Chapter 2: The Last Night at Langley House

Derek Langley’s twenty-eighth birthday party was everything Atlanta expected—caterers darting with silver trays, laughter bubbling beneath the surface. I wore my best pale blue dress, a nod to the Langley crest, my hair and makeup perfect after hours of effort. I just wanted, for once, to feel like I belonged.

But as we came down the stairs, Derek let go of my hand, leaving me stranded at the top. He didn’t say a word—just slipped into the crowd, his warmth gone like it never existed.

Every eye followed Derek. People angled their bodies, raising glasses for his attention, the mayor’s wife smiling too wide. I melted into the wallpaper, invisible as the staff.

I hovered by the drinks table, clutching my champagne flute, watching strangers celebrate my husband. The DJ’s playlist thumped, but I felt a thousand miles away.

One by one, guests lined up to give Derek gifts—boxes wrapped in monogrammed ribbons, hand-written notes, rare scotch and cigars, all presented with practiced grins.

Derek motioned for the house manager, Mr. Jeff, to accept each one. He didn’t even bother to smile, just flicked his eyes across the crowd like he was already bored.

Then, someone presented a gorgeous woman, and all eyes turned to me again.

The hush dropped heavy and fast. People tried to hide their curiosity, but I felt every glance—sympathy, anticipation, even a little mockery. Even the waitstaff slowed, eyes darting between me and her. It was a trainwreck in slow motion.

I’d seen those looks before—at the country club when my dress was last season, or at brunch when I used the wrong fork.

Derek’s blank face flickered, something vulnerable crossing it for a split second before his cool mask snapped back.

The woman looked just like his late first love—honey blonde hair, perfect waves, even the same style dress as Lila in an old photo.

“Bringing a woman to me in front of Mrs. Langley—aren’t you all gutsy?” Derek’s voice cut through the hush, dripping with sarcasm. The crowd tittered nervously, unsure if they should laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes glinting. He wore the same expression he had when he knew he held all the cards.

The gift-giver buttered him up, "Mrs. Langley is so understanding, I’m sure she won’t mind."

His smile was fake, eyes flicking to me for approval. Everyone waited to see if I’d play the silent wife.

It wasn’t that I didn’t mind—they just assumed I wouldn’t dare show it.

I gripped my glass tighter. In this world, silence was expected. Acting out was unthinkable.

An orphan girl raised by the Langleys—how could I possibly contradict the new head of the family?

Their logic was airtight. I was charity—an outsider in pearls, never quite good enough for opinions.

Derek spun his wedding ring, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Since Mrs. Langley’s fine with it, take her away—"

He said it lightly, tossing my dignity aside like loose change. I felt heat in my cheeks, but I wouldn’t let him see me break.

Before Derek could finish, I strode up to his side. He looked surprised. The crowd held its breath.

I looked at the beautiful woman. Up close, I saw her lips tremble, just barely. Maybe she didn’t want to be here either.

The gift-giver had been thoughtful, knowing exactly what Derek liked. Even her perfume was the same brand Lila used to wear. I almost laughed.

Suddenly, I felt exhausted. Years of holding myself together, playing my part, pressed on my chest. Grandma Carol’s words echoed: "Dignity is a woman’s best jewelry." But tonight, even that felt too heavy.

I gently nudged the champagne tower behind me. My hand shook, but I pushed. The glasses wobbled, teetered, then collapsed with a crystalline crash.

Champagne fountained onto the floor, splashing shoes and hems. For a frozen second, the room was dead silent.

Shrieks and curses erupted, waiters scrambling. My heart hammered, but I stood my ground, chin high.

Someone shouted, "Mrs. Langley’s lost it!" The accusation echoed, louder than the jazz ever was. But for once, I didn’t care. Let them talk.