The Fixer's Secret: Taming My Husband

The interior of the Maybach was silent as a tomb. The partition between the driver and the passenger cabin was raised, sealing them in a bubble of leather and tension.

Julian sat on the far right, staring out the window at the blurred lights of the highway. He was holding an ice pack from the car's mini-fridge against his knuckles. They were bruised and swelling from where he had punched the wall.

Victoria sat on the far left. She had kicked off her heels again. Her feet ached.

Her phone buzzed.

She looked at it. Eleanor. Again.

She pressed speakerphone. She didn't have the energy to hold it to her ear.

Are you en route? Eleanor's voice filled the cabin.

We are, Victoria said.

Good. The herbalist prepared the tonic. It's on the entry table. Make sure you drink it hot. And Victoria?

Yes?

Don't disappoint me. This month is crucial. The trust fund committee meets in six weeks. If there is no announcement by then, they will freeze the liquid assets again.

I understand, Victoria said.

She hung up.

She heard a sound from the other side of the seat. A dry, humorless chuckle.

Julian didn't look at her. You're efficient, I'll give you that. You take orders like a soldier.

It's a partnership, Julian. We both want the money released.

I don't need the money, he said. I have my own.

Victoria looked at him. That was true. Julian had made millions on his own in tech investments before he took over the family conglomerate. But the family trust held the controlling shares of Sterling Corp. Without an heir, his control was tenuous.

You need the shares, she said.

He turned to look at her then. His eyes were cold, dead things. Is that what you tell yourself when you spread your legs? That it's for the shares?

Victoria flinched. It was a microscopic movement, but he saw it.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, she said.

The car slowed. The massive iron gates of the Sterling Manor swung open. They drove up the long, winding driveway lined with ancient oaks that looked like grasping skeletal hands in the headlights.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Julian got out first. He didn't wait for her. He walked up the stone steps two at a time.

Mrs. Jiang, the housekeeper, was waiting in the foyer. She held a silver tray with a ceramic bowl on it. The steam rising from it smelled of dirt and bitter roots.

Mr. Julian, Mrs. Sterling, she greeted them. Her eyes darted between their disheveled appearances.

Julian walked right past her. I'm going to my study.

Mrs. Jiang looked at Victoria. Madam? The tonic?

Victoria sighed. She picked up the bowl. It was warm. She brought it to her lips and drank it in one go. It tasted vile. Like licorice and old pennies. She gagged slightly but forced it down.

Thank you, Mrs. Jiang.

She handed the empty bowl back and walked up the grand staircase. Her legs felt heavy.

She went to the master bedroom. It was a cavernous room, decorated in shades of cream and gray. It was beautiful and utterly devoid of life.

Julian wasn't there.

She went into the bathroom. She stripped off her ruined clothes and stepped into the shower. She turned the water up as hot as she could stand it. She scrubbed her skin until it was pink, trying to wash off the smell of the club, the smell of Elena's perfume, the phantom sensation of Julian's hands.

She dried off and walked into the walk-in closet. She pushed aside her comfortable flannel pajamas and reached for the section of lingerie that Eleanor insisted she buy.

She chose a black lace slip. It was sheer, uncomfortable, and undeniably sexy.

She walked back into the bedroom.

Julian was there. He had changed into sweatpants, no shirt. He was standing by the window, pouring a glass of scotch.

He heard her enter and turned around.

His eyes swept over her body. For a second, she saw the heat flare again. The same heat from the club. But then he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a wall of ice.

What are you doing? he asked.

Victoria walked to the bed. She pulled back the duvet. I'm doing my job, Julian. It's the fourteenth day of the cycle.

She sat on the edge of the bed.

Julian laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound. You think I'm going to touch you? After tonight?

You kissed me an hour ago, Victoria reminded him.

That was a mistake, he said. He took a sip of his drink. A moment of weakness. It won't happen again.

Victoria felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed it down. Julian, please. Let's just get this over with. I'm tired.

You're tired? He walked toward the bed. He loomed over her. You think this is a chore?

Isn't it? she asked. For you?

He looked at her. He looked at the lace, at her bare shoulders, at the curve of her legs.

You're beautiful, Victoria, he said softly.

Her heart skipped a beat.

On the outside, he continued. But inside? You're hollow. You're just a vessel waiting to be filled so you can cash a check.

He threw the rest of his scotch into the fireplace. The flames roared up, blue and orange.

He turned and walked toward the door.

Where are you going? Victoria asked, her voice small.

Guest room, he said. Sleep with your checkbook. It'll keep you warmer than I will.

The door slammed.

Victoria sat alone in the middle of the king-sized bed. The lace itched. The room was silent.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She didn't cry. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry over him anymore.

She just stared at the empty space where her husband should have been, and wondered how much longer she could endure being the villain in his story.