5. Tori #2
“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll shut it for you.
” His voice was threatening, but low enough that only I could hear it.
“I’ll push you down on your knees and force my cock down your throat.
You won’t be able to say one more word while I’m fucking your mouth—while everyone sees that you’re just as much of a whore as the women benefiting from this charity. ”
His words were coarse. Disgusting. Unbelievably cruel. But somehow, it was hot anyway.
“Don’t you have enough women’s mouths to enjoy?” I spat back at him, clinging to my rage in self-defense.
He laughed. “Jealous, are we? And here I thought your own mouth was too busy with your little friend’s cock for you to even think about mine. What’s his name? Gavin, isn’t it? You two having a lot of fun these days?”
My pulse pounded in my ears. So he knew about Gavin. Not only that, but he knew and he didn’t care. He was making jokes about us.
The truth stung more than I thought it would. Would I ever stop being disappointed by Stefan? By this sham of a marriage we shared?
“For a senator’s daughter, you’ve been shockingly indiscreet,” he went on. “In fact—”
“Tori?”
I looked up and my lips stretched into a huge, genuine grin as I saw Grace Toussaint, my former SAT study partner and private high school bff, beelining toward us with her signature curls bouncing wildly around her expressive face.
“Look at you two little lovebirds,” she squealed, giving Stefan a brief side hug before throwing her arms around me and squeezing. “I thought I’d die of boredom tonight. My parents donated like a million dollars to this charity and then didn’t even want to come. So here I am.”
“We’re so glad you’re here,” Stefan said. “We haven’t seen you since the wedding.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I’ve been so busy learning all about my parents’ company and taking online courses in business.
I’m starting to think I should have taken a gap year in the Mediterranean and partied instead of trying to jump into all this work training stuff.
It’s not just all about purses and belts and leather samples, you know? Running a business is hard.”
“Very true,” Stefan agreed warmly. As if we hadn’t just been in a tense, ugly fight.
Grace smiled again, and I gestured at her bag, leaning into the pleasant distraction.
“Is that one of your designs?” It had a vintage vibe, almost like one of those buckled train cases that women used in the 1950s.
“Yes!” she said, glowing with pride. “My parents are letting me develop a line on my own, but it won’t be out until next year. This is just a prototype. Tres chic, don’t you think?”
I nodded. “If this is any indication of what you’re capable of, you’re going to do great.”
“Thank you,” Grace said, her cheeks going a little pink. “I’ve hardly had time for anything but the whole “handbag empire” thing. When can we get coffee? Just us two.”
Stefan was polite enough to drift away and give us some space to chat, but he was still close enough that I couldn’t have managed much beyond small talk even if I’d wanted to tell Grace how bad things had gotten with my marriage, which I didn’t.
Soon enough, Stefan pulled me away to mingle more, leaving me and Grace promising each other we’d hang out soon and catch up.
But I wasn’t sure we really would. The situation was too complicated, too horrible, and too dangerous to share with anyone, even one of my oldest friends.
It made me even angrier. Even more determined to find a way out of this mess.
I spent the rest of the evening at the fundraiser biting my tongue and plastering a smile across my face that grew more and more forced the more people we encountered.
Especially the women, who were more than happy to drape themselves over Stefan, fawning over him for being such a “strong supporter of this wonderful cause.” The whole thing made me sick.
Especially the way that Stefan would respond to them.
They got the full extent of his charm. They got the smooth, charismatic man who had once convinced me to marry him the first night we met. A man who smiled and doled out compliments like roses. A man who made them laugh and smile and blush.
And all the while his wife stood at his side, a well-mannered, modest statue.
I began counting down the minutes until midnight, when the event was over.
As if I was Cinderella, waiting for the ball to end.
Ready to leave Prince Charming behind to charm his next princess.
Because I knew it wasn’t me. I knew Stefan didn’t care for me, or anyone else but himself and his family and his company and his money. That was all that mattered to him.
