Chapter 3

I spent the next day holed up in the guest room, the sounds of Eve and Kason laughing and moving through the apartment a constant, grating reminder of my humiliation. They were deliberately loud, their joy a performance for my benefit.

That evening, Eve knocked on my door.

"Get dressed," she said when I opened it. "We're having a party."

"A party?"

"It's Kason's birthday," she said, her tone light and breezy. She was trying to act normal, as if bringing her lover into our home was the most natural thing in the world. "He wants to celebrate."

I wanted to refuse, to lock the door and not come out. But I knew that would only escalate things. So I put on a suit and followed her out into the living room, which had been transformed. Dozens of people milled about, music pulsed from hidden speakers, and Kason was holding court in the center of it all, a glass of champagne in his hand.

He was wearing a ridiculously flamboyant suit, covered in sequins that caught the light. He looked like a parody of a rock star, a cheap imitation of what I once was.

"Bennet! There you are!" Kason called out, waving me over. "Come, come! Meet my friends!"

I was paraded around like a strange pet, the quiet husband of the great Eve Yates. Everyone knew the dynamic, the open secret of our marriage. They watched me with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. I felt their stares, heard their whispered comments.

"He looks so sad."

"I can't believe he puts up with it."

"She must pay him a fortune."

My stomach churned. I was nothing more than a character in their gossip, a tragic figure in Eve's grand drama.

Kason, basking in the attention, climbed onto the grand piano. "A toast!" he declared. "To my beautiful Eve, for throwing me the most wonderful party! And to her husband, Bennet, for being so... understanding."

The crowd laughed. It was a direct insult, a public emasculation. Eve watched me, her eyes gleaming. This was the peak of her game. She was showing me, and the world, that she owned me completely.

I looked at her, at Kason, at the sea of smiling, predatory faces. And I felt a strange calm settle over me. The pain was so immense it had turned into a kind of numbness.

I raised my glass. "To Kason," I said, my voice even. "Happy birthday."

Kason seemed disappointed by my lack of reaction. He wanted a scene. He thrived on drama.

"You know," he said, pouting slightly. "I thought you'd be a little more passionate, Bennet. A little more like you used to be. Eve told me you were a real firecracker back in the day."

He looked at Eve. "Isn't that right, darling? Didn't you say you fell for his wild side?"

Eve's smile tightened. This wasn't part of her script.

Before she could answer, Kason did something unexpected. He picked up a shard of a broken champagne glass from a nearby table.

"I can be passionate too," he said, his voice trembling with manufactured emotion. "I would do anything for you, Eve. Anything to prove my love."

And then, he dragged the shard of glass across his own forearm. A thin line of red appeared on his skin.

The crowd gasped. Eve rushed forward, her face a mask of concern.

"Kason! What are you doing?" she cried, grabbing his arm.

He looked at her, his eyes wide and tearful. "I just wanted to show you how much I care."

Eve cradled his arm, her expression a mixture of shock and a strange, twisted tenderness. She was looking at him with a concern she had never once shown me, no matter how much pain I was in.

I watched the scene unfold, a play of twisted devotion and manipulation. And I felt nothing but a profound sense of weariness. This was their world, their game. And I was finally, truly, done playing.

I turned to leave.

"Bennet, where are you going?" Eve called out, her voice sharp.

I didn't stop. I walked to the door, and just before I left, I turned back to them. Eve was glaring at me, angry that I was ruining her moment. Kason was looking triumphant, even with blood dripping down his arm.

"You two deserve each other," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Have fun."

And then I walked out, leaving them in the wreckage of their own making.