My marriage to Liam was supposed to be a dream, a glossy magazine cover come to life.
He was the charming tech CEO, I, the brilliant data scientist.
But behind the facade of our perfect life, three years passed without him ever touching me, a supposed victim of extreme OCD.
Then, at his company gala, a spilled champagne tray revealed the monstrous truth: he didn' t pull me to safety.
He shoved me.
My head hit the marble, and as I lay dazed, he frantically wiped a champagne drop from his suit, feigning concern that painted him a tortured husband, not the brutal one.
The real horror unfolded when I woke, drugged and paralyzed, to his casual laughter just outside the door.
He hadn' t panicked; he' d deliberately pushed me.