Chapter 1
When the first slap landed, I was stunned.
Did I really hear that right?
It was Andrew Shaw, my husband, who gave the order himself.
The two bodyguards, both over six feet tall, each gave me three slaps, one after another.
After all six slaps, Monica Summers, his secretary, finally cracked a smile.
Andrew put his arm around her shoulders and asked, "Feeling better now?"
I wiped the blood from my lips with my tongue and walked away.
The next morning, Andrew knocked on my bedroom door early. "Enough with the tantrum. We're going out for some air."
When he opened the door, I wasn't there.
Before he could even react, his phone rang.
One of the shareholders was yelling on the other end, "Your wife just pulled out 1.3 billion dollars! The company's finished!"
All the color drained from Andrew's face in an instant.
*****
The first slap landed with a sharp crack.
My ears were ringing. My cheek went numb for a moment, and then a fiery pain spread across my face.
The order came from my husband, Andrew Shaw.
"Keep going," Andrew ordered. His voice was icy cold.
The two bodyguards in black suits loomed nearby. Both of them were over six feet tall, towering like walls.
The left bodyguard lifted his hand.
A sharp smack echoed.
The right bodyguard didn't hesitate, following suit.
Another smack rang out.
Three from the left, three from the right. That was fair enough.
It was the company's fifth anniversary party.
The champagne tower sparkled under the lights, and the room was packed with guests, all dressed to the nines.
Everyone was staring at me. Not a sound could be heard. Even the air seemed to freeze.
Five minutes earlier, Monica Summers, Andrew's secretary, had "accidentally" crashed into me with a glass of red wine in her hand.
My white designer gown was instantly ruined by a massive red stain.
She said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I didn't see you."
I looked at her.
She looked right back at me. Her eyes were full of undisguised defiance.
I said, "It's fine."
She covered her mouth, and tears began to fall, looking heartbreakingly fragile. "Mrs. Shaw, are you upset with me? I didn't mean to..."
Mid-sentence, Monica turned to Andrew, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Andrew, I ruined Mrs. Shaw's dress. She looks really unhappy."
Andrew's face darkened. He didn't even glance at me, keeping his eyes locked on Monica. "She is happy."
Then he turned, his gaze finally landing on me. He looked at me like I was just a thing, not even a person. "Apologize to Monica."
I couldn't believe what I just heard.
The air around us froze. Everyone—shareholders, partners, and the company's top brass—was there. All those faces were now frozen in shock and awkwardness.
I asked, "Why should I?"
Andrew's frown deepened, his patience wearing thin. "Just apologize."
"She was the one who crashed into me," I protested.
"Claire Sinclair," Andrew said, calling me by my full name. "Do you have to be such a bitch in front of everyone? It's embarrassing."
Yeah, it really was embarrassing. Now everyone could see just how out of line his wife was.
Monica was still sobbing beside me, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "Andrew, it's fine. Please don't blame Mrs. Shaw. It was my fault. I was just careless."
The more Monica tried to take the blame, the more furious Andrew became. He felt I was embarrassing him in front of everyone. He felt I was undermining his authority right in front of his secretary.
"Apologize," Andrew ordered.
I stood my ground.
I stared into his eyes, searching for any trace of the love we once shared. But there was nothing there. All I saw was irritation and a cold, almost desperate need to prove he was in charge.
My silence seemed to push him over the edge. He gave a sharp nod to the bodyguards behind him. "Seems she just doesn't get it. Make her," Andrew said.
And that was when the first slap landed. Six slaps later, it was finally over.
My face was numb, like it wasn't even mine anymore. There was a salty, metallic taste at the corner of my mouth.
Monica finally stopped crying. She clung to Andrew, glancing at me from the safety of his embrace. She shot me a triumphant smile. It was subtle, but full of smug satisfaction.
Andrew wrapped his arm around Monica's shoulders, his voice gentle—softer than I'd ever heard from him.
"Feeling better now?" he asked.
He was talking to Monica.
The whole banquet hall was dead silent. I could hear everyone's heartbeats, and my own blood pounding in my ears.
I lifted my hand and gently brushed the corner of my busted lip with the back of my finger.
There was a bit of blood. I licked it off.
Then I turned away. I walked out, one step at a time, from this gilded hell. I didn't look back.
Andrew called after me, his voice sharp with shock and anger.
"Claire, stop right there! Where the hell are you going?" Andrew shouted.
I didn't stop.
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside.
The metal doors slowly closed, shutting out all those gawking faces, hungry for drama.
In the reflection of the elevator wall, I saw a woman staring back at me.
Her hair was a mess, and half her face was swollen up so badly that it looked like she'd just lost a fight. But her eyes were burning with intensity. So intense, it was almost frightening.
The elevator reached the first floor.
I stepped out of the building, and the night wind hit my face like a thousand tiny knives.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
"Mr. Parker, it's me. It's time to begin," I said.