Chapter 5
Two months.
Two months of cold silences and careful politeness. Two months of Lewis coming home late and me pretending not to notice. Two months of sleeping in the same bed like strangers on a train, our bodies never touching, the space between us growing wider every night.
We didn't talk about what happened at his office. We didn't talk about Chloe. We didn't talk about anything that mattered anymore. Just logistics. Schedules. What to have for dinner. The weather.
I'd become a roommate in my own marriage.
But tonight was the annual Marley Crest Financial gala, and appearances had to be maintained.
Lewis was up for a major promotion, the one that would put him on the executive board, and his wife needed to be on his arm looking supportive and glamorous and utterly unbothered by the twenty-four-year-old assistant who'd been circling our marriage like a shark.
So I did what I'd always done. I showed up.
The dress I chose was burgundy silk, floor-length with a dramatic slit up the left thigh.
It draped across my body like liquid, pooling slightly at my feet, the neckline a deep V that showed just enough skin to be interesting.
I'd had my hair done that afternoon, loose waves cascading over my shoulders, and my makeup was flawless.
Smoky eyes. Red lips. The kind of look that said I knew exactly who I was and I wasn't apologizing for any of it.
Lewis's eyes widened when I came downstairs. For a moment, just a moment, I saw something flicker in his expression. Desire. Admiration. The way he used to look at me before everything went wrong.
"You look incredible," he said, and his voice was rough.
"Thank you." I didn't return the compliment, even though he looked handsome in his tuxedo. Tall and distinguished, silver threading through his dark hair, his jaw freshly shaved. He looked like the man I'd fallen in love with, and that made everything hurt worse.
The gala was held at the Fairfax Hotel, a grand old building downtown with crystal chandeliers and marble floors and the kind of old-money elegance that made you stand up straighter just walking through the doors.
I'd been to dozens of these events over the years.
Smiled through hundreds of conversations about golf handicaps and vacation homes and which private schools had the best connections.
Tonight felt different. Tonight felt like a performance I was giving for an audience that had already decided I was the villain.
We made our way through the crowd, Lewis's hand warm on the small of my back. People greeted us with smiles and handshakes, complimenting my dress, congratulating Lewis on his recent successes. I played my part perfectly. Charming. Gracious. The ideal executive wife.
But I could feel something building in the air. An electricity. A tension that made my skin prickle with awareness.
And then I saw her.
Chloe stood near the bar, a champagne flute dangling from her fingers, surrounded by a small cluster of junior executives who were clearly hanging on her every word. She was laughing at something, her head thrown back, her blonde hair tumbling down her back in perfect waves.
But it wasn't her presence that made my stomach drop.
It was her dress.
Burgundy silk. Floor-length. A dramatic slit up the left thigh. A deep V neckline that showed considerably more skin than mine.
She was wearing my dress. Or rather, a younger, sexier version of it. The same color. The same silhouette. The same overall look, but cut lower, slit higher, clinging tighter to her twenty-four-year-old body.
This wasn't a coincidence. This was a message.
"Lewis." My voice came out strange. Hollow. "Did you tell her what I was wearing tonight?"
He followed my gaze, and I watched his face carefully. Watched for guilt, for recognition, for any acknowledgment that what we were looking at was deeply, deliberately fucked up.
Instead, he laughed. "Oh, wow. You two match. That's kind of funny, actually."
Funny. He thought it was funny.
"It's not a coincidence," I said quietly. "She knew. Someone told her what I'd be wearing, and she showed up in the same thing. On purpose."
"Jules, come on." He sighed, that familiar exasperated sound I'd grown to despise. "Not everything is a conspiracy. It's a popular color. These things happen."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab him by his perfectly pressed lapels and shake him until he saw what was right in front of his face. But we were in public, surrounded by his colleagues and competitors, and I'd already been labeled the hysterical wife. I couldn't afford to prove them right.
So I swallowed my rage and let Lewis guide me to our assigned table.
The Levis were already seated, Maxinet giving me a sympathetic look that told me she'd noticed the dress situation too. The Parks arrived shortly after, Isla's eyes flicking between me and Chloe with barely concealed interest. Coen looked like he was enjoying the show.
