Page 290 of The Professor's Wife
The emptiness finally cracked. The veins in his neck rose as he moved toward me.
“Because you. Are. My.Perfect. Fucking. Wife.”
“I’m not perfect!”
“You are exactly what I made you.”
“I slept with him, Oliver.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look away. “And you think that makes you less mine?”
“Yes.”
“No.” He spoke with frightening calm. “It means you’ve forgotten what you are.”
I backed against the wall.
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re upset. Confused. You need to calm down.”
I knew what those words meant.
The kitchen.
The glass of water.
The pill placed carefully against my tongue while Oliver watched to make sure I swallowed.
“No.”
“You’re not capable of making decisions in this state.”
“I said no.”
“You are my wife, Daisy.” His voice sharpened at last. “You don’t get to stop being mine because some boy made you feel special.”
Before he could reach me, I bolted around him, trying to get past him. But his hand shot out, gripping my arm with bruising force. I screamed as he tore the satchel and pillowcase from me, discarding them on the floor. Then he dragged me out of the laundry room and toward the kitchen. I fell to my knees, my arm burning from his hold.
“Stop! You can’t do this, Oliver! Stop! He’ll come for me!” I screamed, thrashing against him.
Oliver’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
“I’ll take care of that boy. He’s nothing. A distraction. You’re mine. I chose you. I built you. I created you. You are my fucking wife!”
The kitchen loomed ahead, dread sinking into my stomach. I knew what he wanted.
The pill.
“No!” I cried, clawing at his arm. “Stop! Stop, Oliver!”
He stopped and bent down, leaning close to my face, breath cold against my ear. “You’re not leaving. Not ever.”
And then—
Something crashed into Oliver.
The force sent us reeling. I twisted, heart hammering, and only then saw who had struck him.
