Chapter 3

A few days later, Mark stood in the doorway of my new room, dressed in a tailored tuxedo. He looked impeccable, and he knew it.

"The Peterson Foundation Gala is tonight," he announced. "We need to leave in an hour. Wear the blue dress."

It wasn't a request. I hated that dress. It was a beautiful, expensive gown he had picked out, but it felt like a costume. Wearing it always made me feel like I was playing the part of Mark Davis's fiancée, not being Sarah Miller. My first instinct was to refuse, to tell him I wasn't going. But I knew that would provoke a fight, a long, draining argument that would only delay my real plans. So, I nodded.

"Okay, Mark. I'll be ready."

He smiled, satisfied. "Good. This is an important night. A lot of investors will be there."

As I got ready, I felt a wave of exhaustion. I had to go, to play the part one last time. At the gala, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of powerful people making deals. Mark was in his element, gliding through the crowd with a confident smile, his hand firmly on the small of my back, steering me like a prized possession.

I found myself remembering the first gala we ever attended together. He had been so attentive, his eyes only for me. He' d held my hand and told me I was the most beautiful woman in the room, and I had believed him. He' d listened when I talked about my art, telling me he would build me the most amazing studio one day. Now, his hand on my back felt less like an embrace and more like a brand. His eyes scanned the room over my shoulder, looking for his next target, his next opportunity. The memory was a dull ache, a reminder of a promise that had curdled into a lie.

That' s when I saw her. A woman with sleek blonde hair and a red dress that was impossible to miss. She was laughing at something one of Mark' s business partners said, then she turned and her eyes locked on Mark. She walked directly toward us, a predatory grace in her movements.

"Mark, darling!" she purred, sliding her hand up his arm. "I was wondering where you were." She completely ignored my presence. This was Jessica Thorne, a junior executive at his company who, I knew from office gossip, was determined to be much more than that.

"Jessica," Mark said, his smile widening. "Good to see you. You know my fiancée, Sarah."

Jessica finally turned her gaze to me, her smile tight and insincere. "Of course. The artist. Mark talks about your... hobby... all the time. It's so sweet that you have something to keep you busy."

Later, during the speeches, Jessica was invited to the stage to say a few words about a charity initiative she was leading for OmniTech. She spoke eloquently, but near the end of her speech, she looked out into the audience, her eyes finding me.

"And I have to give a special thanks to the partners who support our work from behind the scenes," she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "People like Sarah, who make it possible for people like Mark to change the world. It takes a special kind of woman to be happy in the shadows. We all appreciate your silent support."

The room was quiet. A few people glanced at me with pity. It was a masterful little performance, painting me as a meek, ambitionless woman who lived only for Mark. It was designed to humiliate me, to put me in my place. The old Sarah would have shrunk in her seat, her face burning with shame. She would have cried in the car on the way home, and Mark would have told her she was being too sensitive.

But I wasn't the old Sarah. A strange calm settled over me. I knew what I had to do. When the applause for Jessica died down, I stood up. Mark looked at me, startled, a warning in his eyes. I ignored him and walked toward the stage. I took the microphone from a surprised-looking host.

"I just want to say one thing," I said, my voice clear and steady in the silent room. I turned to face a stunned Jessica. "Jessica, you're right. I have been silent for a very long time."

I paused, letting the words hang in the air. Then I smiled, a real, genuine smile.

"And for that, I am truly sorry."

It wasn't an apology to her. It was an apology to myself. An apology for all the times I didn't speak up, for all the moments I let Mark and people like her diminish me. It was a declaration. My silence was over.

Without another word, I placed the microphone back on its stand. I turned and walked, not back to my table, but straight toward the exit. I could feel every eye in the room on my back.

"Sarah! Where are you going?" Mark's voice was a harsh whisper behind me, full of fury. "Get back here right now!"

I didn't turn around. I didn't slow down. I pushed open the heavy ballroom doors and stepped out into the cool night air, leaving him and his perfectly curated world behind me. The sound of the door closing was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.