32. Gemma
“Ah, lovely.” Oliver’s tone drips with malice. “I hope you’re not too busy tomorrow. I thought we could go out for dinner together.”
“Do I even have a choice?”
“No.”
“Fine,” I choke out. “Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll pick you up at 8 and wear that little black dress I like.”
“I burned it.”
“Then get a new one.”
The line goes dead.
My hands tremble. A sour taste spreads in my mouth at the thought of sitting across from him, pretending I want to be there. Pretending I’m still his happy wife.
“Everything okay?” Lil rubs the sleep from her eyes.
“Some unexpected plans. Don’t worry about it.” I’m unable to meet her gaze as I lie, the guilt gnawing at my insides.
“Okay…” She’s unconvinced, but she doesn’t press further.
And she doesn’t have to because a few minutes later, Lil finds me hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach. She gathers my hair and rubs my back until the heaves subside.
“Oliver wants me to meet him for dinner tomorrow,” I say.
Her hand stills against my back. “You’re not going.”
“I have to.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds dead and defeated. “It was only a matter of time.”
“He can’t do this to you. You need to tell Sebastian and Elijah the truth.”
“I can’t do that.” I wipe across my mouth, my hands still shaking. “As long as I don’t know what Oliver has… I won’t risk it.”
Lil opens her mouth, no doubt to argue further, but closes it with a snap. I won’t budge on this. Protecting them and my family is the only thing that matters, even if it means sacrificing my own happiness for a short time.
The next day, I brace myself for playing the dutiful wife.
Stalling to avoid the inevitable, I spend longer than necessary getting ready. I apply my makeup and change outfits more than twice after picking a little black dress. It’s best not to provoke him further.
But as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, all I can see is a stranger, a woman who once held power over her own life, now trapped again. The bags under her eyes, covered up with concealer. The hope gone.
What happened to me?
I’m right back where I started.
The tight black dress clings to my body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and making me feel exposed. This is not what I want, but it’s necessary for those divorce papers.
A text message from Oliver lights up on my phone. ‘Get down. I’m done waiting.’
When I emerge from the elevator into the foyer of our apartment building, Oliver’s eyes assess me like a piece of meat rather than a person.
He steps closer to me, running his fingers down my arm, and I feel the weight of my decision pressing down on me, suffocating me. The world around me seems distant and surreal, as though I’m watching it unfold from a great distance. You can do this. Just get through the evening. Survive it like you’ve survived everything else.
“Such a beautiful wife I have. Too bad you’ve been hiding away all this time.”
“Cut the crap. You don’t care about how I look. You just want to use me.”
“Is it so crazy that I want to stay connected to my wife? To our family?”
“Is it so crazy that I don’t want a lying, cheating husband in my life?”
“Enough.” Oliver steps closer to me.
“Sign the papers.”
“Not yet.” His lips brush against my ear as he speaks, and I shudder, stumbling back.
“There’s one thing missing.” Oliver reaches into his pocket.
I tense, clenching my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. What now?
He pulls out a glittering diamond wedding band, the one I haven’t worn in over a year. Not since I walked out on this toxic marriage.
“Put it on.” He holds it out expectantly.
“What? No. I’m not doing that.” I take a step back.
That ring is a symbol of our broken union, of empty promises and betrayal.
Oliver’s face hardens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. In two quick strides, he’s in front of me, grabbing my left hand forcefully. I try to pull away, but his grip is too tight.
“Don’t fight me on this.” He shoves the ring onto my finger.
I wince, the metal band feeling heavy and constricting. This isn’t right. None of this is right.
Oliver steps back, seemingly satisfied with his work, and offers his arm to me. “Shall we?”
I stare at the ring, heart pounding. This is the wrong one. The wrong ring.
“Darling.”
I take his arm, feeling that familiar pang of disgust as we walk to his waiting car. This nightmare will be over soon.
“Such a shame you never dressed like this when we were together. I might have been more inclined to come home.”
“Well, guess you couldn’t take the hint,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Careful. You wouldn’t want to ruin our lovely evening, would you?”
I swallow hard, fighting the tears threatening to spill over. “No, I wouldn’t.”
This is one night. One night. One step closer to freedom.
“Remember,” Oliver murmurs into my ear as I get into the car, his hand on the small of my back. “Happy wife.”
My throat tightens, choking on the words I long to scream. But I remain silent, swallowed whole by the darkness threatening to consume me.
The drive to the restaurant is silent, save for the soft hum of the engine and the sound of our breathing. As we step into the upscale restaurant, I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me. The dim lighting and opulent decor only serve to heighten my anxiety as Oliver grips my arm tightly.
“Ah, here are my lovely partners.” He sweeps me toward a group of dressed men and women at a table in the middle of the restaurant. They all turn to greet us, their eyes appraising me.
“Everyone, meet my beautiful wife, Gemma Barron.” Oliver wraps an arm around my waist.
I beg for strength to survive this evening as they take turns shaking my hand and complimenting my appearance.
“Oliver, you’re a lucky man,” one of them remarks.
“Indeed I am.” Oliver pulls me closer.
I giggle, even though it feels like acid on my tongue.
We sit down to join his business partners, and a server arrives, placing down our food.
Oliver leans in. “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered beforehand.”
“So nice of you. Exactly what I wanted.” I pick at my salad, the crisp lettuce crunching like my heart breaks.
I force myself to take a bite of the salad despite my stomach churning with nausea. All I can focus on is the cool metal of my wedding ring digging into my finger, a constant reminder that I’m still trapped.
Oliver’s laughter rings through the air, drawing my attention to him as he saunters about his latest business conquests. The voices a droning buzz in my ears. I nod and smile when it seems appropriate, but I’m barely listening.
“Isn’t that right, darling?” Oliver squeezes my knee.
“Of course.” The effort to seem happy feels Herculean, each muscle in my face straining to maintain the facade.
What if this is it? What if I can never escape this hell I’ve allowed myself to be dragged into?
I close my eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. But when I open them again, my stomach drops at the sight before me.
Elijah, looking incredible in his tailored suit as always, is being shown to a table above us, followed by two other men.
A pang of longing surges through me as I watch the man I love, yet he doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. It’s as if I’m invisible, a mere ghost in his world. I didn’t want it any other way. And it hurts more than I could have ever imagined.
“Keep your eyes on your own table.” Oliver’s hand moves to my inner thigh.
I flinch and tear my eyes away from Elijah.
“Something wrong, darling?” He asks loud enough for the entire table to hear. They all turn to me.
“No, nothing.”
His disgusting hand squeezes my thigh as he carries on a conversation about mergers and acquisitions. I try desperately to keep my breathing steady, to not cause a scene. This will all be over soon, I tell myself.
The main course arrives, some kind of fish dish that I don’t have the appetite for. As I push the food around my plate, Oliver’s hand slips underneath the thin fabric of my dress, startling me.
The woman across from me gives me a strange look.
Oliver continues to caress me under the table as he sips his wine. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s eager to get home.”
I stand up, the chair scraping against the floor.
Oliver’s glare at me could cut glass as he stabs his steak.
“Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room,” I mutter, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Before Oliver can react, I hurry away, weaving between tables and trying not to break into a run.
I push open the door into the blessed solitude of the bathroom. Gripping the edges of the sink, I take deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Get it together.” I splash cold water on my face, smudging my mascara.
The bathroom door opens, and I freeze.