The room was filled with familiar faces, all part of Patrick’s social circle—old acquaintances who had once greeted me warmly at countless gatherings.
Christy’s crisp voice made it impossible for Patrick to ignore me.
Under the gaze of everyone, he had no choice but to gesture for someone to lead me to the seat beside him.
Patrick gave a slight nod toward Christy, motioning for her to take the empty seat in the back row. She stood up angrily, her eyes burning with tears.
“I don’t want to! We agreed tonight…”
“Go sit in the back! Christy, I’m not asking again!”
Christy bit her lip tightly, struggling to hold back her tears.
I gently placed my hand on Patrick’s arm.
“Forget it. Don’t let her feel wronged. I’ve already bought something I like, so there’s no need to stay here any longer.”
Patrick frowned, his tone sharp with dissatisfaction.
“You are my wife. She’s just an assistant. What right does she have to feel wrong?”
The word "assistant" clearly cut deep into Christy’s pride. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stormed to the back row, sitting with a huff.
Patrick took my hand firmly, refusing to let me leave. He insisted I stay.