That evening, Jackson found me in my dressing room.
He was all smiles, a predatory glint in his eyes I'd mistaken for affection just hours before.
"You look... radiant tonight, Emily."
He stepped closer, his usual six-foot exclusion zone shrinking.
"You've always wanted this, haven't you? To be close to me?" His voice was a low purr.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The things I'd overheard...
But his hand was on my arm, warm, possessive.
"Five years is a long time, Emily. I'm not made of stone."
He leaned in, and for a horrifying second, I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, his fingers went to the zipper of my gown.
With swift, brutal efficiency, he stripped me bare.
The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on my skin.
He stepped back, his eyes raking over me, no longer feigning desire, only a cold assessment.
"You'll do."
He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in, and propelled me out of the dressing room, down the hall, towards the large, glass-walled sunroom at the back of the mansion.
It was my favorite room, usually filled with plants and light.
Tonight, it was empty. Stripped bare. No curtains, no furniture, nothing but the polished stone floor reflecting the city lights.
He shoved me inside and locked the door from the outside.
"I have some pre-gala business to attend to. You wait here."
His footsteps receded.
I stood there, naked, exposed.
Then I saw them.
Across the manicured lawn, in the brightly lit gardens of the neighboring estate – Jackson's "business associate" was hosting a lavish party.
Men in tuxedos were gathered on the terrace, pointing.
Binoculars glinted.
Phones were raised, their screens glowing.
"That's her! Jackson's wife! The one up for grabs tonight!"
"He said we'd get a sneak peek! Damn, Jackson's a generous host!"
Laughter, loud and lewd, drifted across the lawn.
I wrapped my arms around myself, shrinking into the darkest corner I could find, but there was no hiding.
The sunroom was a display case, and I was the exhibit.