My husband beat me because I...

Grant slammed the makeup box onto the bed.

“Cover those bruises and smile,” he said. “My boss is coming, and you will not ruin this for me.”

A tube of concealer rolled across the cream comforter and struck my bare knee.

I sat at the vanity in my satin robe, studying the woman in the mirror. The swelling along my cheek had deepened overnight. My split lip opened whenever I moved my mouth.

Grant’s cuff links clicked as he fastened them.

The night before, he had struck me because his soup needed salt. That was the reason he would give if anyone forced him to explain it. The real reason was that I had asked why twelve thousand dollars had disappeared from the savings account my mother left me.

He had answered with his hand.

“What time should I start smiling?” I asked.

My calm pleased him.

“Six.”

He smoothed the front of his light blue shirt. “Julian Cross is choosing the next vice president. Tonight changes everything.”

Grant knew I had an older brother named Julian. He believed Julian still worked overseas because that was where he had been when Grant and I met.

He had never asked for a last name.

Our mother remarried after my father died. I took her second husband’s surname, Mercer. Julian kept our father’s name, Cross.

Grant had spent six years building his career at Crosswell Technologies without realizing its chief operating officer was the brother he had helped isolate me from.

At 4:13 that morning, while Grant slept, I photographed my cheek, lip, shoulder, and wrist. I attached emergency-room reports from two earlier assaults, bank statements, and recordings of his threats.

Then I sent Julian one message.

He did it again. Come at six. Don’t warn him.

Julian replied within a minute.

I’m coming. Do you want to leave tonight?

I had stared at that question for nearly an hour before typing yes.

Now I dabbed concealer over my cheek while Grant watched from behind me.

“Better,” he said.

At six-oh-seven, the bedroom door opened.

Julian entered in a navy suit. He saw my face in the mirror before he saw Grant.

“Grant,” he said, his voice low. “What did you do to my sister?”

Grant turned so fast his hip struck the vanity.

“Your sister?”