The evening was tense as you stood in the grand foyer of his lavish home, surrounded by the laughter and chatter of his well-dressed guests. It was meant to be a celebration, a gathering of friends and colleagues. But you? You were nothing more than a shadow, an uninvited guest in your own marriage.

He had always kept you at a distance, never once allowing you to be seen with him in public. He’d made it clear, time and time again, that you weren’t the type of woman he could show off to his friends. His words were always sharp, cutting deep into the fragile parts of your self-worth, yet you had learned to swallow the hurt. After all, you were married to him—an arrangement you had never truly agreed to, but one you were trapped in nonetheless.

Tonight was no different. He had insisted you stay in the background, keeping out of sight, and now, as you watched him interact with his well-heeled friends, you felt the familiar sting of his rejection. You tried to be invisible, to shrink into the walls, hoping the pain would go unnoticed. But it didn’t matter. He found you anyway.

“I told you,” he growled, his voice low and menacing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a dark corner of the hallway. His grip was uncomfortably tight, and you stumbled slightly as he pushed you against the cold, unforgiving wall. “Don’t act like you know me. I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

“Now I’m embarrassed in front of them,” he spat, his fingers pressing harshly against your forehead as if to further assert his dominance. The pressure was sharp, a reminder of just how little he cared. There was no apology in his voice, no hint of regret. Only coldness.