Chapter 1

"Emily! How dare you!" My mother-in-law Carol Lancaster's shriek ripped through the banquet hall, and more than three hundred guests turned to stare at me.

I stood there holding an empty plate, facing Carol with cake all over her face, cream running down a designer dress worth around thirty-five thousand dollars, her mouth hanging open like a fish flopping on shore.

Everyone thought I would cry, kneel, and apologize. After all, I was the Lancaster family's famous doormat.

For two years, I'd been scolded by Carol, ignored by my husband, and sneered at even by the maid. I'd never once said no. But today, I did.

Because ten minutes earlier, I'd overheard Carol talking about me. "Emily? She's barely a dog our family keeps. She does whatever we tell her. Without the Lancaster family, she wouldn't survive." As she said that, I was walking over with a cake.

I had walked over with the strawberry cake she'd sent me two blocks away to buy, only to hear her laughing with those society ladies about how obedient I was.

The rich ladies laughed. So did I. Then I smashed the cake straight into her face. With one wet smack, the banquet hall went silent as strawberries hit the floor and cream dripped from her chin to her neck. She screamed.

Now she stood there like an angry hen. "You hit me? Have you lost your mind? You hit me?" Carol pointed at me, her voice cracking.

"I didn't hit you," I said. "I only wanted to treat you to some cake. Didn't you say I was the dog your family keeps? Well, the dog's treating you. Are you going to eat it or not?"

Someone nearby sucked in a sharp breath. Under the cream, Carol's face went red.

Then she turned toward the crowd and shouted, "James! James Lancaster! Your wife's gone crazy. Are you going to do something or not?" As if on cue, the crowd parted.

James stepped out from the back of the crowd in a black suit, a glass of red wine in hand. His face was cold, his eyes colder.

He looked at me, then at his mother, then fixed his gaze on me again. "Emily," he said, "apologize." Two words. Pure command.

The past me would have lowered my head the second I heard that, eyes red, whispering "I'm sorry" before kneeling to clean the floor. But not today. "No," I said.

His brows pulled together. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm not apologizing." I repeated.

He set down his wineglass and walked right up to me until he was standing far too close. A full head taller, he looked down at me like I was a child.

"Do you realize how humiliated you made the Lancaster family today? " he asked in a voice meant only for me.

I lifted my head and met his eyes."Do you realize how much humiliation you've put me through these past two years?

"Your mother called me a dog and you said nothing. When your friends asked why you married me, you said it was a family arrangement, and somehow that didn't embarrass you.

"You ignored me when I was sick, forgot my birthday, and when I waited up alone for you half the night, you came home without even looking at me. "

My voice wasn't loud, but the hall was so quiet everyone heard every word. James's face tightened.

"We'll talk about this at home," He reached for my wrist. "Don't make a scene here."

I shook his hand off. "I'm not going home, and I'm not making a scene. I only want everyone here to know that Emily is not a dog.

"I am a living, breathing person. I have dignity. I feel pain, and I hit back."

Then I turned to face the entire room. Among the guests were Lancaster relatives, James's business partners, and the rich women who had always looked down on me.

Every one of them was staring. I smiled. "Everyone, my name is Emily Shaw, and I'm James Lancaster's wife."

I pulled a sheet of paper from my pocket and held it up. It was the divorce agreement, already signed. "No, scratch that. Soon-to-be ex-wife.

"I want a divorce. I'll walk away with nothing, but I want everyone to know this isn't them rejecting me. I'm the one done with them."

Carol trembled with rage beside me, unable to speak. James's face darkened as he stared at the divorce agreement in my hand for three long seconds. Then he said the last thing I expected: "Are you sure?"

That was what he asked. Not "I'm sorry," not "Don't go," not "I was wrong." However, "Are you sure?" Even now, he still thought I was only making a scene. I didn't answer him.