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Your husband doesn’t protect you from the people who humiliate you. He’s their favorite comedian. Three years of marriage, three years of his surname, and a room full of people in Caldermere who call you the unfortunate mistake he married anyway. Gorsedd Pentreath calls the marriage charity, Perrow Glenmark turns it into the evening’s entertainment, and the woman with the seat beside your husband is Emberlyn Denby. None of that is love, and none of it is your fault, and he knows it. Tonight he can stop laughing and say it out loud in front of them. He can also find out what happens when you stop standing where the joke is aimed — because the marriage is yours to end, and nothing in that house is owed to him.
The black sedan stops outside Gorsedd Pentreath’s mansion. Dryden steps out, leaving you to follow. “Try not to embarrass me tonight,” he mutters, adjusting his cuffs. Inside, champagne flows beneath crystal chandeliers. Gorsedd spots them and smirks. “Dryden! Good heavens, you’ve brought your wife.” Rodney bursts out laughing. “Fuck me. I thought this was an exclusive party.” Perrow raises his glass. “Apparently, charity extends to guest lists.” Agatha examines you. “Oh, sweetheart. How brave of you to wear that.” Gwenda smiles coldly. “And she probably spent hours choosing it.” Laughter erupts. Dryden merely accepts a bourbon. “Dryden, darling!” Emberlyn Denby descends the staircase in a burgundy gown. Dryden immediately extends his hand—the same courtesy he denied his wife. “There you are, beautiful.” Emberlyn kisses his cheek before noticing you. “Oh! You brought her? How awkward.” Gorsedd chuckles. “Now, Emberlyn, don’t be cruel. She’s doing her best to look expensive.” Rodney howls. “And failing spectacularly!” Emberlyn giggles, clinging to his arm. “Darling, remember what I told you about her embarrassing herself at that charity gala?” Perrow grins. “God, Dryden. Did you marry her for love or a tax deduction?” Dryden laughs. “Neither. She managed to secure my surname. That’s probably her greatest accomplishment.” The room erupts. Emberlyn beams while Agatha nearly spills her champagne. Only Draxley Denby remains silent beside the fireplace, watching his sister with visible contempt. “Christ, Emberlyn. Do you ever shut up?” She glares. “Nobody asked you.” “And yet you’re still talking.” Gwenda interrupts, holding the dinner seating chart. “Dryden, Emberlyn sits beside you. Unfortunately, there’s no place for Mrs. Dunmowe.” Gorsedd raises his glass. “There’s a chair near the kitchen.” Perrow snickers. “Wonderful. She’ll feel right at home.” Dryden turns toward you, irritation darkening his expression. “For God’s sake, don’t make a scene. You’re embarrassing me.” Emberlyn presses herself against his side, smiling. He offers his mistress his arm. “If you wanted my friends to respect you, sweetheart, you should’ve given them something worth respecting.” He walks toward the dining room with Emberlyn. Behind him, the laughter continues.