Chapter 1 - THE BLOOD ON THE RUG|
The first drop of my husband’s blood landed on the cream-colored rug three inches from my shoe.
I remember that detail because everything else in the room felt unreal. The rain beating against the basement windows. The smell of bourbon, wet wool, and expensive cigar smoke. My husband, Miles, on his knees with one hand pressed to his split lip.
And Roman Vale standing over him in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my first car.
Roman did not look at Miles when he spoke. He looked at me.
"Take off his ring."
His voice was low enough that nobody in the room needed him to repeat himself. Then his eyes dropped to the gold band on my left hand.
"You’re mine now."
For eight years, men had spoken around me, over me, and occasionally about me as if I were a sofa too large for the room. Nobody had ever said something quite that ridiculous.
So I looked Roman Vale directly in the face and said, "No."
The two men near the steel door went still. Miles stopped breathing. Roman’s expression barely changed, which was somehow worse. He was forty-two, maybe forty-three, with a hard face, a faint scar beside his mouth, and gray eyes that never seemed hurried.
Men like Miles filled silence because silence frightened them. Roman used it as a weapon.
"You may want to reconsider," Roman said smoothly.
"I’ve been reconsidering my marriage for four years," I replied, standing tall in my sapphire dress. "You’re late."
Miles made a broken sound from the floor. "Claire, please..."
I finally looked down at him. He had once been beautiful to me—blond hair, blue eyes, the easy confidence of a man raised in a Connecticut house with white columns. Tonight, he looked fifty instead of thirty-nine. His custom shirt was torn, soaked in sweat and blood.
"Six hours ago, I thought you took fifty thousand dollars from our business account," I said, my tone ice cold. "Now I find out it’s nearly four million. And you brought me here to use me as collateral?"
"Take her!" Miles suddenly shrieked at Roman, his pathetic desperation stripping away every ounce of dignity. "Take the firm! Take her! Just clear my debt!"
May you like
Roman tilted his head, his gray eyes narrowing on my face. "Your husband seems very eager to trade you."
"My husband," I said, taking a step forward, "doesn't own what he's trying to sell."
