Neon Lies
In the third year of our marriage, Adrian Jones made me play a game of truth or dare—and when I lost, he told me to take the place of a nightclub hostess and perform a striptease.
"Macie's too timid," he said. "You dance for her."
Laughter erupted around us.
"Adrian's a real sport—letting us watch his wife put on a show!"
"Liliana's got a body to die for. I'm burning up just looking at her."
Drenched in humiliation, surrounded by crude stares and filth, I finally cracked. My voice shook.
"Adrian… I want a divorce."
Before I could say more, a glass of red wine hit me square in the face.
Adrian scoffed, "The Shaw family's already bankrupt. Where exactly do you think you'll go without me?"
However, this time, I meant it. I was done.