Chapter 3 - The Strike
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Owen crossed the room faster than I could process his movement, his naked panic instantly morphing into violent rage.
Before I could answer Dana’s mocking question or step back into the hallway, his heavy palm struck the left side of my cheek. The sheer force of the blow snapped my face sideways, a blinding burst of white light exploding behind my eyes. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth as my teeth cut into the soft tissue of my inner cheek.
The momentum sent me stumbling backward. My shoulder slammed violently against the edge of the heavy wooden dresser. As I flailed to catch my balance, my left hand caught the sharp, brass handle of the bottom drawer. Pain, sharp and sickening, exploded through my ring finger. I heard a distinct, terrible pop as the bone gave way.
I gasped, cradling my throbbing hand against my chest, and scrambled toward the open bedroom door.
But Owen was faster. He lunged forward, shoving me hard against the doorframe. As I tried to slip past him, he raised his leg and viciously kicked the outside of my right thigh.
“You’re the problem, not her!” he shouted, his face contorted into an ugly, unrecognizable mask of pure hatred.
My leg buckled under the brutal impact, and I collapsed onto one knee in the hallway. I looked up, gasping for air. Dana was still sitting comfortably in our bed, casually sipping her champagne from the crystal flute. She did not look shocked by the sudden, brutal violence. She looked entirely entertained.
Owen dropped to his knees, violently grabbing for my phone. But my professional instincts had already saved me. I had instantly clicked the side button, securely locking the device with a complex, alphanumeric passcode he did not know.
“Delete it right now,” he demanded, his fingers digging into my good wrist.
“No,” I whispered, my voice shaking but resolute.
May you like
His expression changed. For eleven long years, I had dutifully softened every argument, protected his public reputation, and tragically mistaken my silent endurance for marital loyalty. He fully expected me to break down in tears and surrender. Instead, I looked past him at the confidential blue folder on the nightstand, and I understood exactly why he was truly afraid.
I ripped my arm from his grasp, scrambled to my feet, and ran down the stairs.
