“I thought you were kind and mature. But, I was wrong.” He spat, “You are a jealous scheming woman who bullies others.”

‘I didn't do it!’ I wanted to scream.

I never meant to fight her for you or Leo? She wants to have Leo, she can have him.

She wants you? She can have you as well. I’m done with you, Jake.

But, he lunged before I could scream, his hand was around my throat, pinning me against the driver’s side door. He reached into the open window, clicked the locks, and shoved me into the driver’s seat.

"Jake, what are you doing?" I gasped, clawing at his hands.

"You like cars, Stacy? You like using them as weapons?" He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "Let’s see how you handle one without a safety net."

He didn't hit me. Instead, he reached under the steering column with a pair of heavy-duty shears he’d grabbed from the garage. With two swift, practiced snips, he severed the brake lines. I heard the hiss of fluid leaking onto the driveway like a dying breath.

Blood drained throughout my body. I had never rode a car in the past two years while I was away, and still didn't know how to drive properly.

Driving a car without break was like asking me to do suicide.

But, Jake’s dark and distant gaze were crystal clear that he was not joking.

"The estate road is a three-mile decline, Stacy," Jake said, his voice devoid of any humanity. He reached over me, shoved the car into gear, and jammed a heavy wooden block—a leftover from Leo’s toy set—onto the accelerator.

"Jake, no! Stop!"

“You should have thought twice before even thinking of hurting Linda!” He spat, his voice cold.

The engine roared, the tires screaming as they struggled for purchase on the gravel before the car lurched forward.

I looked in the rearview mirror one last time. Jake had his arm around Linda, and Leo was waving goodbye.

***

When I opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room blinded me. I groaned, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed crushed glass.

"Stacy? You're awake."

A familiar voice sounded. It wasn't the voice of the man who had severed my brake lines and watched me careen toward a potential grave. It was soft, almost melodic.

I turned my head slowly. Jake was sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed. His usual sharp suit was wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

When he saw me looking at him, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray hair from my forehead with a gentleness that made my heart stutter in confusion.

"The doctors said you had a severe concussion and a few cracked ribs," he whispered, his hand lingering on my cheek. "You're lucky the car hit the embankment and didn't go over the cliff side."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. Where was the monster from the driveway? This man looked... devastated. He squeezed my hand, his palm warm against my cold skin.

For a fleeting second, I wondered if the crash had been a fever dream. Maybe he hadn't done it. Maybe he had saved me.

Then he said, “You have learnt your lesson. From now on, do not try to hurt Linda.”

My nails dug deeper in the sheets.

‘I didn't do it!’

The words remained stuck to my throat, never coming out. I knew he wouldn't believe me.

The next two days, he stayed by my side. And when I was discharged, he personally helped me into the car, placing a pillow behind my back. He didn't speak of the accident, only of my recovery.

"We’re going to the family dinner tonight," he said as we pulled up to the manor. "Everyone is waiting. I told them you had a minor 'mishap' with the car. It’s best we move past it."

I felt a chill. Mishap. Is that what we were calling an attempted execution? Yet, as he walked me into the dining room, his arm remained firmly and protectively around my waist.

I leaned into him, a small, treacherous part of me hoping that the near-death experience had finally opened his eyes to my innocence.

The long mahogany table was set for a feast. Leo was there, playing with a silver spoon, and Linda sat to his right, looking radiant in a cream-colored silk dress—the picture of a victim who had narrowly escaped a villain.

The dinner was quiet, the clinking of silverware the only sound. As the dessert plates were finally cleared, Jake cleared his throat. The room went silent. He turned to me, his hand covering mine on the table.

"Stacy," he said, his voice dropping to that same soft, gentle register he’d used in the hospital. "I'm glad you're back. I’m glad you’re safe."

I felt a tear prick my eye. "Jake, I—"

"But for us to truly move forward as a family," he continued, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand, "there needs to be closure. We can't have this darkness between us."

He looked toward Linda, who cast her eyes down with a practiced, trembling lip.

"Stacy," Jake whispered, leaning in close so only I could hear the terrifyingly calm edge beneath his words. "Apologize to Linda. Tell her you’re sorry for trying to kill her. Do it now, and we can go back to how things were."

I looked at Linda. She sat there, the light catching the faux-innocence in her eyes, waiting for her victory. Then I looked at Jake.

"No."

The word was small, but it cut through the room like a blade. Jake’s thumb stopped its gentle circling on my hand. His gaze darkened, the ‘soft’ husband mask beginning to crack.

"Stacy," he warned, his voice dropping a threat. "Don't ruin this. Just say the words."

"I won't apologize for something I didn't do," I said, my voice gaining strength even as my heart hammered against my cracked ribs.

"You tried to kill me, Jake. You sabotaged my car and watched me drive toward a cliff. And you want me to apologize to the woman who orchestrated this entire lie?”

Jake didn't argue. He didn't shout. Instead, his hand moved with lightning speed. Before I could flinch, his fingers closed around the thin gold chain at my throat—the only thing I had left of my mother.

"This necklace," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You told me once it was the only piece of her you still had. That you’d rather die than lose it."

"Jake, stop!" I gasped, reaching up to grab his wrist.

He threw the chain towards Linda. "Apologize, Stacy. Or I’ll wrap it around Linda’s legs like an anklet. I’ll turn your mother’s legacy into Linda’s dirt."

“Though it's an old fashioned cheap accessory,” Linda began, hiding a smirk behind her wine glass. “It will look better around my legs than your neck,”

My pride was screaming, but the thought of my mother’s last memento being destroyed by her filthy legs was too much.

I would be gone the next day. I thought. The humiliation… I can bear it one more day for the sake of my dead mother.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "I’m sorry, Linda. I... I shouldn't have tried to hurt you."

