Page 104 of Outcast’s Vow

“Ethan, you cheated on me.”

He scoffs.

“That? The party? You’re still hung up on that? Jesus, it was nothing.”

“You cheated,” I repeat. “That crossed a line.”

Ethan laughs as if he could brush it off.

But I remember. I remember that party. I remember how brazen he was, with her on that couch in front of all our friends. How did he not seem to care that I witnessed his transgression? He thought, because he was who he is and my father approved of him, that he could do whatever he wanted and that I would roll over like an obedient puppy.

I remember that pain I felt when I saw him there. I remember how it hardened my edges. How his crime turned me against all men. Against any promises they make.

“Do you want to hear what I came here to say?” he asks.

I sigh.

“What did you want to say, Ethan? Say it, and then I'll go.”

“You’ve made a mistake marrying this Baptiste guy. You’ve screwed up, but it’s not too late to fix it.”

“Nothing needs fixing. And what you’re saying is going too far. You know nothing about Baptiste. Now, can I go?”

I gather my things into a pile, but Ethan doesn’t budge from the doorway. He glares at me with his brown, angry eyes.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you had gone and got married. I had to see for myself. Who would’ve guessed it? You? The girl who always boasted about how independent she is? Wow.”

“I want to leave now.”

But Ethan continues his quiet, rage-fueled rant, still refusing to step away from my only escape route.

“You’re just afraid because I’m speaking the truth, Sylvie. You’ve traded in your charity idealism for what you always feared to be. A trophy wife to a rich man. Ha. I can’t even begin to imagine what your father truly thinks about you marrying some poor peasant who got lucky.”

“That’s enough…”

“This new man must be like a pig in shit, landing a prize like you. You always bitched and moaned and complained about your right to freedom and your control. So what about this man? Huh? What about him? What does he have that I don’t?”

I stand up. I grab my things.

“Baptiste is not like that,” I retort. “He’s not like you.”

I feel like nothing more than a little girl defending herself. I’m shaking. I can feel tears welling up, but I clench my fists in defiance of my emotions. I need to be strong. I need to walk out of here uncowed.

But Ethan continues, his voice rising with each word.

And I feel like I’m being cornered.

“Do you seriously think this guy will let you run off and spend your days pretending to save the world with your cute little college degree? Because behind it all, whatever studies you do, you are still the spoiled rich brat playing out her charity fantasies.”

He’s breaking me. With every word. He understands perfectly how to dig in deep. How to crawl under my skin. To reveal me as nothing more than a little girl, stripped of my icy elegance and dignity I’ve had to build over the years.

It costs me everything to even stand straight.

“That’s it. Go away, Ethan.”

“Take me back, Sylvie. See? I’m the man who understands you. I’m the man you’re supposed to marry. You’re preordained to marry a man like me. Forget about that poor boy. I’m the one who should have you as his prize. I’ve worked hard enough.”

He takes a forbidden step toward me. I grip my textbook tight. I really could throw it.