004 - The First Slap

SCARLETT

"You humiliated me in front of everyone."

Ethan ripped off his mask the second we stepped into the bedroom, throwing it onto the dresser so hard it skidded across the marble top.

His face was flushed, jaw tight, eyes burning with something darker than anger. Disgust. Embarrassment.

Maybe even a little fear.

I followed him inside quietly, closing the door behind me with a soft click.

The room felt too big, too cold, the chandelier light bouncing off every expensive surface like it was mocking us both.

I sat down at my dressing table, fingers trembling as I untied my own mask.

The black velvet fell away, revealing red-rimmed eyes and smeared lipstick.

I looked wrecked. I felt worse.

Ethan paced behind me, hands clenched into fists.

"Do you have any idea what that looked like? You—my wife—kissing some random stranger right after I introduced you as Mrs. Reed. Everyone saw. Everyone."

I let out a small, bitter chuckle. It sounded foreign coming from my throat.

"Isn't that how open marriages work? We both get to have fun. No jealousy. No drama. Your rules, remember?"

He stopped pacing. Turned to face me fully.

"I'm not jealous of what you did with that man. I don't care who you fuck. But you did it in public. After everyone knew you were mine. That's not freedom. That's disrespect."

I stood up slowly, chair scraping against the floor. I turned to face him, heart hammering so loud I could hear it in my ears.

"So I should do it like you?" My voice came out steady at first, then cracked.

"Find a quiet room, slip away with your colleague's secretary after parading me around as your perfect wife? Kiss her, touch her, fuck her where no one can see—except me, apparently. You're just as disgusting as me, Ethan. Maybe more."

The slap came fast.

His palm cracked across my cheek with a sound that echoed louder than any shout.

Pain exploded across my face—sharp, stinging, hot. My head snapped to the side. For a second the room went white.

He had never hit me before. Not once in five years.

I touched my cheek slowly. It burned under my fingers. Tears rushed up, instant and unstoppable, but I blinked them back hard. I wouldn't let him see me break. Not again.

Ethan's hand hovered in the air for a second, like he couldn't believe what he'd done either. Then it dropped to his side.

His voice came out low, rough.

"I don't care how many men sleep with you from now on. I don't care who you spread your legs for. But if anyone—anyone—tarnishes my reputation, makes me look weak in front of my family, my friends, my business partners… I won't stay silent. Do you understand?"

I didn't answer.

He stared at me another long moment, breathing hard. Then he turned and walked into the bathroom. The door slammed behind him so hard the mirror rattled.

I stood there, hand still pressed to my burning cheek, staring at the closed door.

I sank back onto the stool in front of the dressing table. My reflection looked small, fragile, defeated.

The elegant woman from earlier was gone. In her place was someone raw. Someone hurting. Someone angry.

I reached for the small clutch purse I'd carried to the party. My fingers shook as I opened it.

The business card was still there—thick, black, embossed with silver lettering. No name.

Just a number and a single line: "If you need anything."

I stared at it.

My cheek throbbed. My heart ached worse.

Ethan had slapped me. Threatened my mother. Fucked another woman in the next room while I stood smiling like a fool. He'd turned our marriage into a prison and called it freedom.

And tonight he'd shown me exactly how far he was willing to go to keep control.

The bitterness rose in my throat—sharp, sour, unstoppable.

He wanted me to play along? Fine.

But I wasn't going to play his way anymore.

I pulled out my phone. Opened a new message.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a long second.

Then I typed.

"Hi. This is Scarlett from the party tonight. Can we meet for dinner tomorrow? I need to talk to someone who isn't… him."

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

The reply came almost instantly.

"Of course. Name the place and time. I'll be there."

No questions. No hesitation.

Just those simple words.

Something inside me loosened—just a little. Not hope, exactly. Not yet. But possibility.

I set the phone down and looked at myself in the mirror again.

The red mark on my cheek was already darkening. Tomorrow it would bruise.

Good.

Let it bruise.

Let it remind me every time I looked in the mirror that I wasn't the same woman who'd signed that paper yesterday.