“Dinner’s ready, honey,” i called out softly.
Instead of a word of thanks, Julian shot up. A terrifying, unfamiliar spark of unhinged rage danced in his eyes. He marched toward the dining area and, without a single warning syllable, drove the sole of his dress shoe directly into the heavy oak table.
Crash!
The table violently tipped upward. My porcelain dinnerware shattered into a hundred jagged pieces. The meal i had practically broken my neck to prepare splattered into a grotesque, greasy heap across the pristine floor.
I stood paralyzed. Julian closed the distance between us, jabbing a rigid finger inches from my nose.
“You are a woman who clearly has no concept of her place!” he roared. “Three days into this marriage and you’re already displaying your sheer laziness.
Starting tomorrow, you will hand over every single debit card and online banking password. You will wake up at 5 AM to cook, and when you return from your little corporate job, you will wait on me hand and foot. Is that clear?”
