The Sunday lunch at Polly's house had been quite wonderful and Millicent enjoyed the time outside her own home, the conversations with Ada and Polly and Esme. They talked women's business while the men were outside for a cigarette in the sun.

"I brought the newest issue of Cleopatra," Ada said, placing the magazine on the table.

"Is there a new column by Meara?" Esme asked and Ada nodded.

"Who's Meara?" Thomas asked, entering the room, followed by the other men.

"A columnist for a few women's magazines. Nothing you would enjoy." Polly answered shrugging.

"You know her?"

"No."

"She's writing on feminist themes and about her arranged marriage with an older man, a veteran. The insights in her married life are impressive," Ada explained and Millicent bit on her lip, not knowing where to look.

"Mr. Pasha is a lot like Arthur, don't you think?" Esme asked grinning. "Every time I read the newest column I think: Bloody hell, this girl could be married to Arthur."

"Pretty much, aye." Ada answered and even Polly nodded.

"Who's Mr. Pasha?" John asked and took a seat, grabbing the magazine.

"Her husband."

"Like me, eh?" Arthur asked and took the magazine out of John's hand. "Which page?"

"Three. Messages from the seraglio. The columns are a great success, printed in various magazines, but no one has a clue who she is, although that is already her fifteenth article. There are a lot of rumors about her identity going around. My friend Christine said, she's quite sure that Meara Justine is the Countess of Ulster, but I think that's bullshit. Her husband isn't of noble heritage, neither is she." Ada said and helped herself to more tea. "Are you alright, Millie? You're very pale."

"I ... I'm fine, thanks," Millicent grinded out, her gaze locked on Arthur's face.

"Read aloud, Arthur, come on," Thomas said and he started reading: "The fight for women's rights is a battlefield, dear reader. You knew that for sure. That said battlefield is crossed by tunnels, dugged by men, the surface unstable. If you break in you land at the feet of a man, possibly your own husband, looking down at you with mild amusement or maybe anger. But you are where you belong, according to him: At his feet, looking up to him. This is what Mr. Pasha thinks about my and our battle for freedom. Maybe he's right."

Arthur stopped reading and looked up, searching her gaze. He squinted his eyes and Millicent knew that she would be dead by the end of the day. Next Sunday lunch at Polly's would be on the occasion of her funeral.

The rest of the article he read for himself, silently, ignoring the protest of his brothers. After he finished reading he looked so very lost for a few moments, so confused and alone, so desperate that it broke her heart. But then the anger started to boil, she could see and feel it, while all the others cracked jokes. John grabbed the magazine and started to read the rest of the column aloud.

"The following argument was only a skirmish and not longer as his regular visits in the woman's quarter. Quite short, to be exactly," John read and started to laugh like crazy. "That's fucking hilarious. A woman complaining about not being fucked thoroughly in a bloody feminist magazine. Holy shit, that bloke is a fucking poor bastard."

"And an idiot," Thomas added, grinning.

Millicent felt coldness spreading all over her body, the horror creeping slowly in her mind, paralysing her. She should flee, but she couldn't. She wasn't able to move, so she just sat there waiting for her punishment. Her world cracked into a thousand pieces. Arthur would never ever be able to forgive her. From now on, her life would be hell. His fury was a thing to behold, she knew it, and being hated by Arthur Shelby was something you didn't even wish to your worst enemy.

"That's not the point, guys, the point is ...," Ada stopped herself as Arthur got up, murder in his face. "Arthur?"

With rapid strides he came around the table, grabbed Millicent's arm and pulled her on her feet.

"Look at me," he hissed and reluctantly she did as she was told.

The room was silent, all eyes were on her and Arthur, she could feel it. Everyone noticed the deadly storm coming and no one lifted a finger to help her. He hauled off and slapped her in the face.

"Arthur!" Ada called and got up, ready to come over and help Millicent. "What the hell! Stop it!"

"Sit down, that is none of your fucking business, Ada!" Arthur growled, his gaze still glued to Millicent's face.

