Ruining My Husband With the Dangerous Outcast

"Take it," Kael urged, tapping the table next to the blade.

"Put that away," I hissed, shoving the heavy steel handle back toward him. "Are you insane?"

"You said you wanted your mother's bag back."

"I do. But I'm not going to prison for it."

I kept my gaze fixed on the salon across the street. Chloe laughed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder as she chatted with the receptionist. She patted the oxblood leather sitting on the counter like it was a cheap shopping tote.

My chest tightened. But the tears didn't come. The pathetic, weeping woman who sat on the wet porch last night was gone. A cold, sharp clarity washed over me, freezing the panic in my veins.

"I need to fight smarter," I told Kael. "Physical violence just proves his restraining order right. He wants me to act crazy."

"Violence solves plenty of problems," Kael argued mildly, leaning back against the red vinyl.

"Not this one." I grabbed my water glass. The ice clinked against the plastic. "Julian thinks he erased me. He thinks I'm a helpless housewife who doesn't know how the real world works."

"Aren't you?"

I turned my head, meeting his dark stare. "I managed that house for five years. He changed the digital passcodes, but he forgot everything else."

Kael finally picked up the knife. He flipped it shut and slid it into his boot. "Show me."

We parked Kael’s truck two blocks away, hidden behind a row of tall oaks. The morning sun beat down on the suburban sidewalks, baking the damp pavement from last night's storm.

I led him through the alleyway behind my property. The manicured hedges shielded us from the street view.

"He changed the smart lock on the front door," I murmured, staring at the white painted back door.

"I can kick it in," Kael offered, stepping forward.

"No." I dropped to my knees beside a massive terra-cotta planter. I dug my fingers into the damp soil beneath the rim. "Julian never did the yard work. He paid a landscaping crew."

My nails scraped against cold metal. I pulled out a dull, brass physical key.

"He forgot the old deadbolt," I said, holding it up.

Kael crossed his arms. "Open it."

I slid the key into the lock. It clicked loudly. The heavy door swung inward.

I stepped into my kitchen. The scent of vanilla and espresso lingered in the air. My home. My marble countertops. My stainless steel appliances.

"Make it fast," Kael warned, closing the door behind us. "We don't know when he's coming back."

"Chloe is stuck at the salon for at least an hour," I said, walking toward the living room. "And Julian's car is smashed. He had to take an Uber to his office. I just need to find my mother's jewelry box before they sell that too."

I stopped dead in the archway.

Three large cardboard boxes sat in the middle of my Persian rug.

"What is this?" I walked over and ripped the tape off the top flap.

Inside, wrapped in cheap newspaper, were my antique porcelain plates. The blue and white Ming vases. The delicate teacups my grandmother brought over from London.

A sloppy sticky note clung to the side of the box in Chloe's handwriting. *Flea Market pile - $50 for all.*

"Fifty dollars," I choked out. "These are worth thousands. They're my family heirlooms."

"She's cleaning house," Kael observed, leaning against the doorframe.

"She's erasing me." I stared at the delicate blue paint of a porcelain saucer.

Hatred, pure and white-hot, flooded my veins.

I marched over to the stone fireplace. I bypassed the broom. I bypassed the ash shovel.

I grabbed the solid brass poker. It weighed heavy in my grip.

"Melody," Kael warned.

"I'm not hurting a person," I said, marching back to the boxes.

I raised the heavy iron tool high above my head.

I brought it down.

*CRASH.*

The sound of shattering porcelain echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

"Hey," Kael said, his voice dropping a register as he watched me.

I didn't stop. I swung again.

*CRASH.*

Shards of ancient blue and white pottery burst through the cardboard. Dust flew into the air.

"Careful," Kael said, watching the shards fly. "You'll cut yourself."

"I don't care," I panted, raising the poker again. "She wants to sell my history for fifty dollars?"

I brought the brass rod down a third time.

The Ming vase exploded into a hundred jagged pieces.

I swung until my shoulders burned. I swung until the boxes were flattened, leaking broken china onto the expensive rug.

I stood there, catching my breath, the poker dangling from my right hand.

"Feel better?" Kael asked.

Before I could answer, the front door rattled.

Keys jingled in the lock.

"He's early," Kael stated, stepping back into the shadows of the hallway.

The heavy mahogany front door swung open.

Julian walked in, holding a leather briefcase. "Chloe, I forgot my laptop—"

He stopped.

His blue eyes locked onto me standing in the center of the living room. Then, he looked down at the ruined boxes.

"What the hell are you doing?" Julian yelled, dropping his briefcase. It hit the hardwood floor with a thud.

"Remodeling," I shot back, tightening my grip on the brass handle.

"You broke in!" His face flushed a dark, furious red. "You psychotic bitch, those antiques were going to pay for the new nursery furniture!"

"They belong to my family," I said.

"Everything in this house belongs to me!" Julian lunged across the room.

He raised his hand, his palm flat, aiming straight for my face. "I'm going to teach you a lesson!"

"You're violating a court order!" Julian screamed, spit flying from his lips as he closed the distance.

"The judge hasn't signed it yet," I reminded him coldly.

"I'll have you arrested!" He took another step, his fist pulling back. "I'll throw you in a cell myself!"

I braced for the impact.

It never came.

A massive shadow blurred past me.

Kael’s large hand clamped around Julian’s throat. The force of the impact lifted my husband an inch off the ground.

Kael slammed Julian backward into the drywall. The plaster cracked under the collision.

Julian choked, his hands flying up to claw at Kael’s thick forearm.

"Lesson canceled," Kael rumbled.

Kael snatched the brass poker from my loose fingers.

He didn't swing it. He didn't smash anything.

He simply pressed the jagged, sharp tip of the brass rod directly against Julian’s right eyeball.

Julian froze. A pathetic, high-pitched whimper escaped his throat.

"Blink," Kael whispered, leaning in close. "And I'll pop it."