Chapter 10 - The Locked Dressing Room
The heavy mahogany door of my private suite clicked shut behind me, the sound deadened by the thick wool rug under my heels. I pressed my back against the wood for a three-beat count, listening to the heavy silence of the second-floor hallway. My pulse hammered against my collarbone, a sharp, hummingbird rhythm that hadn't slowed since I pulled the sedan into the gravel motor court ten minutes ago. In my hand, the thick manila envelope containing the county attorney's injunction papers felt like a hot coal.
I crossed the bedroom floor toward the dressing room, my eyes scanning the vanity table to find a place to hide the file before dinner. The marble surface was cluttered with my usual silver-backed hairbrush, a crystal perfume atomizer, and a row of glass jars. None of it offered cover. I dropped to one knee, lifting the edge of the woven floor mat beneath the vanity, and slid the manila packet flat against the dark floorboards just as a low, dry sound cut through the quiet from the adjoining sitting room.
"You've been spending a great deal of time away from the house lately, Elizabeth."
I froze, one hand still flat against the fringe of the rug. Slowly, I pushed myself up to a standing position and turned toward the arched entryway of the dressing room.
Dominic stood beside the velvet chaise lounge, cast in the long, gray shadows of the evening storm gathering again outside the high, arched windows. He had removed his suit jacket, but his dark vest and tie remained immaculate, his shirtsleeves neatly cuffed at his wrists. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a stiff, white piece of heavy cardstock.
It was the attorney's business card I thought I had tucked safely into my purse pocket.
"You were looking through my things," I said. My voice came out lower than I intended, steady through sheer force of will, though my fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my sweater.
Dominic didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. He took a slow step forward, the polished leather of his shoe clicking against the hardwood floor with deliberate cadence. "I was looking for a misplaced ledger from the foundation board meeting, Elizabeth. Instead, I found your handbag unzipped on the side chair. A careless oversight for someone who usually prides herself on discretion."
He stopped three paces away, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at the card between his fingers. The public charm he wore so effortlessly for the charity board members and local politicians had completely vanished. In its place was a cold, calculating stillness—the look of a man who measured every person and object in his orbit by their utility or their threat.
"The county courthouse is a thirty-mile drive each way," Dominic continued, his tone conversational, almost mild. "A tedious trip in this weather. Yet you felt the need to make it twice this week. First to see the clerk, and now to consult with someone whose name I do not recognize on this little piece of paper."
"My personal life isn't an item on your corporate agenda, Dominic," I said, meeting his gaze directly. I refused to shrink back, refusing to let him reduce me to the panicked woman who had stood trembling on the terrace hours ago. "You don't own every hour of my day."
Dominic’s expression hardened. Without looking away from me, he pivoted slightly on his heel, walked past the vanity, and reached out to click the brass deadbolt on the private suite's entry door. The mechanical thunk of the bolt sliding home echoed heavily in the room.
"We are past the point of legal semantics, Elizabeth," Dominic said, turning back to face me, his shoulders squared. "People in our position do not file injunctions against their own households. They do not air private domestic matters with county attorneys who are eager to make names for themselves before the autumn elections."
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could smell the familiar sandalwood and cedar of his cologne—a scent that once felt safe, but now carried the suffocating weight of an enclosure.
"Hand over whatever documents you brought back with you," he said, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and absolute. "Put them on the vanity right now. We will sit down, we will discuss whatever grievances you imagine you have, and we will clean up this mess before it affects anyone else."
I didn't move. My foot rested inches above the spot beneath the vanity rug where the injunction papers lay flat against the floorboards. The distance between us felt vast, a chasm built on years of calculated control and silent compromises that I was finally refusing to make.
"I didn't bring anything back that concerns you," I lied, keeping my chin up as I stared into his dark, assessing eyes. "And I'm not giving you a thing."
May you like
Dominic let out a slow, quiet breath through his nose, his jaw tightening as he realized the charm had failed and the threat had met stone. The room felt smaller now, the storm outside pressing against the glass as the standoff between us settled into a hard, unyielding equilibrium.
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