Marcus was shaking when he entered the living room. Daniel, on his way out, saw him first and gave him a sympathetic look that he didn't fucking want. Karen knotted the bow of her black silk robe, looking like a blond geisha. It was a nearly perfect scene, candles, wine, and his woman.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she looked up with a brilliant smile.

"Baby! You're home." She sashayed over to him on ice-pick thin stilettos. Wrapping her red tipped hands around his neck, she placed a loud kiss to his cheek. "You're early. I'm glad, baby. I missed you so much." She brushed her body along the length of his. "Dan and I were just discussing when you'd be home."

He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't get any words past the acid burning in his throat. His stomach churned, and a fury unlike any he'd ever felt swept over him.

Pulling back, he stared into her eyes, forcing himself to see past the pretty mask she showed him. Even knowing what he did, he still couldn't see it. She was beautiful, innocent and loving. And a complete lie.

He unwound her arms from his neck and gently set her away from him. Looking away from her he turned toward the bedroom.

"Ah..." Her soft sigh stopped him. "Baby, I guess you heard some of our little conversation."

He couldn't answer her. His vocal cords were still frozen.

"I think you may have misunderstood what was going on, sweetheart." She was using that soft, girlish voice that had always driven him insane with lust. Now the sound curdled his stomach. "Daniel got here early and wanted to start before you arrived, baby."

Her words jerked him around to face her, and he finally found his voice.

"Do not," he bit out, "fucking lie to me. It belittles us both."

Her sharp intake of breathe was audible, and was his only warning before her hand shot out. Marc caught her wrist a second before it made contact with his face.

"How dare you say something like that to me? I'm your wife!" Her eyes filled with tears, and in some disconnected part of his brain he almost admired her theatrics.

"This is over. We're done." He shoved her hand away and turned, walking to their bedroom.

"Oh no, it's not, Marcus Worthington. If you think for one second this is over, you are sadly mistaken."

He didn't bother to answer her, just continued on into their bedroom. He didn't look at the bed, their wedding portrait on the nightstand. He focused on the task at hand, gathering fresh clothing; he had everything else in the Lexus.

Ten minutes later, bags packed, he walked back through the living room, heading directly for the front door.

Karen was in the kitchen, placing the forgotten roses in a crystal vase. She laughed when she saw him, and said indulgently, "Go ahead, darling. Get drunk tonight, purge your silly anger." She paused to inhale the rose's sweet perfume. "With your sexual background, I fail to understand why you're so upset."

"My sexual background?" Marc repeated. "I have never cheated on you; never wanted to cheat on you."

Karen compressed her full red lips and shrugged her shoulders. "I never thought you would expect monogamy, Marcus. I mean, how many couples in our position really do? But maybe I could do that, if you didn't expect me to participate in your kinky games."

Her words sank into him, slicing his heart and sickening his soul. How could he have been so blind?

"I expect you back tomorrow," she added casually. "We have the Charity auction at the Whitney in the evening. Be here at eight. That should give you plenty of time to come to your senses. By then, I am sure you'll come up with an acceptable apology for ruining my anniversary."

Marc walked out his front door for the last time on numb legs. He was furious, sick with anger at Karen, but even more at himself. Karen had just utterly emasculated him, but he'd let her.

He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream and rage and throw things, but he knew she was watching in the window, and he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break.

She actually expected him to come running back tomorrow, bearing gifts and apologies like some sort of fucking lap dog. Fuck that. She'd severed the connection between his cock and his heart. No woman would ever get that kind of hold on him again--ever.

Dan stood by his car, hands shoved in his pockets.

Marc walked around him to the back of the vehicle. Opening the door, he threw the duffle and garment bags he'd packed onto the seat.

Dan held out a key as Marc approached the driver's door. "Spare room's yours for as long as you need it. The Jack Daniels is in the cupboard next to the fridge. Save some for me."

Marcus stood stock still while his best friend placed the key into his palm.

Daniel stepped back, not waiting for Marc to answer and slid into is car. Marc spared a brief grateful thought that his friend hadn't tried to apologize or console him. Without another word or glance, Daniel gunned the engine and tore out of the parking lot with a vicious squeal of tires.

Marc got behind the wheel of his own car and pulled out. He drove along Woodward Avenue on auto pilot, stopping at a corner liquor store to purchase a bottle of tequila.

Making his way to West Jefferson, and then into the Cobo Center parking garage, he headed down to the river front on foot. Once there, he walked along mindlessly, watching the flashes of light from Windsor wink at him from across the river.

Eventually he wandered into a low lit area and sat on a concrete bench. Thoughts swirled around in his head, faster than he could keep up.

Karen. She thought he was a fucking joke. She "put up with" his perversions to further her fucking career. Her words stabbed him in the gut over and over, vicious reminders of what a fool he'd been.

Meredith had warned him on more than one occasion that Karen was wrong for him. He'd laughed at her. She was young and hadn't lived long enough to know what was right for her, much less what was right for him.

His father had warned him, too, reminding Marcus endlessly that women were faithless and weak, and making Marcus even more determined to take Karen for his own. His father had also pushed for an iron clad pre-nup, and Marcus had agreed with him on that one point. But Karen had easily talked him out of it the first time she'd let him tie her up.

It had all been right there in front of him, but he'd been blinded by the longest legs that had ever been wrapped around his hips and his own arrogance. What a fucking fool.

Two hours later, he was drunk and comfortably numb from head to toe. On wobbly legs, he rose from the bench. Tossing the empty tequila bottle in a nearby trash can, he stumbled over to the railing. The waters were rough from the wind and slapped up the wall getting his shoes wet as he leaned over watching them rush by.

