Chapter 6

The front door hadn't been closed for a second before the sting of Jake’s palm exploded across Anna’s cheek. Her head snapped to the side, the copper taste of blood blooming in her mouth. She gasped, fingers trembling as they rose to her burning skin. In six years, he had been many things, but he had never been this.

“You really went to a party without my consent?” Jake’s voice was a low, jagged growl. He stepped into her space, his chest heaving. “And how did Anthony Jeffery get a hold of your wedding ring, you fucking whore?”

His arm swung back again, but the air shifted. Before he could connect, Anna’s hand shot out, catching his wrist in a vice grip. Before he could blink, she channeled years of quiet resentment into her own palm and cracked it across his face. The sound was like a whip; his head jolted back, his eyes widening into dinner plates.

“How dare you, Jake. You dare lay your filthy hands on me?” The words didn't just come out of her; they hissed like steam from a boiling kettle. “Who the hell do you think you are, you pathetic animal?”

Jake stepped back, his hand hovering over his reddening cheek, his mouth hanging open. “You slapped me, Anna.”

“You fucking slapped me first!” she snapped, the pulse in her neck thrumming visibly. “You’re getting worked up because I went to a party? Are you serious?” She took a predatory step toward him, a blue vein bulging in her forehead. “You told me this was an open marriage. You told me we could do whatever we wanted. You go out there and sink yourself into other women, but the second I step out with a friend, you lose your mind?”

Hot tears spilled over her lashes, but she swiped them away with a jagged, aggressive motion.

“I gave you six years, Jake. I gave you my life. And you treated me like a ghost. I let myself be vulnerable until I lost my spark—until I became a shadow while you spent your time age-shaming me.”

“You ungrateful bitch,” Jake spat. He didn't try to hit her again, but his gaze was cold enough to draw blood. “I gave you a roof. I gave you a home. I should have left you to rot in the street. You think anyone else would have married a dropout with your baggage? I gave you a purpose.” He scoffed, his lip curling in disgust. “I cheated once, and you act like it’s a death sentence. I’m a man, Anna. I do what I want. I only suggested the 'open' thing so I didn’t have to hear you whine, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s over. The marriage is closed.”

Anna didn't cry this time. A sharp, jagged laugh broke from her throat—a sound so manic it made Jake flinch.

“You don’t get to choose when this ends,” she said, her voice dropping to a terrifying, steady calm. “You started this fire. You don’t get to decide when it stops burning.”

Jake’s face hardened, his eyes turning into flint. “I have every right. You want your mother to keep breathing, don't you? You want me to keep paying those medical bills?” He straightened his shirt, regaining his cruel composure. “Then you’ll be the dutiful wife you’ve always been. You don’t leave this house again. I provide everything, so you stay put.”

He turned on his heel and vanished down the hall without a backward glance. Anna stood paralyzed in the silence, her lungs burning, a scream trapped behind her teeth. She looked at the door, then at her own shaking hands, hating the walls of the house and the man who owned them.

Anna retreated to the sanctuary of the guest room, the click of the lock providing a momentary sense of safety. She turned the brass taps, watching the water roar into the tub before dropping in a bath bomb that hissed and bled lavender across the surface. Shedding her robe, she stepped into the heat, the steam clinging to her skin.

She leaned her head back against the porcelain, closing her eyes. She expected to see Jake’s raised hand or hear his hollow threats, but her mind betrayed her. Instead, she felt the ghost of Anthony Jeffery’s touch. A sharp twitch raced through her at the memory of him, and she bit her lower lip hard enough to sting. The way he had moved, the way he had claimed her—it was a vivid, carnal contrast to the coldness of her marriage. She snapped her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Stop it, she scolded herself. 

***

The house felt like a tomb the next morning. Jake left without his usual coffee, his silence a heavy, brooding weight. Anna had coldly announced her plans to visit her mother; he hadn't looked up, his indifference a sharp weapon she simply ignored.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, she dove into her emails. When the top message loaded, her heart leaped into her throat. Accepted. An interview at one of the city’s most prestigious firms.

“Yes!” she breathed, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. Then she checked the timestamp. 12:00 PM. It was already 10:00 AM.

Panic replaced joy. She flew to her closet, pulling out a charcoal corporate dress that made her look like the woman she used to be. She wrestled her hair into a sleek, professional bun, her fingers shaking as she applied a dash of lipstick. By the time she sprinted to the curb, it was 11:30 AM.

The cab ride was an exercise in torture. Every red light felt like a personal insult, and she watched the minutes tick away on her phone, her thumb flying as she texted Naomi the news. When she finally tumbled out of the car in front of the glass skyscraper, it was 11:50 AM.

She burst through the lobby, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the marble.

“Wait!” she shouted, lunging toward the elevator as the silver doors began to slide shut.

They hissed closed, but then, with a mechanical sigh, they bounced back open. Two women stood inside, looking polished and intimidating. Anna stepped in, smoothing her dress and offering a tight, breathless smile. They returned the look—polite but competitive. Candidates.

On the top floor, the air felt thin and expensive. The secretary gestured toward a row of chairs, and Anna took her seat, trying to steady her breathing. But the atmosphere was grim. One woman exited the inner office cursing under her breath; another emerged with red-rimmed eyes, clutching her purse to her chest.

“He’s a monster,” someone whispered in the waiting area. “The CEO… they say he tears people apart just for fun.”

Anna’s stomach did a slow roll. She gripped her portfolio until her knuckles turned white.

“Anna?” the secretary called.

She stood, smoothed her skirt one last time, and pushed through the heavy oak doors. She was prepared for a lecture, for a cold corporate giant, for a "mean" boss.

But as the man behind the desk looked up, the air left her lungs entirely. The man sitting there in the bespoke, three-piece suit—looking every bit the billionaire predator—was Anthony Jeffery. He looked nothing like the man who had worked her into a frenzy the night before, yet his eyes held the exact same spark that had haunted her in the bathtub.