my lie. “Let’s go.”
We drove across town to the Brotherhood, the place he’d taken me to before. It looked like a bar to most people, but downstairs, it had a whole section off-limits to the public, where people paid for their nice homes and fancy cars with blood. It was blocked by a metal door and armed bouncers.
When Bolton appeared, they immediately let us pass without question.
We entered the underground bar, loud music playing over the speakers with topless women serving drinks. I never used to care about the time Bolton spent down here, but now I wondered how many of these women he’d fucked.
I swallowed the resentment.
It was a birthday party for one of the guys, someone I’d met but hardly knew. Bolton didn’t bring me to a ton of his work events, but now, he kept me close, treating me like a trophy for the first time in our relationship.
We took a seat at one of the round tables, and he ordered us each a glass of wine. His arm was over the back of my chair, publicly claiming me in a way he never had before. The only time I’d seen him do it was in front of Theo. Now, he seemed proud to call me his. Seemed to be in love the way I had been in love with him before he lit our marriage on fire. It was fucking delusional.
But I let it happen.
Bolton continued to drink with his friends, and the room got rowdy with laughter and jokes. He’d had many glasses of wine and moved on to the harder stuff, and soon, the music from the speakers was drowned out by the sounds of the guys having the night of their lives.