Fuck, he was tired. So damn tired. Tired of being someone he really wasn't. Ignoring his needs in order to make Karen happy. He'd always known she wasn't a true submissive. She didn't crave the freedom of surrender that D/s sex could provide. Still, he had thought he would be able to ease her into the lifestyle, even if only on the fringes. She let him tie her up on occasion; she'd fucked him and Dan both.

He'd had high hopes that she was softening up to his more exotic tastes, though he hadn't taken her to the club, thinking it would be too much for her. He was damn happy now that he hadn't.

You knew, fool. In the back of your mind, buried deep, you knew she'd do this to you one day. But his heart broke anyway.

He'd known she was cold and single minded at work, but she'd never been like that with him. Hell, she was the best actress Marc had ever seen. He'd fucking have to nominate her for an Oscar. And he was the biggest asshole in the world for turning himself over to a woman like her, for trying to change who he was to make her happy.

He swayed out over the railing, hypnotized by the dark rushing water. Inky eddies swirled then slapped the wall and splashed up white foam. He didn't even realize he'd lost his balance until the dark waves suddenly were rushing toward him, getting closer at an alarming rate. The cold spray hit him in the face but before he could tip over the rail or back to safety, a large hand grabbed his jacket and hauled him up.

He was whipped around, a flashlight shone brightly in his face. Marc squinted his eyes and fell back against the railing.

"Worthington?" Fuck, who was that? Marc knew the voice but couldn't place it.

"What the hell were you trying to do, man? It's too fucking cold to take a swim tonight."

The light lowered, and Marc was able to adjust his somewhat blurry vision.

Jenner. Just fucking great. Officer Dorian Jenner.

"Let's go, man. I'll get a patrol car to take you home." Jenner put his arm around Marc, holding him upright as they walked back toward Hart Plaza.

"Not home, Jenner, take me to Daniel's. Tha's my home now," Marcus slurred. Dorian tightened his hold as Marc tripped over his own feet.

"You got it, buddy." Dorian did a quick two-step as Marcus lurched to the side. "For this I better get a bump up to platinum status at the club." His easy laugh rumbled from his throat, and for the first time in hours Marcus smiled.

"Sure man, firs' thing tomorrow I'll make the call."

"Right," Dorian agreed. "If you even remember we had this conversation, tomorrow."

Three days later, the headlines screamed: "Worthington Heir Plays Dirty."

When Marcus had failed to arrive at eight o'clock as ordered, Karen had been livid. When he declined to accept her calls and had security ban her from the Worthington Group's offices, she'd taken her revenge, going to the local news media with an alarming story of her sexual enslavement at the hands of a domineering and abusive husband.

Marcus had been both horrified and fascinated by the most outrageous pack of lies he'd ever heard. Mixing fact and fiction, the stories gave details of a sexual life they'd never really had. Local news anchors described sex acts he'd never even imagined performing. Not with Karen. Hell, not with anyone.

Good ole Stirling, as always, was so damn supportive, lecturing him on how he should keep his secrets, fucking secret. I expect this kind of behavior from Mathew, not you, Marcus. You are the face of Worthington, and that face has been sullied by your actions, preying on your wife like that. Well, it's your mess, clean it up. I won't help. If the company folds, then it's on your head.

His father was a master at guilt and humiliation. Marc had avoided most of it by becoming the cold, calculating businessman that his father was. Maybe he'd become too adept at being in total control, because the craving had spilled over into the bedroom.

He just regretted that his need for control had opened his business and his family, his sister and brother, up to pain and speculation. Hurting them was even more devastating than his own pain.

He was rereading the article for the tenth time when Carrie Anderson came into his office. Shaking her head, she folded the paper up and tossed it in the trash.

"Marcus, stop doing this. You're giving her what she wants." Her calm, soothing voice dragged him from his self-loathing. She placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of him and propped one curvy hip on the edge of his desk.

He eyed his assistant bleakly. "You knew didn't you? What I like? What I want?" He watched her soft round face pinken as she nodded.

"I knew. I overheard Karen talking a time or two." He tried to hold back a wince. God only knew what venom Karen had spewed in Carrie's direction. Carrie continued in a matter of fact voice. "And Daniel and Matt, well, they aren't exactly discreet." She gave him a small smile, but he couldn't quite manage to return it.

"Why are you still here?" He hated the way his normally commanding voice was barely above a whisper.

Carrie grabbed his hand, and when the physical contact of her silky skin made him jump slightly, she only tightened her hold.

"Marcus, I will only say this to you once, and then we will never talk about it again. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Karen is a vindictive woman who will fight tooth and nail to make you look bad. Don't let her get to you." Her other hand came to rest on the top of his head. "The man I know is stronger than that."

She let go of his hand and walked to the door. She opened it, then paused and turned halfway around to meet Marc's bemused eyes. She'd never been so familiar, never dared cross the line between employer and employee before today. "You're a good man, Marcus." That winsome smile teased her lips again. "And, just for the record, I read that article as well as the others, and I don't think you're depraved. Not even a little bit."

Something mysterious and female ghosted through her eyes before she turned to go. Closing the door quietly behind her, she left Marcus alone, feeling a small amount of warmth fill his chest for the first time in days.

He was damn lucky to have Carrie here. Her words fluttered in his head, repeating over and over again. He sipped his coffee, picking up the phone to call his lawyer. It was time to end this.

Before he could dial the number, Carrie burst back through the door, her eyes panicked, her voice unsteady.

"Marcus, you have to get to Harper University Hospital. It's your father."