His True Color

Rhiannon’s POV~

He moved toward me with that slow gait he always used when he was trying to calm a horse.

His face was a mask of a long term practiced concern. The furrow in his brow, the slight parting of his lips, I knew it was all acting.

If I hadn’t seen him with his pants down three hours ago, I would have melted. I would have run into his arms and cried about my day.

But I saw it. I saw it all.

"Baby," he said, his voice low and soothing, vibrating in the quiet house. "You’re clearly having another episode."

The word episode snapped something inside me. He was labeling me crazy again.

"Don't touch me!"

A scream tore out of my throat. It hurt my vocal cords. I lunged forward, not to hug him, but to shove him away.

But I was so weak.

My arms felt like lead. I pushed with everything I had, but he didn't even stumble.

I realized I wasn't strong anymore. The sickness had eaten me alive.

My hands started to shake. Violent, uncontrollable tremors started in my fingers and traveled up my arms.

I felt like I was suffocating. The room was spinning. His scent was everywhere, choking me, making me want to vomit.

I pointed a shaking finger at his face. I couldn't even keep it steady.

"Don't you dare," I wheezed, tears blurring my vision. "Don't you dare touch me after what you did."

Marcus didn't stop. He never stopped. He took a step closer, invading my personal space until I could feel the heat radiating off him.

His eyes were wide, innocent, filled with a fake pity that made my stomach turn.

He reached out and grabbed my wrists.

His grip was iron. Too tight. His fingers dug into the soft skin of my inner wrists, pressing right against the bone. It hurt.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood to keep me from screaming.

He pulled me in. I stumbled against him, my body betraying me, collapsing into his chest because I had no strength left to stand.

"What have I done?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake confusion. He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine. "Rhiannon, sweetheart, I've done nothing but love you. You're sick. You're imagining things again."

He tilted his head, just a fraction.

"Just like last month," he said smoothly. "When you swore I was poisoning your coffee. Remember? You were so convinced. You threw the cup against the wall."

My blood ran cold.

"I..." I stammered, my mind racing. "No. That was different."

"Is it?" He squeezed my wrists tighter, twisting them slightly. Pain flared up my arms. "You've been under so much stress, babe. The IVF... it's messing with your head. We need to get you back on the meds."

I felt my tears spill over.

This was gaslighting. Pure, calculated gaslighting. He was trying to make me doubt my own eyes.

He was trying to make me doubt the last six years of my life.

I tried to pull away again. I thrashed in his grip, kicking at his shins, but it was like fighting a statue.

He didn't even flinch. He just held me there.

"You liar!" I screamed, I needed to see him flinch. To see the guilt in his eyes. "I saw you! I saw you fucking her! I saw you fucking Emilia in our honeymoon suite! I saw you inside her!"

But Marcus didn't even flinch.

Instead, his eyes filled with tears.

One second they were dry, the next they were glistening.

He didn't let go of my wrists. He pulled them up, pressing my palms flat against his chest. I could feel his heart beating.

"Oh, baby," he whispered, his voice cracking with fake sorrow. "Not this again. We've been through this."

He looked at me with those wet, puppy-dog eyes that used to make me want to protect him. Now they just looked dead.

"You had the same hallucination three weeks ago, remember?" he said softly, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "You called me crying at work, saying you saw me with some woman at a restaurant. But I was home with you all night. We watched a movie. You even apologized the next day. You said you were sorry for doubting me."

My heart stopped.

Air left my lungs.

Three weeks ago.

It was true. I had called him. I had apologized.

But... no. No, that wasn't right. Was it?

My thoughts began to scramble.

My memory was hazy. Had I dreamed it? Was I really losing my mind? The sickness... the weight loss... maybe I was crazy.

Maybe I was imagining the office. Maybe I was imagining the hallway.

I shook my head, frantically, trying to clear the fog.

"That's not—" My voice cracked. "This is different! I have proof!"

I stared at him, waiting for his mask to drop.

But Marcus just smiled. A small, sad, patronizing smile.

"Proof?" he asked gently, like he was humoring a child. "What proof, Rhiannon? Like the 'proof' you had when you accused our mailman of following you? Or when you were convinced our neighbor was spying on us? Rhiannon, these paranoid episodes are getting worse."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine.

"You're just sick, baby," he whispered. "Let me help you."

My skin crawled.

I put both hands on his chest and pushed with everything I had left.

He stumbled back a step, more from surprise than force.

I took the opportunity to scramble away, putting the coffee table between us.

"No!" I yelled, my voice cracking. "Don't touch me! The bond is broken, Marcus! Do you hear me? My wolf is dormant! She’s gone! There is no way you can ever help me anymore because you killed her!"

Marcus didn't get angry. He didn't yell back. He just stood there.

Then he looked at me, and his eyes darkened with heavy sorrow.

"I’m saying the same thing," he said. "Your wolf is sick, just like you are. Dr. Cross explained this to us, Rhiannon. Severe anxiety and clinical depression can force a wolf into dormancy temporarily. It’s a defense mechanism. It's not the bond, baby. It's your mental state."

