Chapter 4 - The Mask Drops
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Three nights before our wedding, Derek had cornered me in the hallway of my own apartment. He had leaned in, his knuckles brushing my jawline with terrifying gentleness, and whispered:
“Once we’re married, Claire, you’ll finally stop acting like you can just walk away from me.”
That was the exact moment I realized I wasn't marrying a partner. I was surrendering to a warden.
So I had prepared.
Calling off the wedding prematurely wasn't an option. Derek had full access to my apartment building, my daily schedule, my aging parents' home, and enough superficial charm to convince every judge and mutual acquaintance that I was emotionally unstable and prone to hysteria. If I had walked away quietly, he would have hunted me down and ruined me behind closed doors.
I needed an exit that was absolute. I needed proof so undeniable that even his powerful family couldn't scrub it clean.
Standing at the head table, I wiped the thick frosting from my eyes with the back of my white glove.
Derek raised his champagne glass to the room, beaming as if he had just performed a charming romantic toast.
“To my beautiful, forgiving wife!” Derek announced loudly, his voice echoing under the high ceilings.
A few scattered, uncomfortable chuckles returned from his fraternity brothers in the back.
Patricia raised her glass with a cold, triumphant smirk.
“She’ll learn how to take a joke eventually. All Hayes women do.”
I looked across the crowded ballroom. Near the service entrance stood Lena. She wasn't pale anymore. Her jaw was set, her hand resting firmly inside her purse. She was watching me, waiting for the signal.
I gave her the smallest, almost invisible nod of my chin.
Derek pulled me tightly against his chest, his palm slick with cake frosting as he patted my hip.
“There she is,” he murmured under his breath, mistaking my quietness for total submission.
“Good girl.”
I let a small, serene smile touch my lips.
May you like
Not because he had won.
But because inside the tiny pearl button sewn beneath the neckline of my dress was a high-definition miniature audio microphone.