Dinner was interminable. Course after course of food I couldn't taste, conversation I couldn't follow, Lewis's attention constantly drifting across the room to where Chloe held court at a table of young associates. Every time she laughed, his head turned. Every time she moved, his eyes tracked her.
I sat beside him and felt invisible.
After dinner, the dancing began. A live band played standards, couples swirling across the floor in elegant circles.
Lewis asked me to dance, and I accepted because refusing would cause a scene.
His arms came around me, familiar and foreign at the same time, and we moved together the way we had at hundreds of events before.
"You're tense," he murmured against my hair.
"I wonder why."
"Jules." His grip tightened slightly. "Can we please just have one nice evening? This is important for my career."
"Your career." I pulled back enough to look at him. "That's what matters tonight. Your career."
"That's not what I meant."
"It's exactly what you meant." I kept my voice low, my smile fixed in place for anyone who might be watching.
"You want me to stand here and look pretty and pretend I don't notice that your assistant showed up in a copycat version of my dress.
You want me to smile and nod while she parades around in front of your colleagues, making it crystal clear that she's younger and prettier and more desirable than your wife. "
"You're being paranoid."
"I'm being observant." The song ended, and I stepped out of his arms. "There's a difference."
I made my way to the bar, needing something stronger than champagne to get through the rest of this evening. The bartender poured me a whiskey, neat, and I took a long sip, letting the burn spread through my chest.
"Julianne! Oh my gosh, hi!"
I closed my eyes briefly before turning around. Chloe stood behind me, that bright smile stretched across her face, her burgundy dress catching the light from the chandeliers.
"Chloe."
"Can you believe we're wearing the same color?" She gestured between us with exaggerated surprise. "How crazy is that? I had no idea. I feel so bad, you must think I'm copying you or something."
"The thought crossed my mind."
She laughed, high and tinkling. "Well, I promise it's just a coincidence.
Although..." She tilted her head, her eyes traveling down my body with slow, deliberate assessment.
"I think the style suits me a little better, don't you?
No offense. It's just that this cut is really meant for someone with a younger silhouette.
All that loose draping can be so aging on a more... mature figure."
My fingers tightened around my glass. "Is that so?"
"I mean, you look great for your age." She said it like she was offering a consolation prize. "Seriously. If I look half that good at forty-six, I'll be thrilled. It's just that some styles are designed with a certain body type in mind, you know? Youth has its advantages."
I took another sip of whiskey to keep myself from throwing it in her face.
"But honestly, I think it's so inspiring that you're still trying.
" Chloe's voice dripped with poisoned honey.
"A lot of women your age just give up. They stop making an effort, they let themselves go, they accept that their best years are behind them.
But not you. You're still out here, fighting the good fight. It's really admirable."
"Chloe." I set my glass down carefully on the bar. "I'm going to give you some advice, woman to woman. Walk away. Right now. Before I say something that can't be taken back."
Her eyes glittered with malicious satisfaction.
"I'm just trying to have a friendly conversation.
There's no need to be hostile. Lewis says you've been under a lot of stress lately.
Menopause can be really difficult, I've heard.
All those hormonal changes. It must be hard, feeling like you're losing control of your own body. "
The rage that flooded through me was white-hot. Blinding. I could feel it in my fingertips, in my teeth, in the sudden pounding of my heart.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Chloe leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I know more than you think, Julianne. I know that Lewis hasn't touched you in weeks.
I know he stays late at the office to avoid coming home to you.
I know he confides in me about things he'd never tell you, because I actually listen. I actually make him feel wanted."
"He's my husband."
"For now." She smiled, and it was the coldest thing I'd ever seen. "But marriages end every day. Especially when the wife refuses to accept that her time is up."
She turned and walked away, her hips swaying in that burgundy dress, leaving me standing at the bar with my whiskey and my humiliation and the shattered remains of my composure.
I looked around the room, searching for Lewis, needing him to have seen that exchange. Needing him to finally, finally understand what I'd been dealing with.
He was on the dance floor.