34. Gemma
The others at our table are already gone, with the excuse that something came up, leaving Oliver and me alone. I’m aware of Elijah stealing glances at me while Oliver glares up at him.
“Let’s go.” Oliver throws a wad of bills onto the table.
I unfold my napkin and place it beside my plate. “So soon? We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“Now.” He yanks my chair back, grabbing my arm to haul me to my feet.
Trying to wrench my arm from his grip, I stumble forward. “You’re hurting me.”
Oliver glowers but releases me. Rubbing my arm, I level a glare of my own at him. “I’m here willingly. What else do you want?”
“Stop provoking me.” He stomps toward the exit, leaving me to follow in his wake.
I glance back over my shoulder, meeting Elijah’s intense gaze from across the restaurant. His eyes bore into mine, pleading.
Part of me wants to run to him, to confess everything Oliver has done, but the rational part of my mind wins out. I already dragged Bash into this mess. I cannot drag Elijah into it, too. No matter how desperately I wish things were different. Oliver would destroy him, just as he’s destroyed me.
So I harden my expression. Even if it’s killing me inside.
Elijah’s jaw tightens, his eyes clouding. He wants to march over here and whisk me away from Oliver’s clutches. But it’s not that simple. Not yet, at least.
Elijah. I hope you forgive me.
His fists are clenched, his entire body rigid with tension.
Without a backward glance, I stumble slightly, blinking back tears, and sweep out after Oliver.
The car ride home is suffocating. Oliver’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, his face mottled with fury as we speed through the darkened streets.
“Did you plan this with him?” Oliver’s eyes dart to mine for a moment before returning to the road.
“Plan what?”
“Don’t play dumb. Your fuck toy happened to show up at the same restaurant as us, and then our guests have to leave? You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”
Fuck toy? Elijah is twice the man. If there was a scale, Oliver wouldn’t even be on it.
“I did everything you asked tonight.” Despite the storm brewing within me, I keep my tone neutral. “I played the part of your loving wife, didn’t I?”
“Then why was he even there in the first place?”
“Maybe he’s still angry about your little ‘she’s my wife stunt’. But whatever his reasons, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course you didn’t.” The sarcastic tone in his voice is unmistakable. “Elijah’s petty interference changes nothing about our agreement.”
“Of course.” I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth.
The car screeches to a sudden stop, tires protesting so much that I have to brace myself against the dashboard.
We’re here already? But Oliver’s tirade was gaining steam. He never gives up so easily.
“Get out.” The snarl in Oliver’s voice drags my gaze to his. His eyes are flat and cold. “Get out. I’m done with you for tonight.”
I stare at him a heartbeat, disbelief warring with relief. Then I’m moving, fumbling with the door handle in my haste to escape.
The door pops open, and I tumble out, not bothering with goodbyes. Oliver is already throwing the car into gear, tires squealing as he pulls away from the curb with the door barely closed.
The wind bites through the thin fabric of my dress, but it’s not cold.
I’m free. Earlier than expected, but free all the same, and Elijah is the reason.
A laugh bubbles up, escaping on a cloudy breath. I wrap my arms around myself, alone on the sidewalk, yet lighter than I’ve felt in days.
For a long moment, I’m rooted to the ground, breathing in the quiet of the night. Taking a fortifying breath, I start walking in the direction of my building.
Two days crawl by, each moment stretching into an eternity as I wait for the inevitable dinner party Oliver informed me about over a text.
I stand in front of the mirror, my hands shaking as I zip up the elegant cocktail dress. Its deep red hue is a stark contrast to my fair skin. I tug at the collar, desperate for air, and force my happy face on, practicing the role I must perform tonight. Hostess. Wife. Pawn.
“I don’t like this.” Lil crosses her arms over her chest.
“This will all be over soon. Oliver needs… another two events or so, and then I’ll get my divorce.”
“Another two events or so? What if it continues?” Mary places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently.
“It won’t.” I sound as confident as I can. Will it ever end?
“This is bullshit. Let us come with you,” Mary says.
“Oliver said he doesn’t want any distractions. And after what Elijah pulled, he’s more suspicious of me.” His message was clear: ‘And don’t even think about bringing anyone.’
“I mean, I knew Oliver was a piece of work, but this is… too much,” Lil says.
“Tell me about it.” I play with the hem of my dress. “But do you guys think Elijah…do you think he still would want me after this? Or was he trying to remind me of what I did to him that evening? And the thing with Esther?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But from what you told us, it seems like he won’t give up on you. That has to count for something, right?”
“I suppose so.” What if he grows tired as this goes on and on? With no end? Will he still not give up?
“You sure about this snooping around thing?” Mary gives me a hug. “Promise us you won’t risk anything.”
“It’s a chance I need to take. I could find something that will help me get out of this.”
Mary and Lil hug me goodbye and I leave for another torturous night with my oh-so-dear husband, Oliver.
