“Enough!” he barked. “You’ve humiliated this family enough! Because of you, the media are talking, and Nathan’s company is under fire! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to our business by siding to your mafia brother?”
I looked at him, defeated. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted to leave. That’s all.”
“You will not leave!” he shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. “You will stay here until everything is fixed. You will apologize to your husband and your stepsister. And you will forget this nonsense about divorce! Don’t dare call your brother again!”
I wanted to scream, to fight back, but I was too tired. My father stormed out, ordering the guards to lock the door again.
Hours passed before Nathan returned. His face was blank, but his eyes—those eyes I once thought were kind—were dark with contempt.
“I want a divorce,” I said, my voice steady even as my hands shook.
Nathan laughed under his breath. “No,” he said simply. “You’re not getting a divorce. You’re going to suffer—as much as I want you to suffer.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Why are you doing this to me? Haven’t you done enough?”