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“Catherine, look at me—”
“I don’t need your judgments right now.”
“I’m not judging you for being in this situation. You think you’re the first woman who’s stuck with a man who wasn’t taught how to control his emotions? Who wasn’t taught how to be a man? You aren’t. But I do judge you for not loving yourself enough to realize you deserve more. You deserve a man who defends you from assholes like this.” Like my man…who’d killed the men who ruined my life.
“I’m already married—”
“Half of marriages end in divorce.”
“Well, you know we don’t believe in divorce—”
“Notwe. Don’t include me in that. I believe a woman should be free of violence and disrespect, and if that means getting a divorce, so be it. Don’t allow Father’s religious bullshit to trap you. He says he’s a man of faith, but he’s putting drugs on the street and killing anyone who opposes him. He’s a goddamn hypocrite—so there’s no reason you can’t be free.”
“It’s complicated…”
“Complicated how?”
“If I divorce Lucas, Father will be so ashamed of me he’ll take all of this away.” She gestured to the home she occupied, the multimillion-euro palace that people envied. “What will I do then?”
“Get a job. Support yourself. Just like everyone else, Catherine.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Judging her wouldn’t improve her situation.
“I don’t want to be poor.”
“I’m poor, and I’m perfectly fine. I have a little apartment in Paris, live paycheck to paycheck, and it’s okay. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Then you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be rich.”
“And you have no idea how liberating it is to be your own person, to have the independence that makes you free of other people’s subjugation. Father has no power over me because I don’t need his money. You know how satisfying that is?”
She adjusted her cast, picking at a piece of thread that had come loose.
“And you don’t have to be poor, Catherine. Start a business. Hustle. Grow your wealth. You’re so young that you can start over and chase your dreams. You love fashion—and you’re so close to the capital of the fashion world.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Catherine, think about it like this.” I waited for her to look at me before I continued. “If you don’t do something different, then nothing will be different. Everything is guaranteed to stay the same. This cast will be replaced by a new one. Future bruises will replace the ones you wear now. And one day…he might kill you. That’s your future, Catherine. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. But if you leave and start over, it will be different. It might be better. It might be worse. But at least it’ll be different. You can always come and live with me in Paris—”
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Lucas appeared, shirtless and in just his sweatpants, a gauze still wrapped around his torso from where Bartholomew had stabbed him. He was bulky, muscle on muscle.
But I wasn’t the least bit scared.
“Get away from my wife.”
Catherine immediately cowered, looking away from me as if dismissing me, trying to be as small as possible so she could disappear.
Not me. I got big. And I got loud. I rose to my feet and faced off with him.
“What are you saying to my wife?” He came closer, his muscular arms at his sides, the skin tinting red with adrenaline. “What ridiculous ideas are you putting in her head—”
“That she deserves better than the coward she married.”
His eyes seared like a hot frying pan. He came closer to me. “Coward, huh?”
“You’re going to prove you aren’t by beating another woman? Really impressive.”
“You better watch your fucking mouth—”
“Or what?” I moved toward him.
