Chapter 4

A few weeks later, Ethan announced he was taking Olivia to a college alumni reunion.

It was also a charity fundraiser.

"You'll come too, Sarah," Olivia said, her voice syrupy sweet. Ethan was in the room. "I'll need my assistant, of course."

My stomach twisted.

Public.

With them.

A fresh wave of humiliation waiting for me.

The ballroom was grand, filled with familiar faces from a lifetime ago.

Faces that had watched my public downfall.

Whispers followed me like shadows.

"Is that Sarah Miller?"

"What happened to her? She looks... rough."

"I heard her parents died. Such a scandal."

"She's working for Ethan Hayes now? As a servant?"

The words were like tiny, sharp stones pelting my skin.

Ethan and Olivia were the golden couple.

He, handsome and powerful.

She, beautiful, a survivor, clinging to his arm.

People fawned over them.

"Ethan, you look so happy!"

"Olivia, you're an inspiration!"

No one looked at me, except with pity or contempt.

A group of Ethan's old fraternity brothers, loud and drunk, spotted me.

One of them, a man named Mark who had always been cruel, swaggered over.

"Well, well, if it isn't Sarah Miller," he slurred, leering at me.

"Ethan, my man!" he called out. "Remember this one? The campus whore?"

My blood ran cold.

Ethan, standing nearby with Olivia, turned.

A smirk played on his lips.

"Someone like her?" he said, his voice carrying easily. "She'd spread her legs for anyone with a buck, wouldn't she?"

Laughter erupted from the group.

Olivia giggled, a high, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves.

"Oh, Ethan, you're terrible," she said, but her eyes gleamed with malice.

Mark's eyes lit up. "Hey, Miller! I remember you used to dance. You were pretty good, as I recall."

Another man chimed in. "Yeah, show us some moves! For old times' sake!"

The crowd egged them on.

"Dance for us, Sarah!"

"We'll pay you!"

Olivia, sensing an opportunity for maximum humiliation, whispered something to Ethan.

He nodded, a look of bored amusement on his face. "Do what you want," he said, loud enough for me to hear. It was a dismissal, a granting of permission for my torment.

They wanted a performance.

A striptease.

The implication was clear.

People started pulling out cash, waving bills in the air.

My mind went numb.

Lily.

Her medical bills.

Every dollar counted.

What was one more humiliation?

I was already so far gone.

Slowly, mechanically, I began to unbutton my simple black server's jacket.

My hands trembled.

I thought of my dreams.

Journalism. Truth. Making a difference.

Now, this.

People tossed bills at my feet.

I took off the jacket.

Then the plain white blouse underneath.

I was down to my slip dress, a thin, dark fabric.

The air was cold on my skin.

The leering faces, the drunken laughter, blurred.

I reached for the strap of my slip.

"Enough."

Ethan' s voice, sharp, cutting through the noise.

His face was unreadable.

Annoyance? Disgust? A flicker of something else... shame?

"You're an embarrassment," he snapped. "Get out."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I scrambled to pick up the scattered money, stuffing it into my pocket.

I fled the ballroom, tears blinding me.

Outside, in the cold night air, I leaned against a wall, gasping for breath.

My phone rang.

Lily.

I wiped my eyes, forced a cheerful tone. "Hi, sweetie! How's my brave girl?"

Ethan appeared from the shadows. He must have followed me.

He overheard the call.

His eyes narrowed when I hung up.

"You have a kid?" he asked, his voice sharp, accusatory.

I nodded, my heart pounding.

He stepped closer, his face a mask of contempt.

"And you're out here, whoring yourself out? What kind of mother are you?"

His words were like slaps.

Unfit mother.

The accusation stung more than any physical blow.