Then his hand rose.
The slap landed so hard my head snapped to the side.
Gasps rippled through the room.
My ears rang.
The wine bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the marble floor, red spreading around my heels like blood.
I touched my cheek.
My husband had hit me.
Not in private.
Not in a fight.
On command.
For his mother.
Madeline crossed her arms.
“One slap is not enough. She spilled wine on a guest at our most important party. Teach her respect.”
“Please,” I said, but I wasn’t begging.
I was giving him one last chance to be human.
Ethan swallowed.
Then he slapped me again.
This time, I fell.
My knees hit the marble. Pain shot up my legs. The corner of my mouth split, and I tasted metal.
The whole ballroom froze.
Two hundred guests watched me kneel in front of my husband.
Some looked horrified.
Some looked away.
A blonde woman near the staircase smiled into her champagne.
Madeline looked pleased.
Walter muttered, “Now maybe she’ll learn.”
And Ethan?
He looked down at me like I was something inconvenient he had been forced to correct.
That was worse than the slap.
Because in that look, I finally saw the truth.
