Chapter 1: Painful Truths

Miranda’s P.O.V

“At least smile. You look like you don’t want to be here,” Michael whispered softly in my ear as he continued to caress my waist with his larger hands.

There was absolutely no energy left in me for that. I’d already spent most of it pretending to be happy by his side all evening long, and it had taken its toll on me. I was utterly exhausted from all the feigned grinning and laughter; my stomach was basically hollow due to me not having eaten much due to my ever-growing bundle of nerves and my feet were definitely swollen from all the walking around we had done and the dancing.

Plus, the fact that Michael couldn’t dance for his life and kept on stomping on my toes.

One of his feet clad in his custom-made Prada dress shoes landed on my mine, which were unfortunately covered by open toed Tom Fords and I jumped back with a hiss. My hands fell from where they had been around his neck and balled into fists. I bit my lip to stop the tears from gushing out of my eye sockets; something I’d been wanting to do from the moment we walked onto the dance floor.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked me lowly, his no doubt anxious contorted face hidden behind his mask. Not a figurative mask but an actual mask since this was a masquerade charity ball being thrown by one of his superiors at work.

I hung my head in dismay. “I’m tired. M-maybe you should dance with someone else,” I murmured and he nodded at me.

“That’s okay. You go sit for a while and rest your feet. They must be painful,” with that, he let go of me and placed a gentle kiss on the palm of my hand, before turning away and heading in an opposite direction. With what was left of my energy, I made my way towards a seemingly vacant table not too far from where I was standing.

Settling down on the chair, I slid off the torturous four-inch stilettos and began to massage my feet one by one. They were redder than a baboon’s butt and oedematous. I don’t understand who had invented heels in the first place. It must have been a man because there was no way a woman would think of punishing herself this way. It was unimaginable to me.

“It’s good to catch some breath, isn’t it?” rumbled a deep and alluring voice from beside me. Only then did I look up and notice that I wasn’t the only occupant of the table. Across from me sat a man in a sparkling silver suit with a white mask covering his upper face. His lips were quirked up in amusement as he regarded me with both intriguing and intrigued golden brown irises.

I smiled sheepishly at having been caught in such a weird disposition. “Yeah, my feet were becoming numb,” I replied awkwardly and even added a nervous laugh. I don’t know why but this man made me feel apprehensive, in what way you ask? I’m still yet to know.

He leaned forward placing his clasped hands on the table. His eyes briefly glanced at the unrolling soiree for the rich before they landed back on me. “This throwing pompous parties for charitable purposes is a bit mindless, right?” he asked yet again. Now that I’d heard more of his voice, I could hear a bit of an accent in it but I’m not sure from where. In fact, his skin tone was not pale like mine but instead was a shimmering olive, well complementing his jet-black hair that made me want to run my hands through it. What the hell was that thought?

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t come to such a farce just to show off how much money I have,” and it was true. I had begged Michael not to make me come but according to Michael, showing up without one’s spouse to these types of things is a huge blow to one’s ego and reputation. I thought it was bullshit but nonetheless, I’d acquiesced and voila, here I am having the time of my life…not. “What brings you here, if I may ask? You and I are the only one’s seated right now. Did you come alone?”

He chuckled, his melodic laughter tickling my ears delightfully. Damn, there is something unique and magnetic about this man. Shit Miranda, you don’t know him! He could be married, just like you, or worse, a complete pyscho! “I usually come to these events to observe,” he said simply, his lips once again setting back into his infectious smile.

“To observe what?”

He shrugged. “The people. People fascinate me, and in my field of work, it is people who matter the most.”

Now that, is a very unusual thing to say. I removed my mask from my face and set it down on the table. The blasted thing was beginning to make my face clam up. I rubbed my cheeks with my cold hands in an effort to cool them down. “And what exactly is it that you do?” I prodded. The world had come down to just us two, and the clamour and loud music seemed to fade away.

We had a bit of a stare down, his vibrant eyes simmering with mystery and mischief. I refused to look away, and it seemed we shared the same sentiment. He winked at me. “That, you might never know my dear,” he said cockily and leaned back in his seat once more.

“You didn’t answer my other question. Who are you here with?”

He grinned. “Is this your subtle way of asking me if I’m taken or not?” he demanded playfully, making heat rush to my face. My cheeks probably rouged at his wayward comment.

