My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

“Clean this mess up, Vance,” she muttered, her tone dripping with the mild, aristocratic annoyance one might use upon finding spilled wine on a marble countertop. “We have the board members arriving in an hour. This is incredibly inconvenient.”

A heavy, deliberate footfall sounded in the hallway, followed by the appearance of his father, Arthur Sterling.continue reading …