I hadn’t gone into my marriage impetuously, despite the fact that we’d gotten engaged within minutes of being formally introduced. We’d talked it over first, weighed the implications of the union that our fathers were trying to force us into. Stefan swore that if we got married, we’d make our own lives and our own choices, independent of our controlling fathers’ wishes. We’d forge our own paths. We’d live forourselves. We’d both get what we wanted. But now here we were, completely at the mercy of the decisions and actions—or inactions—of our fathers. And Stefan had known all along. From day one, my husband had lied to me. Played me.
Not only that, but now that I knew he’d purposely omitted the truth about the back-room dealings that his family’s agency engaged in, it had completely shattered my trust in him.
I wasn’t going to let this stand.
As we stepped into the foyer of the condo, I cleared my throat and leaned against the doorway, blocking Stefan’s route into the living room.
“I’ve made some decisions,” I told him.
He nodded, his mouth set in a firm line. “Let’s hear them, then.”
“There are things I can’t control or change about my situation, and I recognize that,” I began. “We’re married, at least for the next few years, as we discussed, and I’m dependent on you financially, in many ways. My tuition at UChicago, this condo, transportation, Gretna—”
My reference to our personal chef got a smile out of him, and I was glad. Let him think he was winning. Let him think I liked having my meals prepared for me more than I liked protecting women from human trafficking. Let him believe I was just a spoiled, selfish princess with no cares beyond my own comfort and well-being.
“—but while it’s one thing to accept my role, you can’t force me to embrace it,” I finished.
Stefan’s expression reverted to its scowl. “I don’t expect you to. Just play the part.”
“Oh, I fully intend to,” I said, my voice low and as cold as I could make it. With that, I twisted off the huge diamond ring on my finger, and the pavé gold band that matched, and placed them both on the entryway table. “When I leave this house, I’ll put them on,” I said, gesturing to my wedding rings. “But when I’m here, at home, I’m not your slave.”
“Is that what you think?” he growled, reaching to pull my body hard against him.
Our eyes locked, and I desperately fought against the desire spiking through my veins.
“It is,” I said, twisting out of his grasp and storming down the hallway.
Just because we were married, and would remain so, it didn’t mean I had to sleep in the same room as a monster. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t answer as I marched into the master bedroom. Stefan’s bedroom. Because from now on it would be his, and his alone.
He stood silently in the doorway, watching me as I started angrily pulling clothes out of the closet and piling them in my arms. When I turned toward him, he didn’t move.
“Why don’t you put those down,” he said, his voice deceptively reasonable.
“No,” I said, shocked to hear the word fly out of my mouth so fast. I was defying him.
“No?” he repeated, and all the gentleness was gone.
I clutched the clothes I was holding more tightly, not sure what he would do. Would he pull the pile out of my hands, force me to hang everything back up? Would he tell me I had to stay in his room, continue sleeping beside him?
Even though I felt a tremor of fear, I held my ground. I wasn’t going to back down. After everything that had happened, I needed a victory—I needed to feel like I had some control, no matter how small.
I braced myself for him to start yelling, or for him to grab my arm and try to force me and my clothes back into the master closet. But instead of just standing there waiting, I set my jaw, lifted my chin, and walked past him into the hallway.
He said nothing, following me as I went down the hall and deposited the clothes in the guest room. It was half the size of the master, with a tiny closet, but I didn’t care. I was going to have my own space, whether he liked it or not.
Back in the master bedroom, I gathered more of my things. Toiletries, underwear, my comfy T-shirts and leggings that I liked to wear to school so I could fit in with all the other co-eds. That load, too, got deposited on the bed in the guest room, along with my laptop.
“Stop,” he finally said, blocking me in the hallway.
I looked up, almost daring him to touch me, directing all my fury toward him with my gaze. “Don’t treat me like I’m a prisoner here,” I said, even though it felt dangerous.
I was surprised when he backed down, stepping aside to let me pass.
“Fine,” he said from behind me. “You obviously need some time to come to terms with our arrangement. I understand that.”