I cleared my throat and placed my foot down on the cold marble floor. “No. I’m married so don’t get ahead of yourself,” I reposted offhandedly, not caring at all that my remark came off a bit brash.

“I was observing you earlier. By the looks of it, you and your husband are having some…marital issues. I saw the way he was being passively aggressive, but you remained docile and submissive. Makes me wonder what exactly is this toxic relationship you two have,” he trailed off and my head whipped in his direction so fast, that I nearly got whiplash.

My heart beat spiked. How could he have noted all of that from just merely looking at us. “Michael Kidman isn’t a man with a sparkling record. Charged with battery once, hostility in the office with his colleagues and now there’s you, scared stiff just from me mentioning his name. Is he physically abusive too?” he asked me in concern, and I gulped. If Michael catches wind of this, he will have my head on a stick!

I abruptly stood up from the chair and began to put my shoes back on frantically. Suddenly, I didn’t find this made interesting anymore and wanted to be as far away as possible from him. I was about to walk away when he caught me by the arm. “Wait, did I say something wrong?”

I again bit my lip, and this time it undoubtedly drew some blood. “Stay away from me,” I breathed pleadingly before yanking my elbow out of his grasp and stalking away.

My head began to pound agonisingly as my eyes searched the room for Michael. I needed to find him right away and get out of this place as soon as possible. But he was nowhere to be seen. I paced the whole room, until I decided to check the outer halls. I was walking down the northern outer wing of the ballroom when I heard moaning sounds coming from around the corner. I froze in my tracks and my heart stilled for a second. I closed my eyes. Please, let it not be him!

I willed myself to pull forward and rounded the corner, only to find Michael thumping the shit out of Jason O’Connor’s wife, Camille. What I was witnessing before me shook me to the very core that a muffled squeak tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it. And they kept on doing what they were doing, and my eyes watched every second of it. When Michael’s eyes involuntarily landed on me, only then did he stop his movements and both of them looked at me in shock.

We all stared at each other, before I ran in the opposite direction my hand over my mouth to stop myself from vomiting the little contents of my gastrointestinal tract. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. Never in my life would I have ever imagined that Michael would cheat on me. I’d modelled myself to be the perfect wife for him in every way I could. I took cooking classes to improve my cooking skills and even read books to gain skills in the bedroom department.

But it had all been for nothing.

I wasted most of my life for this man; this man whom I thought loved me from the moment we met when we were children. It was a fairy tale type of romance, the one we once had before Michael’s cruelty and malicious ambitions came to light. What really made me particularly angry was that I was the one who helped him get to where he was. I was the one who had the money, which I allowed him to use at his pleasure even without my consent.

I continued to run as fast as my dumb heels could carry me until one of them broke and I plummeted to the floor face first. My jaw inevitably hit the floor and blood came tumbling out of my mandible, making a pulsation of undiluted pain surge throughout my whole system.

“Miranda? Miranda!” Michael came up to me and crouched down next to me. He attempted to help me up but I refused to let him touch me.

“Don ‘ouch meh,” I tried to say but my jaw felt numb and I couldn’t move it properly. Oh damn, I think I dislocated my jaw!

He ground his teeth at me. “Look at the mess you’ve caused. Quit being so damn stubborn and let me take you to the hospital! You’re bleeding over your dress and the damn floor!” he seethed at me before successfully helping me off the floor and swooping me into his arms. I glared at him as I held my lower jaw with my hand.

Camille paced over to us, her face flushed perhaps from getting it on with my husband. “Oh my goodness, Miranda what happened to you?” she shrieked in horror. “Did you do this?” she spat at Michael, and he scoffed in disbelief.

“Of course not, you airhead. I found her on the floor like this. I need to take her to a doctor; she might have hurt her jaw. Help me get her to the car without anyone noticing,” he spoke with unease and they both began to walk towards the back entrance. Being in their proximity, and the smell of their intercourse, made bile rise up my throat. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d injured myself stupidly, I’d have given them both a piece of my mind.

As he hurriedly carried me over to where our Cadillac was parked, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a sparkling figure in a distance. It could have been a ghost or an actual person, but the pain was beginning to slacken my eye movements so I couldn’t quite see well. Camille helped get me in the car as Michael went over to the driver’s seat.

The drive there was slow, and my strength weakened with each passing second. My satin white dress was now soaked with all the blood I’d lost and my vision was becoming blurry. We got there some time later, me barely holding on to my consciousness.

I let myself be lulled into the comfortable darkness.