Page 179 of Rage

“Are you happy?”

His question is such a hard blow. I feel like he took his fist and hit me in the temple as hard as he could. More tears fall as I ponder his question.

“Are you happy, with him?” he asks again.

The clarification sends me over the edge, and sobs begin to rack my body. When minutes go by without me answering, he presses the tip of the knife into the hollow of my throat, and I yelp. “I really don’t want to mark this pretty brown skin, Mavis. But I’ll happily draw blood if I must, and then clean it up with my tongue just to get a taste of you.”

His statement sends a jolt of panic through my system.

“No!” I yell in answer, my breathing so fast that I can see my chest rising and falling while my entire body shakes.

“No what, Mavis?”

“No, I’m not happy.”

A rumbling, husky chuckle vibrates his body atop mine before he drags the knife to the middle of my chest without drawing any blood, pulling my blouse down to expose my bra as he goes. His gaze stays there until I release another sob, and his eyes find mine once more.

“Don’t worry, Duchess. My time here is up. We’ll have to finish the rest of our game later,” he says, before fixing my blouse and climbing off the couch. He pockets his knife and then reaches out to run his thumb across my bottom lip. He turns to leave, but when he reaches the door, he looks back at me one last time.

“You know you’re worth more, right?”

I never turn to look at him, fearful of what he might do if I move.

“W-What?”

“You’re worth more than that asshole could ever give you. You deserve better. You know it and I know it. Don’t be as stupid as he makes you out to be,” he says while twisting the doorknob. A sea of tears spill down each cheek as his words repeat in my head.

How does he know about my relationship?

“Don’t bother calling the police. Wouldn’t want any bad blood between us. See you soon,” he says before he exits. I stay where I am, remaining on my back in shock while staring up at the blank, white ceiling.

Chapter Four

An hour.

That’s how long I laid in the same spot on the couch, trying to gather myself and attempting to process what just happened.

I wanted to call Janna and scream for her to come help me, but I knew she would only insist I call the police, and when I inevitably refused, she would do it herself. I couldn’t call Ross because… Well, I just flat-out didn’t want to. He wouldn’t believe anything about what happened, would chalk it up to me wanting his attention.

After telling myself I’m okay, I jump off the couch, lock the door, and set the alarm. My pulse speeds up when my memory snaps into place. I realize that the alarm was on when I came home, and he was still sitting here.

I press my forehead against the coolness of the door and then shoot upstairs to get ready for the dinner I’m now hesitant to even attend. Regardless of how the night goes, I know I need to address the issues in mine and Ross' relationship.

After throwing my thick curls into a bun, applying minimal makeup —because Ross likes a more natural look— and donning a little black dress that shows a bit more thigh than I’m used to, Irealize I’ll need to walk to my car alone. Thankfully, I remember this is Chicago, and I can get an Uber in less than ten minutes. At least that way, I’ll have a witness if anything happens to me.

The Uber drops me off on the corner of Dearborn Street at La Grande Boucherie. Excitement had finally bloomed in my chest on the ride over as I’ve begged Ross to take me here for over a year. I texted him updates the entire way here but haven’t received a reply, so him meeting me in the lobby would be too much to hope for. I’m approaching the host desk when I hear a voice, one I’ve loathed from the first day I heard it, carrying over the loud classical music playing.

Ross' mother.

Ross waves me over to their table without standing to greet me, continuing a conversation with his mother instead. When my fiancé finally decides to speak to me, I’m met with a condescending tone. “Hello, Darling. How was your day? Mother and I were just discussing your position at work,” he says before setting his lips in a thin line. My eyes flash over to his mother as she sips her glass of wine and looks at me disapprovingly, as per usual.

“Hello, Margaret. How are you doing?” I ask with a slight smile, trying to be courteous. After ten seconds of no reply and her acting like she’s reviewing the menu, I try to answer my fiancé’s question. “Today was great. I?—”

Ross cuts me off before I can explain my day. “Who were the flowers from?” he asks with inquisitive eyes.

I swallow my panic down before taking a sip of water from the glass in front of me. “The new girl I trained sent them to me as a thank you. She transferred to our New York location last week after her training was complete.”

The lie rolls off my tongue so effortlessly that my smile afterwards is genuine because I’m so proud of myself. Still, Iwant to move on from the conversation before either of them can interrogate me any further on the subject.

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