Page 87 of Legacy
I never lose.
I don’t break.
I won’t.
I grab my bags by the elevator and storm down the hall to my new room. Tossing them inside, I slam the door shut and slide down against it, breath catching, nerves wrecked.
That’s when I notice the blood. The glass embedded in my hand.
Fuck.
Angelo Amato can’t win.
He won’t.
***
Waking up the next morning, the taste of bitterness is still pooled on my tongue. I flex my bandaged hand and wince.
The blood-stained cotton balls from last night are discarded on the bedside table. My head feels light, a ringing lingers in my ears.
I take a breath.
The fights not over.
I push myself up, feet hitting the cold floor. My reflection in the mirror across the room is a disaster. Hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed.
I look like defeat.
“No,” I whisper to myself, turning away from the mirror.
I need a plan. I need...leverage.
I take a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away yesterdays sour memories.
Wrapping myself in a plush robe that hangs by the bathroom door, I quickly get back to my room.
The room is cool and untouched, pristine like a hotel. But it smells like him. That soft cologne, warm smoke. The scent seeps into the walls.
In to me.
My eyes fall on my suitcase sitting idly by one corner.
The contract.
He could have been lying.
I fumble with zips and pull out our marriage contract.
Page sixteen.
Section four.
Paragraph two.
My heart slams against my chest as I read over it again and again. There it is... undeniable in black and white print:
“The marriage must be consummated within sixty days of living together for full rights to be retained by each party.”
