Page 35 of The Marriage Debt

“It doesn’t matter.” His growl is dark and angry. He moves past me toward the refrigerator and I have to step aside to not be plowed over.

I turn. The dishrag twists in my hands. “I’m not trained for this. I didn’t sign up for it.”

He steps closer. “You did. The second you took Anton's name. Now it's my name…” He stares into the fridge like he's hunting something. I wonder if he ever has a normal expression on his face. I want to throw something at him and wake him up, let him see that not everyone carries a gun and has to look over their shoulder.

“No,” I snap. “You forged a signature, handed a paper to a judge, and decided what I was worth.” My chest is heaving. Yes, I signed the formal document, but the marriage license wasn't my idea. I didn't get to be part of the planning committee for that.

He doesn’t flinch.

“You said I’m collateral.” I throw the towel down. “So don’t pretend this is about protection. You’re not saving me. You’re using me.”

“I’m keeping you alive.”

“For now,” I say. “Until it stops being useful.”

He takes two steps forward, and the space between us collapses. His voice lowers, not in volume but in temperature. “If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d already be buried under a court order with your son in a school that teaches him how not to remember you.”

“I never asked you to fix it,” I say.

“No,” he agrees, “but you benefited.”

My heart beats hard against my ribs. I taste iron on my tongue. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares. We’re inches apart now. I can feel his breath. Smell the soap from this morning. I’m waiting for him to move, to touch, to snap—but he doesn’t. I stay rooted to the floor until the dishwater starts to go cold.

He turns back toward me. “Do you really want that answer? Or are you fishing for an apology?"

“Neither,” I say. “I just want to know which version of you I’m supposed to trust.”

He doesn’t move.

I turn and hang my head. I know what I feel in my chest, but my head is saying something different. “You say you’re protecting me. That I’m safer here. But the people trying to hurt us—they’re still out there.”

“They are.”

“And your answer is what? To keep me in the dark until something breaks through the gate?” The shroud of terror I'm living under is suffocating. I think of taking Lev, of packing him up like we're going to school but having the driver drop us at the park, taking public transportation out of town, or to the edge of town. Calling Marcella. If I'm with her, my mother won't hurt me, I hope.

He walks forward slowly. “I’ve kept it from breaking.”

“Then what happens when it does?” I ask, turning up to meet his gaze.

He stops in front of me. “Then I handle it.”

“By turning me into a soldier?” I spit. “That’s not protection. That’s indoctrination.”

He leans forward slightly, enough that I have to tilt my chin to keep eye contact.

“Lila,” he says. “I’m not trying to make you into anything.”

“Then why keep me here? Am I your prisoner now? A soldier? What is Lev?"

His eyes narrow. “Because out there, they wouldn’t ask if you were afraid. They’d assume you were and use it.” Now his tone softens. I hate it. I hate this side of him. I've seen it when we fuck, when he looks into my eyes. It's too kind, too real. It's how Anton hooked me. I feel myself being drawn to him, and I hate myself for it.

“And you don’t?” I swallow hard, preparing for a smack that never comes. Anton would've definitely used my fear to control me.

He shakes his head once. “I don’t have to.” His eyes clear, face calming from rage to something less violent.

I hold his gaze.

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