“Let’s go back downstairs,” he muttered, jaw tight. “People are already talking.”
Claire sniffled prettily against his chest. “Please, Matthew… don’t scold her anymore. She’s only upset because of me. She doesn’t mean what she says.”
Velvet words hiding a dagger. Every glance she slid my way gleamed with false pity, her lips twitching upward just enough for me to see.
When we reentered the hall, the room stilled. Dozens of eyes turned at once, conversations dropping to a hush. Phones vanished into purses and pockets too late—their screens already glowing with evidence.
“Did you see that slap?”
“Poor Claire. Evelyn’s lost her mind.”
“I knew their marriage wouldn’t last…”
The whispers clawed across my skin. I wanted to disappear, but Matthew’s iron grip on my wrist dragged me forward like a captive on display.
At the center of the room, he lifted his glass, his voice carrying with calculated authority. “Apologies for the disturbance. My wife… is unwell. I trust you’ll excuse her behavior.”
A ripple of laughter. Raised brows. Knowing nods. The perfect façade of our marriage shattered in a single word. Unwell.