Chapter 4

Catalina came home late that night, just as she always did after a "work emergency." She brought me an expensive watch, a token to appease her guilt.

"I have to make up for missing our anniversary," she said, her voice a silken murmur. "We' ll have a party. A big one. I want the whole world to see how much I love you."

Her tone was gentle, but her eyes held a familiar, steely resolve. It wasn' t a suggestion. It was a command.

I let her dress me like a doll, putting me in a tailored suit that felt like a straitjacket. I followed her out of the house like a lamb to the slaughter.

The party was at a lavish hotel ballroom she owned. It was filled with New York' s elite, all of them fawning over Catalina, praising her success, her beauty, her devotion to her poor, crippled husband.

The waiters and staff all wore identical white uniforms and silver masks that covered their entire faces.

"So no one upstages the guests of honor," Catalina explained with a tight smile.

I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew what this was. I scanned the masked faces, my eyes searching for the one I knew I would find.

A business acquaintance clapped me on the shoulder. "You' re a lucky man, Eleazar. Catalina dotes on you. That new manor she bought you? I heard it cost a fortune."

"Her love for you only grows stronger," another woman gushed. "She told my wife she wouldn' t trade you for anything in the world."

Every word was a lie, and they were all swallowing it whole.

Suddenly, there was a crash. A masked waiter had stumbled, sending a tray of glasses shattering to the floor. The sound echoed in the suddenly silent room. Everyone knew Catalina' s temper. One wrong move and you were finished.

The waiter scrambled to his feet, his gloved hands fumbling with his torn uniform. I saw a flash of pale, trembling skin. The guests held their breath, waiting for the explosion.

Catalina' s voice was ice. "You. With me. Now."

She turned to me, her expression softening instantly. "Just a little mess, my love. I' ll handle it."

She grabbed the waiter' s arm and dragged him towards the stairs leading to the private suites.

I followed them. I had to see.

From the landing, I saw her push him into a room. But she wasn' t angry. She was kissing him, her hands roaming over his body under the torn uniform.

"You' re so clumsy," she purred. "But I can' t stay mad at you."

It was Dixon. Of course, it was Dixon. This was her grand plan. To bring her husband to our anniversary party and parade him around as a servant, right under my nose.

Pain lanced through my chest, sharp and agonizing.

"I' m sorry," Dixon whined, his voice muffled against her lips. "I just hate seeing you with him. It drives me crazy."

"Does it?" Catalina whispered, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Then maybe you need some special treatment to calm you down."

She pushed him onto the bed, and I couldn' t watch anymore. I remembered her whispering those same words to me, promising to make my pain go away. It was all part of her script. A script she used for both of us.

I turned and walked away, my body numb, my heart a cold, dead stone.

Later, she came downstairs, hand-in-hand with Dixon, who was no longer in his uniform. She announced to the cheering crowd that she had another gift for me-a five-star hotel in downtown Manhattan.

As the guests applauded, Dixon stood behind the bar, preparing a champagne tower. His eyes met mine across the room, full of smug triumph.

He "accidentally" bumped the table. The tower of glasses swayed, then came crashing down.

Shards of glass flew everywhere. A large, jagged piece flew directly towards Dixon.

Without a second thought, Catalina lunged. She didn't lunge towards me. She shoved me out of the way to shield him.

I fell backward, my head hitting the marble floor with a sickening crack. My body landed in the sea of broken glass.

Pain erupted all over me. A sharp sting on my forehead. Dozens of smaller cuts on my arms and back.

The world swam. Through a blurry haze, I saw her. She was holding Dixon, checking him for injuries, her face a mask of pure terror. She hadn' t even looked at me.

In that moment, I knew. I had lost. She had made her choice. It was him. It had always been him.

Lying there, bleeding on the floor of her party, surrounded by people who thought I was the luckiest man in the world, I started to laugh. A broken, hollow sound.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was her face, finally turning towards me, her eyes wide with a flicker of something that looked almost like surprise.