"Stop lying to me!" I screamed. "Stop it!"

Marcus shook his head. He took a step toward me, and I flinched, backing up until I hit the wall.

"I'm not lying. I'm trying to help you see reality," he said, gesturing around the room, at me. "Look at yourself. You’re skin and bones. You haven't slept in weeks. You're having conversations with people who aren't there. You're seeing things that don't exist. This isn't about our marriage, Rhiannon. This is about your breakdown."

Tears were streaming down my face so fast I couldn't wipe them away.

I pressed a hand to my chest, right over my heart. It felt like it was shattering.

"Emilia was wearing my grandmother’s ring," I sobbed. "I saw it! I saw it on her finger! The one I gave to you to fucking resize!"

Marcus pursed his lips. He stood there in silence for a long, agonizing moment.

Then he shook his head again, a small, sad smile playing on his lips.

"Emilia doesn't even know about your grandmother's ring," he said smoothly. "She's never been in our bedroom. She's never touched your jewelry. Baby, you're creating fantasies because you can't accept that you're sick."

The denial was so calm, that for a second I doubted myself. My brain stuttered. Did I imagine it? No. No, I saw it.

"Shut up," I snapped, digging my nails into my palms until I bled. "Shut up right now. Emilia has been sleeping with you! I know it!"

Marcus’s expression shifted instantly. The pity vanished, replaced by a look of extreme shock, like I’d just said the most vulgar, disgusting thing in the world.

He took a step back, a hand to his chest, looking wounded.

"No," he said, shaking his head violently. "Rhiannon, no. Emilia is a virgin. She's never even had a boyfriend. She comes to me crying because she's scared of you. You've been staring at her, following her around the office, making her feel unsafe. She’s terrified of you."

The lie was so big, that I just stood there gaping.

"You’re lying—" I started, but he cut me off.

"She asked me if she should quit," Marcus said, his voice rising, sounding righteous now. "She asked me because you make her so uncomfortable. I told her no. I told her you're just sick and not responsible for your actions. But maybe I was wrong."

He took a step toward me. The pity was gone. Now he looked dangerous.

"Maybe you're more dangerous than I thought," he said softly.

I shook my head, backing up until I hit the door. "I’m not listening to this shit. I’m done. I want a divorce, Marcus. I can’t do this anymore."

Silence immediately slammed into the room.

The pitiful look on Marcus's face instantly erased. In its place was something cold. Something dead. His eyes went flat, like a shark’s.

He didn't bother to hide it anymore.

His hand shot out.

I tried to dodge, but I was too slow, too weak. His fingers clamped around my wrist. He squeezed.

I felt my bones grind together. A scream of pain tore out of my throat.

"Don't you EVER say that word to me again," he roared. "EVER. Do you understand me?"

"You’re hurting me—" I whimpered, my tears blinding me.

"I'm trying to save you!" he shouted back, yanking me toward him so my face was inches from his. "From yourself! You think divorce will fix your broken mind? You think running away will cure your insanity? You're MINE, Rhiannon. You belong to ME. Your body, your soul, your pathetic dying wolf… all MINE."

I began to shake. Not from the cold. From the sheer terror of the predator holding me.

Marcus leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. He looked at me with pure hatred.

"I made you who you are," he spat. "I gave you everything—a home, a family, a purpose. Without me, you're nothing. You're just a crazy woman with daddy issues and a dead mother."

He tightened his grip on my wrist, twisting it just enough to make me fall to my knees.

Stop—"

"You were broken when I found you. Abandoned by your father, orphaned, desperate for love. I SAVED you. I gave you my name, my protection, my love. And this is how you repay me? By having psychotic breaks and accusing me of cheating?"

I gasped, my vision blurring. "I hate you."

"No, you don't. You CAN'T hate me. Because without me, you have nothing. No one. Just your aunt Elena, lying in that hospital bed, completely dependent on MY money to keep her alive."

A cold chill ran down my spine. And yes, the asshole noticed he had gotten me.

"Oh yes, baby. I pay for everything. Her room, her medications, her round-the-clock care. Every breath she takes is because I allow it. Every heartbeat is my gift to you."

"You wouldn't—"

"Cross me again, mention divorce one more time, and I'll have her transferred to a state facility. Do you know what those places are like? Understaffed, underfunded, where patients die from 'complications' every day."

I broke into more sobs. He continued.

"Elena is all you have left, isn't she? The only person who ever pretended to love you? It would be such a shame if her condition suddenly... deteriorated. These things happen. Ventilators malfunction. IVs get infected. Nurses forget to check on patients. Don’t test me, Rhiannon.”

And without another word, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me to sob my heart out as he slammed the door shut.

Something cold and vicious unfurled in my chest as I stared at the door he'd slammed.

For five years, I'd been the perfect wife, the grateful victim, the broken girl who needed saving.

But Marcus had just shown me his true face, and now I was going to show him mine.

He wanted to keep me? Fine. But he was about to learn that some cages hold monsters, not pets.