And now—the entire afterparty feels scripted for my slow execution.
Soft jazz. Clinking glasses. Ben's across from me—quiet, unreadable. Richard beside me, all charm and venom, performing for the table. Lisa's sitting too close to Ben, her hand brushing his arm every chance she gets, smiling that rosy smile, and I think she knows something because she's playing along with Richard perfectly.
"Ben, you and Lisa should come to Emma's birthday party,"Richard says, voice smooth as the scotch he's drinking. "We're hosting on our yacht. Same one where I proposed to her. Two-deck. You'll love it."
"Oh, we'd love to." Lisa lights up and sneaks a soft, hopeful glance at Ben. "Right, honey?"
Ben doesn't answer, just watches Richard with a stern look that says more than a thousand words—he's imagining violence.
Richard, unfazed, smiles at me adoringly. "Pity you missed our anniversary party there. It was spectacular. All of Silicon Valley showed up to see how stunning Emma was." Then, to Ben: "Or are you still moving to New York?"
"Maybe," Ben mutters flatly.
I shoot him a questioning look, but his eyes never leave Richard.
Lisa jumps in, looking at Ben. "We haven't really talked about it yet. Ben keeps changing his mind."
"I get him. He has everything he needs in here," Richard says. "I was considering New York, too, but Emma was just telling me in bed last night how happy she is on the West Coast, so West Coast it is."
My head snaps toward him.He said that. He actually said that.
Ben's eyes go glacial, his knuckles almost white on the glass.
Lisa smiles at me. "Emma, you're so lucky. Richard's such an amazing husband. You two are a dream." She glances at Richard. "But weren't you two moving too?"
Ben shoots me a brief look, thrown off by the comment, and takes a slow sip.
"Oh yeah," Richard says. "We're moving back to Seattle next year."
I frown at him, completely thrown off because that's news to me, but he just smiles at me adoringly and looks at Ben.
"We want to start a family. We've already been trying," he says as his hand lands heavily on my thigh. "Can you imagine a baby with her freckles and my blond hair?"
My eyes shoot wide. I stare at Richard, hot blood surging in my face.What?!
Then, instinctively, my head whips to Ben.
His eyes blaze at Richard, his hand tightening on the glass so hard I'm praying it doesn't explode in his grip.
Then they cut to me with pure betrayal, pure disgust.
No. No. No.I shake my head as much as I can without giving myself away, silently begging him to read it in my eyes:it's a lie, it's a lie, don't believe him.
It doesn't matter. Ben's chair scrapes behind him, and he rises, his eyes falling on Richard's hand on my thigh. Then the vein on his neck pops and he walks away without sparing me a glance.
Lisa narrows her eyes suspiciously at me, but I don't care about her.
The hate that floods me for Richard is nuclear.
I shove off his hand, and before he has a chance to say anything, I'm already weaving between tables.
"Ben! Ben!" My voice cuts through music. "Wait!"
He halts, half-turns, and grants me a brief, impenetrable look. "Don't even fucking try," he growls, and veers off into thecrowd.
So I stand here, folding myself invisible, while feeling Richard's eyes on me. Might as well rip the microphone out of the DJ's hand and ask if someone has codeine so I can survive all this, because it's not just Richard—it's Ben's brutal punishments.
Fifteen messages I sent him—fifteen—in those four days we didn't see each other, begging for a moment upstairs, a call, anything to explain the situation.
