Page 94 of Beneath Scarred Vows

“You’re still that little girl clinging to bedtime stories about men like Zervas. You want truth? Here's the truth—this world doesn't let you be a dreamer. You kill, or you get killed. If you can't see that, then maybe you're not the partner I thought you were.”

My breath catches, and then something inside me shatters.

“Then maybe you should’ve married someone you could control!”

I shoot to my feet, rage pulsing in my throat. "You want a partner? Or a fucking parrot? Someone who agrees with every goddamn thing you say? That's not love, Ares. That's dictatorship."

His jaw ticks. His fists clench.

And then?—

He steps so close I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. “If you’re defending the man who killed my father, then maybe I don’t know who the fuck I married.”

I break in a way I never have and do something I've never done before.

I slap him.

My hand stings as I process what I've done.

His head barely turns, but something behind his eyes falters.

He lunges, gripping my throat, shoving me back against the chair.

I gasp, my fingers clawing at his arm.

"You've made your fucking choice," he growls. "And it's not me."

His hand clamps tighter, and a cold flash of fear runs through me. Not because I think he'll kill me, but because for the first time, I'm not sure he knows where the line is.

My vision flickers.

For a heartbeat, I wonder if he'll relax his grip.

“I’m done with you. I can’t even fucking look at you.”

Then he lets go.

I collapse, coughing as air rushes back into my lungs.

Without another word, Ares walks out, leaving me alone in his office.

I slump into the chair and start to cry—harder than I have in years. I haven't cried this much since the people I loved left this earth.

After some time, I wipe my face, rage replacing sorrow and regret for allowing myself to get here, to feel these things.

My eyes land on a photo of Ares and his brothers, smiling.

“Fucking asshole,” I yell.

Then I hurl it across the room.

I don't care if he's hurt. I don't care if he regrets it later.

The glass explodes.

And I walk out of his office, hands trembling, my throat burning from where he touched me.

Fuck him.