Twenty-Eight ◑ The Wife

Content Warning: The following scenes contain violence. While it is not graphic or described in detail, discretion is advised. This is for the purpose of the story only, and I am in no way promoting such behavior.

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“Let me go,” Lucille ordered, her breath hitching in her throat as she struggled to pry Dimitri’s fingers off the fabric of her dress. His fist only tightened, pulling strands of her hair in the process. She cried out in pain. “I said release me!”

“Not until you explain yourself,” Dimitri said, his face contorting into an uncharacteristic scowl. "Not until you tell me the truth."

Never had he looked at her like that before, like she was some despicable creature he couldn’t bear to behold. And while she knew very well that he wasn’t technically himself right now, she still withered under that stare. It felt so familiar, yet so new. It felt so real. It felt so deserved.

More tears flowed down her cheeks as she weighed herself down to make him lose grip. The marble floor was cold under her bare legs, hard and unrelenting, causing pain to sear up her ankles as they collided against the surface. His hand was firm against the back of her neck. Despair and desperation bubbled inside her, and slowly she sensed herself slipping back into character, into the woman she was in these flashbacks.

She was no longer the witch, not the marketing executive, not the punisher. She wasn’t Lucille anymore.

Now, as she strained against the force of the man who gipped her hard, she was just . . . the wife.

The little, treacherous wife, as he’d called her.

And along with that persona was a strong resentment, one that had been building up since forever and was currently flowing in her veins.

“You lied to me,” she said, swatting his arms away as he wrapped them around her middle and yanked her to her feet. “I trusted you and you lied to me!”

“Don’t you dare make this about yourself again!” The anger in Dimitri’s face was bright and volatile. “Why did you order an attack on their kingdom? Why did you send pillagers in their palace?”

Lucille pulled herself off of him. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Look at you preach about lying when you’re the one lying now,” Dimitri mocked. “You hypocrite.”

Her fury reached its peak. Even though he was standing about a foot away from her, she found herself shoving him further away, pummeling her fists against his chest. He collided against the low table behind him and sent vases crashing onto the floor.

Some of the shards dug into his bare feet, but he intercepted her anyway, taking her wrists in his hands. “Tell me now!”

Surprisingly, he was still being considerably gentle. He was leading her away from the shards on the floor, all the while keeping just enough force around her wrists to stop her from going berserk on him. It seemed that he didn’t want to go overboard and end up hurting her, but that didn’t erase the fact that she could still feel his rage simmering underneath. It was in his eyes. It emanated from his very skin like bad perfume, and she was inhaling it. She was taking it in.

And it hurt a lot. “I didn’t do anything!”

Dimitri tried to press her against the wall, but she managed to retract one hand from his hold. Then, in a seemingly automatic gesture, she balled it into a fist and hit him in the mouth. Instantly, a dull pain spread around her knuckles. A small, thin cut appeared on his lower lip, from which a drop of blood trickled. He stepped back and touched the wound, inspecting the smear of red on his thumb.

Lucille’s entire body went cold with regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Dimitri grabbed her by the waist and threw her down on the bed.

Her body hit the mattress with a low thump. Locks of her hair flew all over her face. For a second her vision spun, grew blurred. She clambered to sit up, but before she could move, he placed himself over her, pinning her down with his body while keeping her hands restrained above her head. This time, he was gripping her hard. To the point of bruising.

She looked at him, at the face she’d known seemingly since the beginning of time. How could those eyes be familiar yet so foreign at the same time? How could his touch be so different now, when it had been the only touch she’d known? There was no gentleness in him now, no warmth. Back then, he’d treated her like a precious statue made of glass. He hadn’t even raised his voice at her.

Now, he was clutching her so hard that her fingertips were numb. As she stopped squirming underneath him, she realized that she’d been broken for a long time now. Under the hands of the man who used to be so kind.

There was nothing for her now, wasn’t there? She’d been shattered, destroyed. This pain was nothing. What more could he do to someone who was already depleted? She shouldn’t be hesitating anymore, shouldn’t be protecting herself.

“I did it,” Lucille whispered. “I ordered all my men to attack that wretched kingdom.”

Dimitri blanched. His grip loosened as pure pain darkened his eyes, but she didn’t get up.

