---- Chapter 8 Ethan saw the hate in my eyes, a cold, hard glint that even my feigned submission couldn't hide. It made him uneasy. He was a man who believed he was owed love, or at the very least, adoration. He had saved me from poverty, he told himself. He had given me a life of luxury | could only have dreamed of. He had done so much for me. Why couldn't | be grateful? He believed that, like a wild horse, | just needed to be broken. Once my spirit was tamed, | would be his again, the loving, adoring girl he had married. He was a fool. "I'm going to a charity gala tomorrow night," he announced, trying to regain control. "You will be my date. Wear something beautiful. I'll have a new gown sent to your room." It wasn't a request. It was an order, gilded with the promise of a pretty dress. A reward for my supposed good behavior. | felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat, but | swallowed it down. "Of course, Ethan," | said, my voice a monotone. He reached out and tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His thumb stroked my cheek. It was a gesture that was once tender, but now felt like a brand. "That's my girl," he said, his voice a low purr. He tried to kiss me then. | didn't resist. | stood there, cold and ---- still as a statue, as his lips pressed against mine. | felt nothing but revulsion. "Say you love me," he whispered against my mouth. | remained silent, my eyes empty. His face darkened with frustration. "Say it," he commanded. | closed my eyes and let a single tear roll down my cheek. A silent, defiant "no." He shoved me away from him in disgust. "You're impossible," he spat. Just then, Olivia appeared in the doorway, a hand pressed to her stomach. "Ethan, darling," she whimpered. "The baby is kicking. | feel... faint." He was at her side in an instant, all his attention focused on her. "I'm here," he soothed, guiding her to a chair. "Don't worry." He shot a venomous look back at me. "I'll deal with you later." | watched them go, a perfect picture of loving concern. His promises were as empty as my heart. | had made my decision. The gala would be my stage. And my final performance would be my escape. The next evening, | stood before the mirror in the gown Ethan had sent. It was a stunning creation of silver silk, a dress designed to make a statement. | looked beautiful. | looked like a queen. And | felt like a prisoner on her way to the gallows. ---- At the gala, | was the perfect accessory on his arm. | smiled, | made small talk, | played my part. | was a ghost in a beautiful dress. Halfway through the evening, | approached him. "Ethan," | said, my voice soft. "l have a gift for you." | handed him a small, elegantly wrapped box. Inside was a pair of expensive cufflinks. "For your new future," | said, a hidden meaning in my words that he couldn't possibly understand. "With your new family." He looked pleased, his ego stroked. "Thank you, Sarah. This is... thoughtful." "There's something else," | said. "A surprise. But | need to go prepare it. Will you excuse me?" "Of course," he said, his eyes already scanning the room for important business contacts. Just as | was about to slip away, Olivia, who had been watching us with narrowed eyes, stumbled. She "accidentally" spilled a glass of red wine all over the front of her white gown. "Oh!" she cried, a damsel in distress. Her hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. The crowd gasped. She had engineered the 'accident" perfectly. She looked down at her ruined dress, then at me, her eyes wide with accusation. "You... you tripped me!" ---- "| didn't even touch you!" | protested, but my words were lost in the drama She started to cry, great, heaving sobs. "My dress is ruined! Everyone is looking at me!" She ran towards the balcony, threatening to jump. "I can't take this humiliation!" Ethan, of course, rushed to her side, wrapping her in his arms, playing the hero. "Shh, my love, it's all right," he murmured, glaring at me over her shoulder. "I'll take care of this." He barked an order to his guards. "Bring me the whip." The word hung in the air, a venomous, shocking thing. The crowd fell silent, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination. This was better than any soap opera. This was real life. My escape plan had just been thrown into chaos. But as the guards approached, a new, more desperate plan began to form. This humiliation would be my cover. This public flogging would be my final distraction.