Chapter 3
The marble was cold under my bare feet. I could feel every piece of debris through my soles, sharp little bites of glass and glitter that hadn't been there when the night started. I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, not because I wanted to, but because I didn't know what else to do with my hands. My father was beside me now. He hadn't touched me yet. He just stood there, breathing hard, looking at the marks on my shoulder where the strap of my dress had slipped.
Jonah stood a few feet away, near the curve of the staircase. His tuxedo was perfect. Not a wrinkle. He'd let go of my arm when my father spoke, but he hadn't stepped back. He watched us the way you watch something you own that someone else is trying to move.
My father spoke first. His voice was low and it shook.
"Who did this to you?" he said. He wasn't looking at Jonah. He was looking at me, at the red mark blooming on my cheek, at my wrist.
I couldn't answer. My throat had closed. The ballroom was too quiet. All the guests were still lined up along the edges, holding their drinks, not drinking them. I could see two women in front, one in a sparkly champagne dress, the other in black, both staring with their mouths open.
Jonah smiled. It was a small, tight smile. He straightened his jacket with one hand, the way he always did when he wanted to look calm.
"This is my house, my rules," he said to my father. His voice was even, almost friendly. "We're handling it privately. This is a family matter. There's no need to make a scene."
He said it like he was being reasonable. Like he was protecting me.
My father looked at him then. Really looked at him.
"Your house doesn't mean you get to hurt her," he said. His voice got louder. "I don't care whose name is on the deed. You don't get to do this in your house or anyone else's."
Jonah didn't flinch. He took a slow step closer, but he kept that same composed posture, hands loose at his sides.
"She's my wife," he said. "She lives here. We have our own way of dealing with things. You coming in here and shouting doesn't help Elise. It embarrasses her."
I felt my father's hand hover near my back, not quite touching me. I wanted to lean into it. I didn't.
"I never wanted this life," I said. It came out so quiet I wasn't sure either of them heard it at first. My voice was raw from crying. I wasn't looking at Jonah when I said it. I was looking at the floor, at the scattered debris reflecting the chandelier light.
Jonah heard it. His smile thinned.
"Elise," he said, soft, warning.
My father heard it too. He turned back to me. "What did you say, honey?"
I swallowed. The bruise on my chest ached when I breathed. "I never wanted this life," I said again, a little louder. I didn't mean the dress or the ballroom. I meant all of it. The house, the rules, the way Jonah decided what private meant.
For a second nobody moved. The air in the ballroom felt heavy, like before a storm.
Then Jonah clapped his hands once. Sharp. Not loud, but enough to make a few guests jump.
"Everyone," he said, raising his voice just enough to carry. He turned his head to address the room, his smug expression back in place. "We need some space. Please, give us the floor. Take a step back. Grab a drink at the bar. This is a private family moment."
He said it like a host. Like he was asking people to admire the centerpieces. And they listened. That was the worst part. The guests started to shift, to murmur, to step back. The two women in front retreated a few steps, still staring but now from farther away. The circle around us widened. The polished floor with all its debris was suddenly more visible, an empty stage.
My father glanced around as the perimeter cleared. His jaw tightened.
"We're not going anywhere private with you," he said to Jonah.
"We're already private," Jonah said. He gestured at the empty space he'd just made. "Look. It's just us. That's all I asked for. We can talk like adults. In my house."
May you like
I stood in the middle of that cleared circle, arms still crossed, barefoot on the cold marble. My father on one side, Jonah on the other, both claiming the space around me. The guests were now a distant wall of formal wear and averted eyes. No one was coming closer. No one was leaving either. They were just watching from a safe distance, exactly where Jonah wanted them.
I realized then what his house meant. It wasn't the walls or the staircase. It was that everyone inside it did what he said, even when they could see what he'd done.
