Then, in the middle of a conversation with an older couple—some big-name Chicago society types who’d made their fortune in real estate development and had donated a ridiculous amount of money tonight, bragging egregiously and basking in their goodwill—Stefan’s phone buzzed. I could feel it in his jacket pocket.
He discreetly slid the phone out just enough to check the screen. Then, without a word, he dropped my hand and walked away.
I stared at his retreating back. Had he really just left me standing here with a couple of strangers?
“Is everything alright?” the older gentleman asked.
“So sorry about that,” I said politely, reverting to my years of social training as a senator’s daughter. “Stefan was waiting for that call. He’s very…committed to his work.”
The man nodded generously. His wife gave me the same kind of bland smile I was giving both of them. No doubt she had dealt with the same kind of thing in the past.
There was a brief, awkward silence before I managed to excuse myself and head in the direction that Stefan had exited in. He had left the ballroom and made his way out onto one of the balconies. It was freezing out, and the cold seemed to go right through my thin dress.
Glancing around, I didn’t see him at first. The balcony seemed empty, most of the guests too smart to venture outside into the night’s frigid temperatures. But then, in a dark corner, I saw Stefan’s broad shoulders. I took a step and then froze.
My husband wasn’t alone.
He was with a woman, a KZM model by the looks of her, the two of them pressed up against each other. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on his shoulder as he shielded her body from the icy wind. I heard myself gasp as I watched him reach up and wipe her tears with a brush of his thumb. I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of care—even though I was well aware by now that it was all part of his act. Still, my stomach turned seeing how gentle he was with her. They weren’t kissing, but they were close enough to at any moment.
I turned away before I saw any more, tears prickling my eyes.
My heart had been cracked wide open. I’d known he was probably cheating with one or more of the agency’s models, but there was nothing like seeing it with my own eyes to force me to accept the truth.
The part of me that had put on the lingerie he had bought, hoping he’d want to see me in it when we got home, the part of me that had hoped there was still a chance for reconciliation, for a real marriage somewhere beyond the horrible revelations and unforgivable behavior, had officially died.
Stefan was sleeping with other women. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t love me. He didn’t want me.
It was time for me to wake up and let go of the fairytale version of my marriage that I’d been clinging to.
It was time to get over him. Permanently.
Tori
Chapter 6
How ironic that I spent so much of my time studying language, drowning myself in words, only to realize that none of those words I was so obsessively diving into could properly describe how I was feeling. None had the power to break the spell I was under.
Words had always been the one thing in my life that never failed me—until now. The hell I was experiencing was beyond language. I was desperate for something I knew I couldn’t have. Stuck in a cycle of longing and loathing for the one man I never should have touched.
I wished I could scrub Stefan from my memory completely. Walk away, make a new life. And maybe one day I would.
But for now, there wasn’t anything I could do.
After the night of the charity fundraiser, I’d gone home and curled up alone in bed, more furious than ever at my inability to do anything to help the women or find a way out of the mess that my life had turned into. Stefan never came to my bed that night, which was no surprise, but I’d been completely unable to sleep, my mind racing. And then an idea had come to me.
I went to my desk, opened up my laptop, and spent hours staring at the screen glowing in the darkness, researching organizations and charities that worked to fight sex trafficking on a global scale. I found out who they were and what they did, how they served, rescued, and advocated for victims of human trafficking. Operation Underground Railroad, The Emancipation Network, Polaris Project, Stop the Traffik. The price of my silence—my continued role as an accessory to KZM’s actions—was going to cost Stefan dearly. It was the least I could do.
With my husband’s credit card held tightly in my hand (I was an authorized user), I signed him up for monthly automatic donations to as many legitimate organizations as I could. The fundraiser we’d attended was a slick PR move, I knew that, but the fat donation check that KZ Modeling had written wasn’t enough to atone for their sins. Yet no matter how many thousands of dollars I signed Stefan up to donate, it still didn’t make me feel better. It wasn’t enough. It was just a band-aid. Those women were still trapped. As trapped as I was.
Though I knew I couldn’t tell my stepmother the truth about KZ Modeling, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to call Michelle and see if she had any advice for dealing with a relationship that was constantly on the rocks. I’d seen firsthand that her marriage to my father hadn’t always been rosy, but somehow she’d managed to weather all the storms. Maybe she could help.
“So what do I do?” I asked her, after vaguely outlining the way Stefan and I barely saw each other anymore, how we didn’t seem to have anything to say to one another, how I always felt an underlying, unresolved tension between us. “I’m not expecting things to be perfect, and I know it’ll pass…but in the meantime, I just want things to feel…less fraught.”
I left out that the reason I knew it’d pass was because I planned to leave him someday.
To my surprise, her advice wasn’t just to give him more attention in bed (she had no idea we slept in separate rooms) or to pour on a heavy dose of feminine charm. Instead, she said, “Well, you two have very busy but very different lives, Tori. And that’s okay. It’s very normal. But sometimes the answer to too much space is to find evenmorespace—for yourself.”
“Wait, what?” I was shocked. “I don’t think I can get much further away as it is.” Thoughts of running away to Grace’s apartment and staying there for a few weeks flitted through my mind, but I knew it would only be a temporary solution—and might make things even worse.
