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My throat tightens, choking on the words I long to scream. But I remain silent, swallowed whole by the darkness threatening to consume me.

The drive to the restaurant is silent, save for the soft hum of the engine and the sound of our breathing. As we step into the upscale restaurant, I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me. The dim lighting and opulent decor only serve to heighten my anxiety as Oliver grips my arm tightly.

“Ah, here are my lovely partners.” He sweeps me toward a group of dressed men and women at a table in the middle of the restaurant. They all turn to greet us, their eyes appraising me.

“Everyone, meet my beautiful wife, Gemma Barron.” Oliver wraps an arm around my waist.

I beg for strength to survive this evening as they take turns shaking my hand and complimenting my appearance.

“Oliver, you’re a lucky man,” one of them remarks.

“Indeed I am.” Oliver pulls me closer.

I giggle, even though it feels like acid on my tongue.

We sit down to join his business partners, and a server arrives, placing down our food.

Oliver leans in. “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered beforehand.”

“So nice of you. Exactly what I wanted.” I pick at my salad, the crisp lettuce crunching like my heart breaks.

I force myself to take a bite of the salad despite my stomach churning with nausea. All I can focus on is the cool metal of my wedding ring digging into my finger, a constant reminder that I’m still trapped.

Oliver’s laughter rings through the air, drawing my attention to him as he saunters about his latest business conquests. The voices a droning buzz in my ears. I nod and smile when it seems appropriate, but I’m barely listening.

“Isn’t that right, darling?” Oliver squeezes my knee.

“Of course.” The effort to seem happy feels Herculean, each muscle in my face straining to maintain the facade.

What if this is it? What if I can never escape this hell I’ve allowed myself to be dragged into?

I close my eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. But when I open them again, my stomach drops at the sight before me.

Elijah, looking incredible in his tailored suit as always, is being shown to a table above us, followed by two other men.

A pang of longing surges through me as I watch the man I love, yet he doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. It’s as if I’m invisible, a mere ghost in his world. I didn’t want it any other way. And it hurts more than I could have ever imagined.

“Keep your eyes on your own table.” Oliver’s hand moves to my inner thigh.

I flinch and tear my eyes away from Elijah.

“Something wrong, darling?” He asks loud enough for the entire table to hear. They all turn to me.

“No, nothing.”

His disgusting hand squeezes my thigh as he carries on a conversation about mergers and acquisitions. I try desperately to keep my breathing steady, to not cause a scene. This will all be over soon, I tell myself.

The main course arrives, some kind of fish dish that I don’t have the appetite for. As I push the food around my plate, Oliver’s hand slips underneath the thin fabric of my dress, startling me.

The woman across from me gives me a strange look.

Oliver continues to caress me under the table as he sips his wine. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s eager to get home.”

I stand up, the chair scraping against the floor.

Oliver’s glare at me could cut glass as he stabs his steak.

“Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room,” I mutter, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Before Oliver can react, I hurry away, weaving between tables and trying not to break into a run.

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