Elara POV:
I walked straight into the private dressing room and slammed the door shut, locking Faron’s dark, furious face out in the hallway.
I stripped off the grey, suffocating PR suit. It felt like shedding a layer of toxic skin. I pulled a heavy, black, custom-made silk evening gown from the garment bag and let the cold fabric slide over my body.
Three hours later, the massive, gilded double doors of the Plaza Hotel banquet hall swung open.
I linked my arm through Faron’s. We stepped onto the plush carpet, instantly becoming the absolute center of gravity for the hundreds of elites in the room.
The camera flashes erupted again. I pasted a flawless, impenetrable smile onto my face. I played the role of the untouchable Blackwell wife perfectly.
Faron’s bicep was rigid beneath my hand. The muscles in his jaw were ticking. He was still seething over my cold dismissal in the hallway.
In the very center of the ballroom, Kassie stood holding court. She wore a violently bright red, deep-V gown that practically screamed for attention.
The surrounding socialites immediately began whispering behind their champagne flutes. Their eyes darted back and forth, slicing between me and Kassie like daggers.
Kassie grabbed a fresh glass of pink champagne. It was filled to the brim. She locked eyes with me and began swaying her hips, walking directly toward my position.
My stomach tightened. I knew exactly what she was going to do. But with three hundred pairs of eyes watching my every move, I couldn't take a single step backward. Growing up in the brutal foster care system had beaten one rule into my skull: never show weakness in public.
Kassie stepped within two feet of me. Suddenly, her ankle buckled. She threw her upper body forward in a wildly exaggerated stumble.
The entire glass of freezing pink champagne sloshed out and hit the front of my black silk gown.
The icy liquid soaked instantly through the delicate fabric. It plastered the heavy silk directly against my skin, sending a violent shiver down my spine.
A collective gasp ripped through the crowd. I saw at least five cell phones discreetly rise into the air, the little red recording lights blinking steadily.
Kassie slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide in a cartoonish display of horror. "Oh my god! I am so, so sorry, Elara!"
I stood perfectly still. I looked down at the massive, sticky stain ruining the front of my dress. I didn't flinch.
Kassie stepped closer, pretending to brush the liquid off my skirt. As she leaned in, her lips brushed against my ear.
"Faron said you just lay there," Kassie hissed, her voice dropping to a venomous, triumphant whisper. "He said fucking you is like fucking a dead fish."
The words drove into my brain like rusted nails. But the smile on my face did not crack. Not even a fraction of a millimeter.
I slowly turned my head. I let my eyes drag over her smug, gloating face with absolute, freezing indifference.
Then, I turned to look at Faron. I waited for my husband to do something. Anything.
Faron had watched the entire spectacle. He frowned, his eyes dark with irritation at the public mess.
He didn't take off his suit jacket to cover my soaked chest. He didn't reprimand Kassie for throwing a drink on his wife.
Instead, Faron took a step away from me. He walked toward Kassie.
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his immaculate silk pocket square, and pressed it directly into Kassie’s hand.
"Did you get any on your fingers?" Faron asked her, his voice low. He completely ignored me standing there, dripping and shivering.
The hushed whispers of the crowd instantly transformed into open, cruel snickers. Their stares peeled the flesh right off my bones.
I looked at Faron's hand gently touching Kassie's fingers. The very last, microscopic thread holding my sanity together snapped.
I didn't cry. I simply raised my hand, brushed a single drop of champagne off my collarbone, and turned my back on the crowd.
"Have a wonderful evening, Faron."