Still, I played my part. I was the sweet, silent arm candy he wanted me to be.
I looked good, but there was nothing behind the smile.
Nothing of substance to share. It was just like it had been with my father.
That was the extent of my worth to men like him and Stefan.
All sugar and zero redeeming value. A human prop.
When I made a trip to the ladies’ room, I noticed I had a text from Grace.
Everything okay? her text said. I’ve been watching you guys and am a lil concerned re: your body language?
I couldn’t help smiling. She was right. And of course she’d noticed things were tense between me and Stefan, she’d just been too polite to say something out loud earlier.
Still, I had to deflect. Everything’s fine, I tapped out, glad she couldn’t see the lie on my face. Just a lovers’ quarrel. No big deal.
I watched the ellipses flash across my screen before her reply popped up on the screen. Oookay, but if you ever need to get away for a few days—come stay with me. I mean it.
You have ice cream? I responded, adding a thinking-face emoji.
YAS! All the ice cream. Grace sent a barrage of dessert emojis and a pair of devil horns to go along with them. My apartment’s huge and there’s a jacuzzi tub in the guest bath. You know you deserve some girl time. Or maybe I just miss u? xo
I miss you too, I typed back. And I’ll reach out if I need to. Thanks. <3
Gotta go mingle with our fellow philanthropists, Grace replied. Let’s coffee soon.
I went back out and joined Stefan for one final lap around the ballroom, making small talk with the various donors he wanted to say goodbye to.
I complimented outfits and marveled at the beauty of the hotel hosting us, at the amount of donations that were being racked up.
Every mention of the purpose of the fundraiser made me cringe inside, but I kept it together.
Then, in the middle of a conversation with an older couple—some big-name Chicago society types who’d made their fortune in real estate development and had donated a ridiculous amount of money tonight, bragging egregiously and basking in their goodwill—Stefan’s phone buzzed. I could feel it in his jacket pocket.
He discreetly slid the phone out just enough to check the screen. Then, without a word, he dropped my hand and walked away.
I stared at his retreating back. Had he really just left me standing here with a couple of strangers?
“Is everything alright?” the older gentleman asked.
“So sorry about that,” I said politely, reverting to my years of social training as a senator’s daughter. “Stefan was waiting for that call. He’s very…committed to his work.”
The man nodded generously. His wife gave me the same kind of bland smile I was giving both of them. No doubt she had dealt with the same kind of thing in the past.
There was a brief, awkward silence before I managed to excuse myself and head in the direction that Stefan had exited in. He had left the ballroom and made his way out onto one of the balconies. It was freezing out, and the cold seemed to go right through my thin dress.
Glancing around, I didn’t see him at first. The balcony seemed empty, most of the guests too smart to venture outside into the night’s frigid temperatures. But then, in a dark corner, I saw Stefan’s broad shoulders. I took a step and then froze.
My husband wasn’t alone.
He was with a woman, a KZM model by the looks of her, the two of them pressed up against each other.
Her eyes were closed, her head resting on his shoulder as he shielded her body from the icy wind.
I heard myself gasp as I watched him reach up and wipe her tears with a brush of his thumb.
I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of care—even though I was well aware by now that it was all part of his act.
Still, my stomach turned seeing how gentle he was with her.
They weren’t kissing, but they were close enough to at any moment.
I turned away before I saw any more, tears prickling my eyes.
My heart had been cracked wide open. I’d known he was probably cheating with one or more of the agency’s models, but there was nothing like seeing it with my own eyes to force me to accept the truth.
The part of me that had put on the lingerie he had bought, hoping he’d want to see me in it when we got home, the part of me that had hoped there was still a chance for reconciliation, for a real marriage somewhere beyond the horrible revelations and unforgivable behavior, had officially died.
Stefan was sleeping with other women. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t love me. He didn’t want me.
It was time for me to wake up and let go of the fairytale version of my marriage that I’d been clinging to.
It was time to get over him. Permanently.