Chapter 1: The Slap
My husband slapped me in front of three hundred guests—and then ordered me to apologize to the woman clinging to his arm.
The music kept playing for another few seconds in that Chicago ballroom.
Then someone near the stage lifted a hand, and the band stopped.
Adrian stood in front of me, his palm still suspended between us.
Vanessa tightened her grip around his arm.
“Apologize to her,” Adrian said.
“Right now.””
Behind us, a massive banner stretched across the stage.
*HOPE FOR ABUSED WOMEN.*
I tasted blood.
Not much.
Just enough to remind me that this wasn't a nightmare.
Vanessa dabbed at the corner of her eye, careful not to disturb her perfect makeup.
“She called me your mistress,” she said loudly.
A murmur rolled through the room.
I looked at her.
“You are.””
Adrian's face hardened.
His fingers closed around my wrist.
“Do you want to make this worse?””
I looked around.
Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead. Champagne glasses sat untouched on linen-covered tables. People who had donated thousands of dollars to shelters for battered women were now watching a husband publicly humiliate his wife at a charity gala built around protecting women like me.
A woman near the front table stood.
Her husband caught her elbow.
“Don't,” he whispered.
I saw the fear in her eyes.
Not fear of Adrian.
Fear of becoming involved.
I understood.
For eight years, Adrian had taught me what happened when I made scenes.
He called bruises accidents.
He called arguments misunderstandings.
He called my tears manipulation.
And whenever I tried to leave, he reminded me that my parents had stopped answering my calls.
“They chose their daughter,” he'd once said, “until you made them choose between you and me.””
I believed him.
That was the cruelest part.
I had spent years thinking everyone had abandoned me.
I finally understood that Adrian had simply stood between us.
Vanessa leaned closer to him.
“Make her leave.””
Adrian's thumb pressed painfully into my wrist.
“Say you're sorry.””
I swallowed.
Several phones were pointed at us now.
I lowered my eyes.
“I'm sorry.””
Adrian's grip loosened.
“That wasn't difficult.””
I lifted my head.
“I’m sorry I kept telling everyone you were a good husband.””
His smile disappeared.
The room went silent.
Behind Adrian, three men slowly rose from their seats.
Marcus was the first.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, silver beginning to touch his dark hair.
Julian stood beside him, his jaw clenched.
Caleb had already placed his champagne glass on the table.
Adrian glanced over his shoulder.
“Who the hell are—”
Marcus walked toward us.
I shook my head once.
Not yet.
I wanted Adrian to release me first.
He didn't.
Instead, his fingers tightened.
Vanessa whispered, “Adrian, who are those men?””
Marcus stopped three feet away.
His eyes never left Adrian's hand.
Then he spoke.
“Take your hand off our sister.””
May you like
Adrian froze.
And for the first time that night, I saw fear cross my husband's face.