“You didn’t think I’d find out who your lover is, so I decided to prove it to you,” she continued, her voice soft, almost sweet. “I know who she is, darling. I know all about you two. And if you thought I’d sit here and lament, you’re wrong. I want her to suffer, and I want you to see it—”

Slap.

The sound shocked Lucille more than the sensation of Dimitri’s palm colliding against her cheek. A sharp, stinging pain began to spread from the side of her face as her mouth was flooded with the taste of something coppery. Still, even with the tears brimming her eyes and blood covering her teeth, she smiled.

“Stop,” Dimitri pleaded, begged, “Please stop.”

“I won’t if you don’t,” she said. “I won’t stop until you realize what you’ve done, and someday you’ll cross every line to make it up to me. Someday, you’ll just be . . . there.”

With his lips pulled back in a snarl, he raised his hand to deliver another slap, but before his palm could make contact, Lucille gasped and snapped back to reality.

Once more, she was back in the statue room, and the statues weren’t talking. Soft wind was blowing in from the open windows. To her surprise, she wasn’t cowering in the corner like she thought. In fact, she was upright, standing next to a marble bust with a glass of champagne in her hand. Her knees were perfectly steady, her hair still in its perfect victory rolls updo. Even the pearl necklace she thought she’d yanked off was clasped around her neck.

To any onlooker, it would just seem like she was standing thoughtfully beside the marble bust, leaning against the pedestal while enjoying solitude. No one would know that she’d just had the worst flashback in the history of flashbacks.

No one would know that she’d just uncovered a piece of her memories.

Lucille took a deep, steadying breath and drained the contents of her glass. With her skin beginning to crawl with goosebumps, she exited the statue garden.

Only to run straight into Dimitri.

“Lucille!” The serious look in his face softened into an expression of relief as he held her shoulders. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where did you go?”

“Just got some air.” It took all her willpower not to shield her face with her arms. Slowly and casually, she eased herself out of his grasp. “I’m alright.”

His gaze fell upon the champagne glass, which was clamped in her shaking hand. “What happened? I was worried out of my mind—”

“Hey, there you are,” Jamie suddenly appeared behind Dimitri and tried to take Lucille’s arm. “The reviewers are just gagging to meet you. They wouldn’t leave Cade alone! Come on.”

Cade followed Jamie shortly, smiling and holding a fresh glass of champagne, which he handed to Lucille after taking the empty one she was holding. “You ready, Lucille?”

Okay, this was overwhelming. She couldn’t meet the eager, expectant faces of Cade and Jamie, much less the brooding, worried eyes of Dimitri. She took a sip of the champagne, but it tasted like fresh, sizzling tar against her tongue. Still, she forced herself to return Cade’s smile and say, “Of course! Let me just talk to Dimitri for a moment. I’ll meet you guys at the ballroom entrance.”

This made Cade’s happy demeanor falter one notch. He glanced at Dimitri, hesitated, but replied, “Sure.”

And with that, she was once again alone with the god.

The god who claimed her as his wife in her flashback.

“You’ve seen another memory, haven’t you?” Dimitri said without preamble, taking her glass and setting it down on the tray of a passing waiter. “It’s getting out of hand. Perhaps this time you will listen to me. Working in this environment with those people is not good for you. They don’t know who you are. They don’t know what you’re going through, and they don’t know how to take care of you. You’re better off staying with Agnes and me.”

Lucille sighed. “Look, Dimitri—”

“The rate of you recovering your memories is fast and it’s dangerous.” He was clearly upset now. “Please, do yourself a favor and leave.”

“You know I can’t.” Her body was too light, too drained. “Please don’t tell me what to do.”

“No, Lucille.” Dimitri waved her off. “This has gone far enough.”

She exhaled sharply. “You’re right. This has gone far enough. Inviting you here was a mistake. Please leave now. Please go.”

Dimitri stared at her then, his golden eyes narrowed and piercing, like he was trying to read past the blank expression on her face. She just stared back, not caring what he’d find, not caring about how he’d react. She was growing more and more exhausted by the second. A part of her was still stuck in that vision, experiencing the pain. She knew that that part of her would remain there until the rest of the mystery was solved, and the part of her that was present in reality would continue to relive it.

“Please,” she whispered; her chest tight with emotion. “It’s all I ask of you.”

“Well, then.” Dimitri straightened his jacket and turned on his heel, his expression unreadable. “Goodbye.”