A Spark Of Dignity.

I slipped the card into the pages of an old poetry book—one of the few things I brought with me when I married Nico. It was worn, faded, and absolutely unread by anyone in this house but me. I slid it back into the top shelf of my closet, behind an old shoebox and beneath a cashmere scarf I never wore. My fingers lingered on the book’s spine, my heart thudding. The card wasn’t just a number. It was a promise. A whisper of a door creaking open. I wasn’t ready to walk through it yet... but knowing it was there gave me something I hadn’t had in a long time. Choice. By the time I made it downstairs, the house had softened. The meeting was over. The men had peeled off to the lounge and surrounding rooms, and the usual tension had lifted, if only slightly. I found comfort in the rhythm of movement—sautéing garlic and herbs, slicing bread, pouring wine. Familiar tasks. Tasks that didn’t expect anything more of me than heat and hands. The dining room was lighter than it had been just an hour before. Domonic cracked a joke about Hayden’s hideous shirt, again. Marco actually laughed. Even Luca, with his ever-present scowl, seemed more relaxed, flipping through messages on his phone and stealing slices of warm bread off the tray I set down.

“You keep feeding us like this, Ava,” Domonic said, grinning as he reached for another plate, “and we’re going to have to put you on the payroll.”

“She’s the only reason this house doesn’t fall apart,” Hayden muttered, sipping his wine.

A warm sort of flutter moved through me. The banter, the lightness, the way they looked at me like I belonged, like I wasn’t just furniture Nico had forgotten to replace. It was short-lived. The click of heels on marble cut through the room like gunfire. Kerry-Anne. Again. I stiffened, the warmth in my chest dissolving as she strutted into the room wearing one of Nico’s shirts, draped over her like she owned him, the house, and everyone in it.

“Oh thank God,” she said dramatically, stopping at the end of the table with a hand on her hip. “Someone finally decided to cook. I was starting to think I’d have to starve.”

She didn’t ask, she just sat down and immediately pushed aside the plate I’d just laid for Domonic.

“This bread is cold,” she snapped. “And there’s no salad. Is it that hard to get the basics right?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My jaw had clenched too tightly. I turned back toward the counter, hands already preparing another plate before I realized what I was doing. Trained. Programmed. Broken.

“Maybe if you actually did what you were told the first time,” she added, her voice sickly sweet, “we wouldn’t be having these little problems. Again.”

The room fell quiet. The men stopped chewing. Hayden’s hand gripped his glass tighter. Luca looked away. No one said a word. But Domonic did.

“Watch your tone,” he said flatly, without even looking up. “You’re a guest. Not royalty.”

Kerry-Anne scoffed. “And what is she, then? The help?”

“No,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a breath, surprising even myself. “I’m his wife.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment. just a moment, Kerry-Anne’s smile faltered. I turned back to the stove, heart pounding, hands shaking just enough to notice. Behind me, I felt their eyes. Watching. Measuring. Maybe even finally understanding. And in the silence that followed, I realized something else. They saw me now. Not Nico. Not the title he gave me. Me.

I heard the heavy footfalls in the hallway. His footfalls. Nico always walked like the ground owed him something, purposeful, sharp, commanding. The sound alone made my spine straighten and my heart drop. He stepped into the room like he owned it, because he did. Or at least, that’s what he believed. The air shifted immediately. The chatter died. Every man in the room leaned back slightly, alert. Nico’s eyes scanned the table, passing over me like I was nothing more than steam from the food. His gaze stopped on Kerry-Anne.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice calm and cold.

Kerry-Anne pushed her bottom lip out, petulant and dramatic. “She’s refusing to make what I asked for,” she said, jerking her thumb toward me like I wasn’t even there. “I told her what I wanted and she’s being rude. And slow.”

Every muscle in my body went rigid. The spoon in my hand trembled slightly, clinking against the edge of the bowl. I stared down at it, willing myself not to look up. Not to react. Nico’s footsteps approached.

“Is that true?” he asked, his tone already final, already laced with reprimand.

I turned to face him, my voice quiet but steady. “I was making lunch for the others, and she...”

“I don’t care what you were doing,” he snapped, cutting me off. “If she asked for something, you make it. Now.”

The shame scalded hotter than the stove beside me. My throat tightened. My hands dropped to my sides, clenched into fists, but I still didn’t speak. Before the silence could thicken any further, Domonic’s chair scraped back sharply across the floor. Every head turned. Domonic stood slowly, purposefully, his expression unreadable but his eyes locked on Nico with something dangerous simmering just beneath the surface.

“The fuck did you just say?” he asked, voice low.

Nico blinked, just once. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Domonic said, stepping away from his chair. “She’s not your maid, Nico. She’s your wife. You think you can talk to her like that in front of us and we won’t say anything?”

“I think,” Nico said with a slow, icy calm, “that what happens between my wife and I is none of your business.”

Domonic laughed, once, sharp and bitter. “You made it our business the second you started letting some spoiled brat treat her like shit while you stood by and watched.”

“Watch your mouth, Dom,” Nico warned.

“No,” Domonic growled, stepping fully into his path now. “You watch yours. You’ve been walking around this house like she’s furniture. We’ve all seen it. You keep pushing her away and you act like we’re just supposed to go along with it, but that?” he pointed to me, to the bruises I hadn't covered, the hurt I couldn’t hide. “That’s not the kind of man I signed up to follow.”

A beat passed. Tension coiled in the room like a wire pulled tight. Kerry-Anne’s eyes were wide, lips parted like she couldn’t believe someone was actually standing up for me. I couldn’t believe it either. Nico’s jaw worked, his fists tight at his sides.

“Back down,” he said through gritted teeth.

Domonic didn’t move. “Not until you start acting like a man instead of a fucking coward.”

I held my breath, heart pounding in my chest so hard I thought I’d fall over. But Nico didn’t reply. He turned, jaw clenched, and stormed out without another word, Kerry-Anne trailing behind him with a smug look over her shoulder. Domonic exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face. Then he looked at me, really looked at me.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t know what to say. But I nodded. For the first time in what felt like forever, someone had stood up for me. And that small spark of dignity, of worth, started to burn again. Even if it was only a flicker… it was mine.