The elevator doors to Oliver’s lavish apartment slide open, revealing a grand entrance and a well-dressed man in an expensive suit, who gives me a polite nod, gesturing for me to enter.
Once inside, I am immediately assaulted by the overwhelming smell of cigar smoke and sweet perfumes. Rich mahogany furniture and vintage art line every wall. Where did he get all this money from? He didn’t buy this, did he? I mean, he’s not planning to stay. Right?
The butler leads me to where the other guests are already gathered. Each step is a battle against the urge to flee and never come back.
The perfect wife.
A man steps forward, eyes raking over my body, and grasps my hand. His lips brush my knuckles. “Mrs. Dorrance, you look ravishing this evening.”
Vomit rises in my throat at the name. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”
“Ah, Darling, you’re here. I was about to call the police.” Oliver appears at my side, his voice dripping with false affection and a possessive hand on my waist.
It’s okay. You can do this. Every laugh, every smile, every touch is a betrayal, but it’s all part of the game.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted by work,” I say.
And so the evening starts.
I watch Oliver from across the room, engaging with the guests. His lips shape into a satisfied curve, but I can see the tension in the set of his jaw. He’s nervous.
“Mrs. Dorrance,” one of the guests says, drawing me back into the conversation. “Your husband has told us so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
“Likewise. Say, where did you meet him again?”
“Everything alright, love?” Oliver’s arm snakes around my waist.
“Yes.”
“Darling, would you mind refilling Mrs. Henderson’s glass?” Oliver’s grip on my waist tightens.
Eager for any excuse to distance myself from him, I nod and take the decanter, walking up to Mrs. Henderson.
I pause, the decanter hovering inches above her glass, unable to tear my eyes away from the faint bruises peeking out from beneath the sleeves of her elegant dress. How did I not notice them before?
Mrs. Henderson shifts uncomfortably under my gaze, adjusting her sleeves to cover the marks. “Is something the matter?”
I blink, snapping out of my daze, and refill her glass. “Sorry. I must have spaced out for a moment.”
As I set the decanter back down and grab my glass, I catch sight of Mr. Henderson out of the corner of my eye. He’s easily thirty years older than his wife, with paper-thin skin and wispy white hair. But his grip on her arm looks viselike, even from here. Possessive. Controlling.
I shudder. Mrs. Henderson is me, and Mr. Henderson is...
“Gemma?” Oliver’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he strides over. He grabs my arm in an ironclad grip, and I startle, spilling the wine from my glass onto my dress.
“How clumsy of me.” I try to twist out of his hold, but his fingers only dig in deeper.
“Do be more careful, darling. This dress was expensive.”
You didn’t even buy it, asshole.
“Of course.” My laugh comes out strained. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I should go try to clean it up.”
After a pause, Oliver releases me.
“Don’t take too long,” he calls after me as I hurry away.
It’s the perfect opportunity, but I need to be quick.
The hallway stretches before me, the thick carpet muffling my steps. No one seems to be around, and the staff is likely busy attending to the guests.
I check several doors until I find the one I’m looking for. A double door at the end of the hallway. It’s made of thick, polished wood with golden handles. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I reach for the doorknob.
Please let it be unlocked. To my relief, it opens, and an office reveals itself.
I slip into the dimly lit office, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. Shutting the door behind me, I take in the dark wood furnishings and leather chairs that scream old money. Bookcases line the walls.
A massive oak desk dominates the space, with neat stacks of paper and a silver lamp atop it. I resist the urge to rifle through the documents, not wanting to leave a trace. Instead, I move to the laptop and jiggle the mouse, the screen flickering to life.
Password. Shit. Asshole?
No, that’s not it. I stare helplessly at the password prompt on the screen, my mind racing. I don’t have time to guess. Oliver will notice my absence any minute. This was my one chance to find something, anything, that could help me escape this sham of a marriage.
Frustrated, I resist the urge to slam my fists on the desk. I have to think. There must be physical files around here somewhere.
I yank open the top drawer and begin rifling through. Most of it seems useless, pens, paperclips, folders. Nothing that appears useful. The other drawers yield similar useless office supplies.
My heart sinks as I scan the room again. The bookshelves, perhaps? I rush over, scanning the titles, pulling out likely books, and shaking them upside down. Dusty old law and business texts.
My time is running out. I rush back to the desk. Think. Think! A hidden compartment?
I yank the top drawer open again, digging through more vigorously this time. There must be something here, anything that can help me. I toss aside pens, paper clips, and folders until I spot a nondescript manila envelope tucked in the back corner. Hands shaking, I pull it out, loosening the string tie.
Inside are documents and contracts of some kind. I scan the pages quickly, my eyes widening as I spot my name and signature. These are records of bank transfers, accounts in the Cayman Islands under my name, with astronomical sums that make my head spin. Properties in my name that I never purchased. What the hell is this?
The door suddenly swings open, the light from the hallway momentarily blinding me.