Page 74 of The Manor of Dreams

“I’m going to ask you a question.” She pushed toward him all the rejections she’d kept. All these years he’d let her believe she wasn’t good enough. He had made sure her dream died bloodlessly. In silence. “Did you write these?”

He stopped short. “No. What are you…” He paused, and then he gave her a strange look. She’d seen that expression so many times. That furrowed brow. The measured, concerned expression. It used to comfort her. Now it enraged her. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” He gestured around him. “What is all this?”

Vivian drew herself up. “You’re lying.”

His gaze snapped back to her. Her body registered that this was dangerous, but she didn’t know if she cared.

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” She pushed the stack of drafted rejection letters toward him. The ones that were unsent, uncreased, and unsigned. How many were there? How many more times was he ready for her to send her work out and hope? “Did you write these?”

He said nothing. That was enough for her.

“I tried,” he said softly. “At the beginning. I tried talking to everyone about it. I really did. No one wanted it. It wasn’t… there’s not anaudience, Vivian.” He stepped forward. His eyes softened. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t wantthemto hurt you.”

Vivian’s chest heaved.I’ll take care of it.“I don’t believe you anymore.” She lifted her chin. “I called Gene Lyman.”

His expression hardened.

“You,” she cried. “You took that role away from me. InDawn Light.” Her voice rose and cracked. “I was going to get it!” The walls seemed to close in. “You fed him lies. You told him I was—unstable.”???. Nerves shot and frayed.

“Do you not remember that you were having panic attacks? I told him it was best for you to step back. I mean, clearly your career was taking a toll on you. It was better for you to be home, to be with the kids—”

“What career?” Vivian slammed the table with both hands. “I’m gettingnothingnow. I audition for—for a waitress, or a shopkeeper, or any other role where I don’t speak. I try so hard, and then I finally get an opportunity andyoutake it away from me! Youmonster.”

Pain shocked through the back of her skull before she registered what happened. His fingers wrenched her hair. His eyes were bloodshot, wild. He was on something. She felt his hot breath on her face and smelled stale, sour whiskey. “Are you not happy with what you have? Other people work their entirelivesfor this, and it’s still not enough for you.”

Vivian went limp. Tears seared her cheeks.

“What a greedy woman you are,” he snarled. “You got what no one else could, and you’re still not satisfied.”

It was about the Oscar. It always was. She knew exactly how to placate him right now. She could apologize. But she had a fierce urge to hurt him back. She laughed, high and shrill. “Youwishyou got it. You never will.” She whispered through gritted teeth. “You’re not good enough.”

That was when his fingers closed around her throat.

He shoved her against the bookshelves and pinned her with his whole weight, raising her up to her toes. Vivian kicked at him, but his grip only tightened. Her head pounded and she fought for air. “Say that again.”

She struggled against him. He wasn’t letting go.

His eyes were lethal. “Go on.” He threw her against the shelf, once, twice. “Say it.”

Nothing could make its way out of her throat. Her eyes felt like they would burst. Seconds dragged; the room swayed before her. She clawed at his hands, but he didn’t let go.

Spots filled her vision. The room dimmed. She heard a buzzing sound—was that real? Her husband was looking at her with that terrifying look she knew too well, except the flesh around his jaw was sagging, purpling and then becoming green. His eyes clouded over, bloating and bulging in his sockets, until they burst and splattered against her.

She pitched forward and fell on her knees, blinking frantically, sucking air in with rattling gasps. Light poured into her vision. She was on the floor of the library. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered into a chair. Her husband was facing away from her and she was relieved not to have to look at him.

Seconds, or hours, passed. She kept swallowing, as if it could open up her throat. The room still spun. There was still this buzzing in her ears. “I’m filing for divorce.” Her voice came out so hoarse, she was surprised he was able to hear her.

“We’re not divorcing.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

Look at what you did to me, she wanted to scream.

“Let’s make this clear,” he said quietly. There were scratches down his wrist. He rolled down his sleeves to cover them. “If you leave me, that is your choice. But let me tell you exactly what will happen next. You will ruin this family. You will never get another cent from me. I will get full custody of Rennie—”

“You won’t,” Vivian rasped.

“I will. I’ll get the best lawyers. You won’t see her again. And I will make sure you never, ever, come near Hollywood again, Vivian. I will make sure you are never on another screen in my lifetime. You will be a ghost here. No one will remember your name.”

“I’m your wife.”

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