Dinner tonight felt like a scene from a movie I never thought I'd star in, the kind where the woman rises from her ashes, dressed in black, not for mourning, but for rebirth.
After spending most of the afternoon crying myself hoarse, I finally stood up, wiped my tears, and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, and swollen, betraying the storm I'd weathered just hours ago. But no more. That part of me had cried enough. Now, it was time to reintroduce myself not as the broken wife, but as the woman Ethan should have worshipped.
I slipped into my black dress. It hugged my curves in all the right places, dipping just low enough to frame my cleavage without begging for attention, and revealing enough thigh through the slit to make anyone with a pulse pause. It was elegant, powerful, and a bit dangerous like me tonight. I swept my hair up into a high, messy bun that lifted my face and softened the puffy bruises beneath my eyes. Concealer did the rest. A swipe of glossy nude lip color, winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill, and my signature bold perfume. I slipped into six-inch black stilettos, tall and silent like a queen returning to her throne.
Dinner was scheduled for 7 PM. Lindsey and her boyfriend Marcus had already gone ahead. But I had no intention of showing up on time. Queens don't arrive on time; they make an entrance.
It was nearly 7:30 when I stepped out. The air was cool, crisp, and almost poetic. As I approached the dining hall, I could hear the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of glasses. And then, like magic, everything dulled the moment I stepped through the door.
All heads turned.
Every eye fell on me. And I smiled, calm and collected, like nothing in this world could shake me. I walked slowly, deliberately, hips swaying, the soft click of my heels echoing like a countdown. This wasn't just an entrance. It was a statement.
Ethan was huddled in a corner, whispering with Lindsey his eyes frantic, hands gesturing like he was trying to make her understand something urgently. Probably grilling her, trying to dig out how much I knew if she had told me where they met or about his other identity. Lindsey gave me a nod approving my looks for tonight, boosting my confidence.
When he saw me, he froze. And for a moment, it looked like all the breath had been knocked out of him. His hand dropped mid-air, mouth slightly open. His entire body turned toward me like a magnet being pulled unwillingly. He has never seen this version of me before. I wanted to laugh.
He stood up immediately, awkwardly, like a man caught doing something wrong, which, of course, he had. I saw him start to move toward an empty chair beside me, trying to do what? Pull it out? Play gentleman? I let him reach for it and then I walked right past him and sat down at another empty seat, far across the table.
His hand froze mid-air, and he was left standing there, looking like a complete fool. The room was silent. Only whispers now, low and breathy.
Barbie wasn't there. Jessica. Maybe she got the memo. Or maybe he kicked her out. Either way, her absence was a blessing. I had no intention of dealing with her nonsense tonight.
I sat across from Ethan, just like I had at home every evening except tonight, the dynamic had shifted. Back home, he sat at the head of the table, drinking, ignoring me, dismissing my cooking and my conversation like I was some furniture. Now? He was the one craving attention, craving something to hold onto.
I held my wine glass delicately, sipping it slowly, mindful not to drink too much. I still had to stay in control. I speared a few pieces of salad with my fork, taking small, intentional bites. I was calm. Collected. And Ethan was unraveling.
He ordered a bottle of whiskey.
Not a glass. A bottle.
The man who once lectured me about my wine habits was now drinking like a college freshman on spring break. I didn't even blink. But I watched. We all did. His hands were shaky. His collar was unbuttoned. And that polished, perfect man everyone admired at work? He was gone.
"Tessa," he called out, his voice loud and hoarse.
Everyone turned to him surprised. He seemed desperate but it was his time to dance to his own music.
He cleared his throat and stood, holding his glass like it was a microphone. "I… I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know I messed up. Can we… Can we go somewhere and talk?"
His voice cracked a little.
All eyes turned to me.
I smiled, took a bite of my food, chewed slowly and then I took one final sip of my wine and looked at him from across the table. My tone was soft and calm but sharp enough to slice through his whiskey haze.
"Ethan," I said gently. "This is dinner. We're with friends. Have some etiquette."
A soft gasp went around the table. Someone snorted into their wine. Another person whispered, "Damn." And I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, resuming my meal as if nothing had happened.
Ethan sat down slowly, stunned, humiliated, and drunk. And for the first time, I didn't feel sad.
I felt powerful.
But the moment didn't end there. Just then, the door opened, and in walked a man who silenced the entire room.
Tall. Powerful. Cold eyes. A tailored black suit. The kind of man who didn't need to speak to command attention.
He didn't glance at anyone. He walked straight to the head of my table and stood behind my chair.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, voice like velvet and ice.
Every jaw dropped.
Even Ethan's.
I looked up, lips curling into a slight smile.