The Fixer's Secret: Taming My Husband

The ambulance lights were a strobe of red and blue against the stone facade of the manor. Eleanor had insisted on calling 911 when Julian collapsed in the hallway, pale and gasping for air.

Now, hours later, the private room at St. Jude's Hospital was quiet. The IV pump clicked rhythmically. Beep. Whir. Beep.

Julian lay in the bed. He looked wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, lips chapped.

Victoria sat in the chair beside the bed. She was peeling an apple with a small paring knife. The skin came off in one long, continuous red ribbon.

The nurse checked his vitals and left, closing the door softly.

Julian opened his eyes. They weren't groggy. They were razor sharp.

You, he croaked.

Victoria didn't look up from the apple. How are you feeling, dear?

You poisoned me, he said. His voice was a rasp. The doctor said it was extreme exhaustion and a panic attack. But I haven't had an attack in years.

Victoria sliced a piece of apple. Did he? Stress manifests in mysterious ways, Julian. Maybe your conscience is finally catching up with you.

Julian sat up. He ripped the pulse oximeter off his finger. The monitor flatlined with a high-pitched whine for a second before he silenced it.

Don't play games with me, Victoria. It was the coffee.

Victoria looked at him. She pointed the knife at him, casually.

Okay, she said. It was the coffee.

Julian stared at her. He looked shocked by her admission.

You admit it?

Why lie? Victoria shrugged. You needed a break. You were spiraling. I just... helped you hit the pause button.

Julian laughed. It was a crazy, incredulous sound. You could have killed me.

"It was herbal, Julian. You're fine. Just a little... mellow."

Julian's face twisted. He threw the covers off. He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He stood up. He swayed slightly, grabbing the IV pole for support.

Get back in bed, Julian, Victoria said, standing up. You're weak.

I'm not weak, he growled.

He lunged at her.

He tried to move fast, but his body was heavy. He stumbled, his weight carrying him forward. Victoria didn't step back; she braced herself.

They collided. The momentum sent them both crashing onto the narrow guest cot near the window.

He pinned her. His weight was heavy, suffocating. He trapped her hands above her head with one hand.

With his other hand, he reached for the bedside table. There was a small paper cup with two pills in it. Potassium and an anti-nausea med.

Open your mouth, he ordered.

Victoria struggled. Julian, stop! You're bleeding!

He had ripped the IV out in his fall. Blood was dripping from the back of his hand onto her cheek. It was warm and metallic.

He didn't care. He put the pills in his own mouth.

Then he kissed her.

He forced her jaw open with his. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, transferring the bitter, chalky pills.

Victoria gagged. She tried to turn her head, but he held her fast.

Swallow, he commanded against her lips.

She swallowed reflexively. The pills went down, dry and scratching.

Julian didn't pull away. The kiss shifted. The anger turned into that same dark hunger from the club. He tasted like antiseptic and toothpaste and blood. It was disgusting. It was electrifying.

His hand moved down her body, gripping her waist, his thumb pressing into her hip bone.

Victoria stopped fighting. Her hands, pinned above her head, relaxed. Her fingers curled around his wrist.

She made a sound. A small, needy whimper.

Julian froze.

He pulled back just an inch. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He looked at the blood on her face. His blood.

He looked at her swollen lips.

Knock, knock.

The door handle turned.

Mr. Sterling? The monitor is off, is everything-

The nurse walked in.

She stopped. She saw the blood on the floor. She saw Julian hovering over his wife, his hand bleeding.

Oh my god! the nurse squeaked.

Julian didn't panic. In a blur of motion, he swept the paring knife Victoria had dropped under the pillow with his uninjured hand.

He turned his head slowly to look at the nurse. His eyes were demonic.

"My IV," Julian rasped, holding up his bleeding hand as if it were a minor annoyance. "I ripped it out in my sleep. Fix it or get out."

The nurse stood frozen, her eyes darting between the blood and the intense, almost violent energy radiating from the man in the bed.

"I... I'll get the doctor," she stammered, backing out of the room and closing the door.