Chapter 3 - The Ten Slaps
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Chloe let out a small, victorious laugh. She took it as a sign of my surrender.
Then she made the fatal error of leaning closer to whisper in my ear.
“ You’re old news, Evelyn. Try to leave with whatever little dignity you have left.”
I was thirty-four years old. She spoke as though I were an obsolete artifact ready for the scrap heap.
I took one deliberate step toward her.
Grant moved instantaneously. He wrapped his arm around Chloe’s shoulders, interposing his large frame between us like a human shield.
“If you touch her, Evelyn,” Grant growled, his voice dropping an octave, “we’re completely done.”
The ballroom fell into a dead, terrifying hush. You could hear the hum of the air conditioning unit high above.
“What did you say to me?” I asked.
Grant stared straight into my eyes with cold arrogance.
“If you put one single finger on Chloe, I’ll file for divorce tomorrow morning. You’ll be ruined.”
For seven long years, I had wondered what it would feel like if my world finally crumbled. I had expected blinding tears, hysterical screaming, or uncontrollable shaking. Instead, a profound, icy calm settled over my mind.
I smiled.
Grant’s eyebrows pulled together in sudden confusion.
“Why on earth are you smiling?”
I looked past his shoulder at Chloe. The absolute certainty in her eyes was beginning to flicker.
“You heard him,” Chloe stammered, holding onto Grant’s arm. “Back off.”
Without taking my eyes off her, I unclasped my vintage diamond bracelet and set it carefully on the nearest tablecloth. Then I turned to a woman standing frozen beside me—a prominent art patron from the Met board—and handed her my beaded clutch.
“Would you mind holding this for a moment, Victoria?”
“Evelyn—” Grant warned, stepping forward.
I stepped right around him.
The first slap crackled through the hall, tearing Chloe’s smirk right off her face.
The second slap hit her opposite cheek before she could even react, spinning her half-way toward the string quartet.
The third made Grant yell my name in absolute shock.
The fourth knocked a pearl earring clean off her earlobe, sending it bouncing across the marble floor.
By the fifth slap, horrified cries erupted from the crowd.
By the sixth, Chloe was bent over, sobbing uncontrollably.
By the seventh, she tried desperately to duck behind Grant’s suit jacket, but I grabbed her red silk collar and hauled her right back into reach.
The eighth slap landed with thunderous force across her swollen jaw.
Grant finally reacted, lunging forward and grabbing my right wrist in a vice grip before I could deliver the ninth.
I turned my head and looked at him. The sheer fury in my eyes made him freeze.
“Take your hand off me,” I whispered.
“You’ve lost your mind!” he yelled.
“No, Grant. For the first time in seven years, I am entirely sane.”
I yanked my wrist free from his grip.
May you like
The ninth slap echoed beneath the crystal lights.
Then came the tenth.