The tension in Jake’s eyes relaxed for a fraction of a second. A triumphant glint appeared in his eyes. "There. Was that so hard?"

He then instructed Kinda to give the chain back. But, as she went to release the chain, her fingers gave one final, cruel jerk.

Snap.

The gold links shattered. The small locket hit the hardwood floor with a hollow thud, skidding toward the corner of the room. I stared at the empty space on my chest, then at the broken chain still clutched in her hand.

"Oops," Linda said, her voice devoid of any actual regret. "My hand slipped."

Something inside me snapped along with that gold. The fear that had kept me paralyzed for years evaporated, replaced by a searing, white-hot rage. I stood up, knocking my chair backward.

"You're pathetic, Linda," I spat, raising my hands to slap her. But, they were held by a strong force.

“Enough, Stacy!” He said, “It was a mistake. Linda didn't mean to break it.”

"You bastard!” I snapped back. “You destroyed your wife’s only treasure for a woman who has been playing you like a fiddle. You think she loves you? She loves your bank account and the power you give her. She’s been whispering poison in your ear while she sleeps in your bed, and you're too blinded by her act to see she’s nothing but a home-wrecking parasite!"

Linda’s eyes welled up instantly. "Jake... how can she say such things? I... I've only ever wanted this family to be whole! This is defamation! She's slandering my character in front of Leo!" She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with practiced sobs.

“I’m Taylor’s widow. What will people talk about me if words like these go out? And the servants…They have listened to everything.”

"Enough!" Jake roared. The rage was back, more violent than in the driveway. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "You like humiliating another woman? You want to assassinate Linda’s character?"

He turned to one of the footmen standing near the sideboard—a man who had always looked at me with a discomforting leer.

"If you can't act like a lady at this table, you don't deserve the clothes of a wife," Jake growled.

Before I could process his words, he reached for the zipper of my dress. With a violent tug, the fabric tore. I scrambled to hold the silk against my chest, my face burning with a shame so deep I felt sick.

"Marcus," Jake called out to the servant, his voice cold and lethal.

He shoved me toward the man. I stumbled, my bare shoulders hitting the servant’s rough uniform. The man’s arms instinctively went around me to steady me, his touch lingering far too long on my skin.

"She’s yours for the night," Jake said, turning back to the table to comfort a 'crying' Linda.

"Take her to the quarters. Maybe a night among the house helps will teach her how it feels to be humiliated.”

The servant’s quarters were a labyrinth of cold concrete and the smell of stale tobacco. Marcus didn't lead me, he dragged me, his grip tightening on my upper arm as he kicked open the door to a small servant quarter.

Inside, three other men—drivers and groundskeepers were already waiting.

"Master said she’s ours for the night," Marcus announced, a jagged grin splitting his face. He shoved me into the center of the room. I stumbled, the torn remnants of my silk dress slipping further. I clutched the fabric to my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it was agony.

"Please," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"Jake! Leo!" I screamed for help, “Somebody help me!”

The heavy oak door at the end of the hallway creaked open. For a heartbeat, hope flared in my chest. Leo. My son stood there, his small face pale in the dim light.

"Leo! Tell Dad! Please, get me out of here!"

The boy looked at me, his expression strangely blank, as if he were reciting a lesson. "Daddy says Mommy is being bad," he said, his voice high and thin. "He says after tonight, Mommy will be obedient. He told me to go to bed and not look back."

He turned around and walked away, the click of his small shoes on the tile sounding like a death knell.

Just then Marcus grabbed the hem of my dress, his eyes dark with intent. "No more shouting, Stacy. No one is coming."

In a blur of desperation, I scanned the room. There—a small, high window used for ventilation. It was narrow, barely enough for a woman in my frame.

I didn't think so. I grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table and smashed it against Marcus’s temple. As he groaned and slumped back, I scrambled onto a plastic chair and hauled myself up to the ledge.

"She’s getting away! Grab her!"

I felt a hand snatch at my ankle, fingernails raking across my skin. I kicked out with everything I had, hearing a satisfying grunt of pain.

I didn't look down at the thirty-foot drop.

I threw myself out into the night.

My ribs cracked. Legs broken, and red crimson sipping out my body from almost everywhere.

But, that's the price I was willing to pay- to save my pride. That's all I had left with.

Three miles away from Vance's estate, I dragged myself onto the sand of a public beach, shivering and bloodied. I looked back at the silhouette of the mansion on the cliff—a house of monsters.

Jake would find the scrap of silk on the window tomorrow. He would find the broken locket in the dining room. He would tell the world his unstable wife took her own life in a fit of jealous grief.

Let him.

I reached into the hidden inner pocket of the slip I wore beneath the dress—the one thing I had prepared before the dinner. My burner phone and a pre-paid credit card.

Then I dialed a number.

“It's me,” I whispered into the receiver, watching the sunrise bleed across the horizon. “I have arrived at the location.”

“Look upward, Stacy.” A deep male voice sounded from the other end and when I looked up, I found a chopper roaming just above my head.

As it landed, a man dressed in a well-tailored navy blue suit emerged out.

He was Taylor Vance. Jake’s elder brother whom the world thought was dead, except me.

He watched me bleeding and I saw his knuckles tightening. He looked at the man standing behind him.

"Stacy is dead.” He said, his voice dangerously calm, “Tell the lawyer to activate the contingency. I want every asset tied to the name 'Jake' frozen by noon."

Then he walked up to me. He took off his coat and wrapped it around me before he lifted me in his arms, saying softly, “You can't ruin something you promised to give me,”

“Your body is only mine to ruin. Remember that.” He said before he placed me inside the chopper and it drove us far away from Jake’s reach, where I was finally free.