AVA MONROE'S POV
There's a unique kind of hell that comes with sitting across from your husband at a dinner party you both didn't plan, pretending everything
is perfect when nothing is.
The Kingsley estate had transformed again. Chandeliers
glittered like falling stars, the dining hall drenched in gold light, as if
opulence could mask tension.
The guest list tonight was handpicked by Ethan's mother, socialites, partners, and those who had something to gain from proximity to power.
And me, the wife.
I wore red, on Diane's advice. "Make them look twice," she'd
said.
"Make them wonder why the coldest man in the room chose you."
I wasn't sure he had.
Ethan looked devastating in black, as usual. Cold. Sculpted.
Watching everyone but me.
The clinking of glass. The forced laughter. The taste of food I barely chewed.
I knew how to play pretend.
But tonight, something felt different.