She lifted a hand to her cheek and took a deep, shaking breath, felt the tears running over her face. She heard the others murmuring, but she was all alone with him. No one could stop him. She went way too far and now she had to deal with the consequences. Arthur gripped her throat with his left, leading her a few steps backwards, pressing her against the door.

"Arthur!"

"Arthur, what the fuck! Let her go!"

"Are you fucking crazy, woman?" Arthur hissed under his breath and she decided that any answer she could give was a wrong one.

So, she did nothing except for fighting for air, fighting against the panic.

"Did you know," Arthur shouted so loud that every syllable rang in Millicent's ears. "Did you know that Millicent enjoys being fucked from behind? That she screams so lusty when I let her cum that I have to cover her mouth to keep the neighbours from calling the coppers? That she'd never complained about my stamina? Eh, Millie? Did I ever give you a reason to complain?"

She sobbed and Arthur went on: "Sadly, she's an abysmal cocksucker, but maybe she's gonna learn how to please a man while working at a whorehouse." He took a deep breath, the grip on her throat became so strong that she choked. "So, how does that feel, Millie? Letting everyone know what happens when we're alone, eh?"

"Arthur ...," she grinded out, coughing, "I ..."

"You know what a whore does, right? She exists only for men, a piece of breathing flesh, made to satisfy an army of cocks a day. Guess you will like that. I'm looking forward to read your next few columns, sweetheart."

"Wait, what?" Thomas said, came closer and pulled his brother's hand from Millicent's throat. "She's the bloody columnist?"

"Aye. And this marriage is ended by now. You hear me, you stupid bitch?" Arthur hissed, taking a step back.

He pushed Millicent aside and strode out, slamming every door he passed. For a few seconds the room was silent, except for Millicent's coughing, then John cleared his throat: "So, is it true? You are ...," he looked down on the table, on the magazine, searching for the name. "Meara Justine?"

Millicent nodded and closed her eyes.

"Arthur's right," Polly stated matter-of-factly. "You are a stupid bitch."

"Polly!" Esme said, "She's Meara Justine!"

"Aye, I got that, Esme. Doesn't change my opinion. Arthur struggled to be a good husband for her, he turned down his marital rights, he went easy on her. In return, she hadn't anything better to do than to embarrass him nationwide in a bloody magazine. I'm surprised he didn't snap her neck right on the table." Polly lit a cigarette and took a deep pull. "I hope they paid at least a fortune for those fucking columns, Millie, because if not you can start to work as a whore not later than next week."

"It was anonymously. I didn't get a penny." She whispered and looked to Thomas, whose facial expression was unreadable.

"Can you go back to your family?" Esme asked and petted over Millicent's shoulder.

"No. My father will kill me or offer Arthur to do it. As a compensation for my ... behavior." Millicent got up and took a look around.

They were all shocked and angry, and it was her fault.

"So, the whorehouse it is," Polly stated and shook her head.

"No." Thomas said. "You're gonna stay in the hideout, I'm gonna talk to Arthur. In a few days hell be simmered down again, you can have a talk, apologize and everything's alright. No one outside this room will ever know who Meara Justine is. You keep your mouth shut, no word to anyone."

"Forget it, Tommy. Didn't you read the article? He'll never forgive that. He's gonna kill her." John shook his head and folded his arms.

"Millie will be the perfect wife for him. The wife he dreamt of. If she isn't able to provide this, he can still put a bullet in her head. It's worth a try. Or do you prefer the whorehouse, Millie?"

"No," she whispered, already knowing where she would celebrate her first wedding anniversary: Either on the churchyard, six feet under, or at a whorehouse.

Arthur would never take her back. And maybe, just maybe this was a good thing. But it felt more like the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

"I just wanted to ... follow my dreams." Millicent whispered, hiding her face in her hands. "And now I'm stuck in a nightmare."

"And that's your very own fault, kid," Polly answered ruthless. "You very own fault."