Chapter 7

Gavin Whitestone lost his mind.

He tracked me down to a small, hidden apartment that had belonged to my father.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three deafening gunshots.

Gavin stood in the doorway, his Beretta 92F smoking, pointed at the ceiling. His once-loving eyes were shot with red, like a gambler who had lost everything.

"Divorce? Don't even think about it!" he roared, stalking towards me until I was backed into a corner of the sofa. "Viola, you are a Whitestone. You're mine in life and in death. The only way you leave me is in a coffin!"

I looked at his madness, my expression unchanged.

"Then kill me," I said, looking up at him. "My heart already drowned in the sea."

Those words seemed to stab him. Gavin’s face twisted, then hardened into a darker threat.

"You want to die? Not that easy." He leaned in, one hand slamming against the wall by my head, the other gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You don't care about your own life, but what about the peace of your parents? Their graves are in the Westside cemetery. If you take one step away from me, I'll have them dug up and their ashes poured down the sewer."

The old me would have collapsed, crying and begging for mercy.

But I just stared at him, a flicker of pity in my eyes.

He didn't even know. A month ago, when I first planned to leave, I had my loyal old butler secretly move my parents' urns. The graves he was threatening were empty.

He mistook my silence for submission.

The violence in Gavin's eyes faded, replaced by a sick, twisted tenderness.

He dropped the gun and pulled me into a brutal hug, so tight it felt like he was trying to crush me into his bones.

"Don't make me do this, Viola… Don't push me," he buried his face in my neck, his voice trembling. "I can't live without you. You know I did all this for the family, for the baby. Just a few more months. Once Sofia has the child, I'll give her a pile of money and ship her off to Australia. You'll never see her again. Then we can start over, okay?"

I let him hold me, my body as stiff and cold as a stone.

Start over? You can glue a broken mirror back together, but it will only ever show you the cracks.

For the next few days, Gavin acted like we were back in the beginning. He played the part of the perfect husband, trying to pretend everything was fine.

He stopped visiting Sofia at the hospital and focused all his energy on "guarding" me.

He cooked me breakfast, burning the eggs but insisting on trying again the next day. He had truckloads of the latest couture delivered, stuffing my walk-in closet. He even pulled me close during a press interview, smiling for the cameras.

"Mr. Whitestone, we heard about a fire at your villa, and there are rumors of a rift in your marriage?" a reporter asked.

Gavin's arm tightened around my waist until I could barely breathe. He smiled charmingly for the camera and kissed the top of my head. "That's nonsense. My wife was just a little shaken up. I love her more than my own life. She is my one and only."

The flashes were blinding.

I forced a stiff smile.

In Gavin’s eyes, it was a sign I was softening.

Back at his office, he insisted on holding me in his lap while he went over the family's core finances.

"Look, Viola, these are the shipping routes for next quarter," he said, his chin resting on my shoulder. "I want you to manage them from now on. You always wanted to be more involved in the business, right?"

I said nothing, just mechanically flipped through the documents.

He was building a golden cage, trying to lock up a bird that was already dead.