Chapter 2
The bright, festive atmosphere of the ballroom felt utterly suffocating to Emily. Megan and Olivia began to cry, their quiet, terrified sobs piercing through the classical music drifting from the string quartet in the corner. The fair, rosy skin of the little girls was flushed with humiliation and the physical discomfort of the cold broth soaking their dresses.
"We are leaving," Emily announced, her voice trembling but resolute. She threw the soiled napkin onto the buffet table. "I am not keeping my daughters in a room where they are treated like animals."
"You aren't going anywhere," a deep, cold voice commanded from behind her.
Emily didn't even have to turn around to recognize the voice. Michael Hayes, her thirty-eight-year-old husband, stepped out of the crowd of formal guests. He was exceptionally handsome in a cruel, sharp way, dressed in a tailored, charcoal-grey suit that screamed new money. His crisp white dress shirt was perfectly pressed, his expensive watch glinting under the chandelier light, and his polished dress shoes clicked sharply against the marble.
Before Emily could take another step, Michael reached out and clamped his large hand around her upper arm. His grip was entirely devoid of affection; it was a punishing, violent restraint that bruised the soft skin beneath her sapphire dress.
"Let go of me, Michael," Emily demanded, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing more attention, though her eyes blazed with defiance. "Your mother just threw food at our children."
Michael forcefully pulled her back toward the table, his grip tightening until Emily let out a sharp gasp of pain. He didn't even glance at the crying girls. His fair, handsome face was set in a mask of absolute, icy rage.
"Sit down," Michael ordered coldly, his American accent clipped and venomous. "Don't embarrass me in front of my family."
"Embarrass you?" Emily spat, struggling desperately to pry his fingers off her arm. "Look at what she did to them! They are your daughters, Michael! Defend them!"
"My mother is right," Michael whispered, leaning in so close that Emily could smell the expensive scotch on his breath. "You’ve given me nothing but girls. You bring nothing to this syndicate but a famous last name. You will stand here, you will smile, and you will show some damn respect to the people who tolerate your presence."
"You are hurting me," Emily said, her voice cracking as the physical pain in her arm intensified. Megan tugged on Emily’s dress, sobbing louder as she watched her father assault her mother.
"I'll do a lot worse than hurt you if you cause a scene today," Michael threatened, completely unfazed by the tears of his children. "You think your father is going to save you? He's a dinosaur. He doesn't run things in this city anymore. I do."
Jessica stood a few feet away, still holding the shrimp platter, a satisfied, wicked smile spreading across her rosy face. "Listen to your husband, Emily. It’s the only smart thing you can do."
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"You are both monsters," Emily whispered, the realization of her entrapment crashing over her in a suffocating wave.
"We are survivors," Michael corrected smoothly, his grip unyielding. "Now, wipe those brats' faces, turn around, and smile for the photographer. If you try to walk out that door, I promise you, I will make sure you never see them again."
