People shifted. Someone near us muttered, “Goodness.”
I swallowed. “You brought your mistress to your own birthday party.”
“Don’t call her that,” he snapped under his breath.
Then, louder, “Look, I don’t want a scene. Let’s be mature. You can leave, spend the night somewhere else, and we’ll talk later.
No drama, okay?”
He actually reached out and squeezed my arm like he was comforting me.
“You organized everything perfectly,” he added. “I really appreciate it.”
He wanted me to disappear quietly from the party I planned, so he could celebrate with his side piece in front of seventy people who knew me.
Something in me went very, very still.
I took a breath.
“Okay,” I said.
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