The sound of my ex-husband's voice, laced and woven with disdain, is something I never hoped to hear again in some dark corner of my apartment. The memories of a night where he said similar words to me begin to race through my brain in a whirlwind fashion, paralyzing my body with terror.

"You have too much time on your hands, Dixon, if you really have been sitting here waiting for me." Unfortunately, despite the intended undertone, my words still manage to come out weak and breathy, lacking any authority.

"I haven't been here long. Although, I stopped by the other day. Had a key made."

At the sound of a boot inching forward against the ground, my body reacts, spinning towards the sound. He is standing by the window, close enough to the door to make a run for it nearly impossible. He'd reach me before I got to it. Dressed in his police uniform, his sandy hair coifed back neatly, he looks as if it were years ago, back when we were married. If it weren't for the menacing leer, I'd almost be able to remember a time when we were happy.

There is something gleaming in his hands. I realize it's a house key. My eyes wander around my apartment, and I wonder how many things he's touched while I was out.

"How did you get that?"

"I'm a cop. I have my ways."

I regard him closely. "You're abusing your position. What you're doing is illegal."

He nods, inching forward. I slide along the counter, inching away.

"Did you like Italy?" he asks, a softness to his voice that sends chills down my spine. "I remember you had always wanted to go abroad. I should have taken you, for our honeymoon."

I shake my head, smiling softly in an attempt to keep him calm. "We were both busy, Dixon."

"I know. But still."

I glance down at the counters but find nothing to grab onto.

"You know, you never gave us a chance, Scarlett."

"What are you talking about?"

"You never gave me what you've given him. I fuck up, and you throw me out. But he—he does it, again and again, and you're suddenly some fucking saint."

"His fuck-ups didn't include me beaten to a pulp."

"You didn't want to help me. You never wanted–"

"Yes, I did. Dixon, I tried. I begged you to see someone. I begged you to get help. You were usually too drunk to listen and when you weren't, you would find a way out of the topic. I could never reach you. Not even your friends on the force could reach you."

"They were the ones who got me help, after your fucking hero nearly killed me. Tell me, does the image of him choking me to death keep you warm at night? The way he so easily switched into a monster? I think you've got a preference."

I shuffle where I am, feeling the twinge of panic seizing hold of my clarity. "Dixon, I want you to leave. You shouldn't be here."

"Why? Is he coming back?"

"Yes. I just got off the phone with him. He's going to be here any minute."

He smiles slowly, and I freeze, hands clutching the countertop. He's near the couch now, blocking the door.

"No, he's not. He's in California. You came alone." He shrugs. "The downfall to fame, baby. Your life, your every waking move, is suddenly public knowledge."

"I want you to leave, now."

"And I want you to sit the fuck down." His voice crackles through my apartment, causing my blood to jump beneath my own skin. His finger is pointed at the couch, his eyes darting from me to the cushions. "We are not done here."

"Yes, we are." In a moment of brave recklessness, my feet stomp against the ground as I cut through the room, rounding the opposite side of the couch. I nearly make it to the door, until I feel his hand take ahold of mine, and I'm shot backwards, suddenly trapped between locked arms.

"Let me go," I snarl in his face, angry enough to fight him. Inches away, he stares at me, his crystal clear eyes studying my features closely. I grin at him testily. "You going to beat me? Huh? Is that why you're here? Sober? Wow, that's a new low for you, Dixon."

He lets me go abruptly, sending me down onto the couch's cushion, right where he wanted me. I glare at him, watching as he wipes his damp forehead, backing up.

"Despite what you may think, I have no intention of harming you. That's not why I'm here."

"So, why are you?"

"You had a busy week," he utters, lowering down to sit on the edge of my coffee table. He clasps his hands together, and suddenly, he's the epitome of what a fearing cop could look like. "Resigning from Norman's, traveling to Italy and California, meeting with your investor."

I stare at him, unwilling to give anything away. How does he know all of this?

"Ring shopping..." he adds.

"That's not what it was."

"Wasn't it?"

"No. He gave me a necklace."

His mouth frowns, his eyes lowering to my neck. "The one you're wearing?"

"No." It's a lie, and he can tell. My hand nearly reaches up to protect my locket, and within seconds, he's holding out his hand.

"May I see it?"

My gaze sharpens. "Get the fuck out."

He begins to smile. "Either you give it to me, or I rip it off your neck. You choose."

My hands reach behind my neck, unclasping the jewelry, and I scowl at him as I hand it over. He admires the detail on the front before opening it. I watch him read the small lettering.

"Great Expectations. I always saw you reading the damn book. Never could understand your fascination with it."

"Give me back my necklace, please." I hold out my hand, unable to breathe. My fingers extend as far as they can go with desperation. And miraculously, after a few moments leaving me in panic, he places the locket back into my hands.

I immediately stuff it into the pocket of my jeans, protecting it from sight. When I look back up, Dixon's gaze is resigned with longing.

"You look like a different woman than the one I knew. Fancy clothes, hair, makeup. He's changed you."

"He made me believe I was beautiful again."

"I made you feel beautiful before."

"And yet you took it away, night after night, when you made me feel worthless and inferior to you." I shake my head. "I just want you to leave me alone, Dixon. Please. I want to move on from this."

