Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1 — The First Lesson
Tom couldn’t breathe.
He lay on the hardwood floor, his hands desperately clutching his chest as his lungs fought to remember how to pull in oxygen.
His face, previously a toxic, angry purple, had drained to a sickly, translucent white.
I didn't move to help him.
I just stood there, perfectly balanced, watching the pathetic display of a man realizing his entire worldview had just been shattered.
"What..." Tom gasped out, a thin trail of saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth. "What are you?"
I crouched down again, the silk of my newlywed robe pooling around my knees.
I reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his expensive dress shirt.
I didn't yank him. I just pulled him up slowly, inch by inch, until his terrified eyes were level with mine.
"I am the woman you thought you could break," I whispered smoothly.
"For the last five years, before I took a quiet desk job to 'settle down', I was a chief instructor for a private military contractor."
Tom’s pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked entirely black.
"I spent my twenties teaching combat operatives how to disarm hostiles, break joints, and neutralize threats in close quarters."
I tilted my head, studying his trembling jaw.
"And you thought a cheap whiskey and a raised voice would make me submit?"
I let go of his collar.
His head cracked back against the oak console with a dull thud.
He whimpered. Actually whimpered.
"Now," I said, standing up and brushing a speck of dust off my robe. "Let’s talk about the new rules of this household."
I pointed to the shattered porcelain, the ruined food, the absolute disaster he had made of our dining room.
"You are going to clean this up."
Tom blinked, still clutching his chest. "I... I think my ribs are broken."
"They aren't," I replied clinically. "I hit you with exactly forty percent of my power. It’s a diaphragm spasm. You’ll live."
I walked over to the kitchen counter and leaned against the marble.
"You have ten minutes to make this floor shine."
"If there is a single shard of glass left when I come back down, I am going to demonstrate what sixty percent power feels like."
Tom stared at me, paralyzed by shock and fear.
"Nine minutes and fifty seconds," I noted, checking the wall clock.
Panic finally overrode his pain.
He scrambled to his knees, his hands shaking violently as he began to sweep the broken plates into a pile.
The big, tough man who had demanded my salary and my silence was now crawling on his hands and knees in the gravy he had spilled.
I turned my back on him and walked upstairs.
I didn't lock the bedroom door.
I knew he wouldn't dare open it.
May you like
I climbed into the king-sized bed, pulled the high-thread-count duvet over my shoulders, and closed my eyes.
For a woman whose husband had just declared a domestic war, I slept absolutely beautifully.