"We've both wronged each other. We don't get to move on from this."

"Your manipulations won't work on me now, Dix."

"Maybe they won't. But I know something that will."

I stare at him, frightened enough for his next words to remain silent. He's confident, too confident. He exhales, looking toward the window.

"I've actually done some traveling myself. Arrived back yesterday. Want to know where I went?"

"I can hardly wait."

"California. I decided to pay a visit to the prison there... I made a new friend."

I can hear my own heart as I pin Dixon with a hateful gaze. He beams at the sight.

"You know who I'm talking about. Yes, I paid a visit to Tony Martinelli, who was feeling quite talkative, I must say. After I saw him, I phoned one of my old connections with the feds, who was eager to help due to my recent burst of recognition, and he got me in touch with one of his connections, who then gave me the number to the agent working Mr. Martinelli's case."

"That was quite a lot of work for a new friend," I mutter, looking down at my hands. "I guess you found a way to get Tony's release then?"

"Oh, no." He laughs. "I mean, Tony thinks so. But I had other motives in mind when I heard what he had to say. I'm pretty sure the news will work on you."

I want to hit him, fucking nail him right in his smug mouth. "And what news is that?"

"That your precious fiancée and his entire family are thriving off millions of dollars of stolen money. Money his father and his son laundered themselves."

Fuck.

My face heats. I gape, shaking my head. "Giovanni didn't know."

"I could care less if he did. It won't matter. Since this was a big family secret and since your guy is so huge in the news lately, I really won't have to do much to imply he was an accomplice. This news gets out, and he's under investigation. He will go bankrupt. His company will be torn right out from under him. His family will be disgraced as they are forced to forfeit their homes... his ill mother and little sister. The public and everyone he works with will know him to be a cheat, a crook, a man who has built an empire worldwide on stolen cash and connections to make up for the fact that he doesn't have the talent to ground a company from scratch."

I gawk at him, paralyzed in horror.

"And not to even mention, the trial. A brother suing another brother for laundering money from his own company. God, I can imagine the headlines for that. They'll paint Giovanni as the worst kind of man, willing to throw his own brother under the bus to keep his hands clean."

"It's not the truth."

"No one cares about the truth. The press certainly doesn't. They want headlines– and making your lover boy the villain makes for a damn good story."

"You can't do this."

He nods. "I can. I've already begun."

I clasp my trembling hands, which give away how fucking terrified I've become.

"Wha–What do you want from me, Dixon?"

He leans further forward. "What do you think I want?"

I tilt my head, eying him warily. "I'm not sleeping with you."

He exhales and stands. "As tempting as that seems right now, I have something more important I want."

I hold out my hands. "Then tell me. What is it? Money? What?"

He bends down in front of me, resting his elbows against the tops of my knees. I stare down at him, suddenly unable to breathe.

He smiles, just barely.

"I want you to leave him, Scarlett."

I suck in an inhale out of fury and shove him back, standing. "Fuck you."

He begins to laugh as I stride towards the door.

"Leaving now will do you no good, Scarlett. Nor will running." I stop in my tracks, my skin crawling. "You can tell him about this, but are you really going to urge him to ruin his life, his family's lives, for you?"

"Do you have no fucking heart, Dixon?" I growl, turning around.

"I do. That's the problem. You destroyed it. And now, I want to destroy yours. You love this guy this much, well then I'm sure you'll make the right choice for him."

"And if I go to the police?"

He smirks, crossing his arms. "What will you tell them? That I'm threatening to arrest your criminal boyfriend?"

"I'll tell them you beat me. I'll tell them you are a fucking monster!"

"And they won't believe you." He approaches me so fast, that I flinch when he makes contact with my skin. His hands grip my arms, rubbing the skin forcefully. "Do you think I've spent all these months getting sober to make amends? Honestly? After you watched that man nearly strangle me while I was down?"

"Dixon, please. Don't do this," I breathe, shaking my head. I gape. "Ask for anything else. I'll give it to you."

"No."

"Dixon, we loved each other once–"

"Scarlett, you will tell Giovanni you aren't going to continue to see him, or I give the go-ahead for this story. You decide."

My chest swells with hate. I yank my arm from his reach and slam it into his chest. It feels so damn good I do it again and again until I'm shouting, wailing upon him.

"I hate you. I FUCKING HATE you!"

Within seconds, his hand slams into my throat, and I'm left winded, pinned with my back to the front door. I grapple, remembering memories of this, me tearing at his hands with my fingertips, struggling to find breath as he played around with my life.

He leans in close, and his fingers tighten around my flesh.

"You and I are bonded together, Scarlett. You will never be rid of me. I will never let you live without me. I am your husband, your only goddamn husband. There is no room for him and us."

I flinch as his thumbs glide over the curve of my jaw, his eyes settling on my lips. My tears are rippling between his fingers. My head is pounding, my body riddled with fear.

He lets me go, and I slump down onto the floor, sucking in gulps of air I'd lost. I look up, blinded by pressure and water, finding him staring down at me. Suddenly, he smiles.

"Well, what do you know? That feels pretty good sober too."

Horrified, I gape, choking on my words. He reaches for the door.

"End it, Scarlett. Now."