The 48th Lie

. It's also the day my husband, Liam,

rash on our wedding day, a tragedy that left her unable to have children and left hi

This time, after Seraphina pushed me down a spiral staircas

t home security system "myst

e kidnapped. As her hired thugs tore at my clothes in the back of a cold, dark v

plea. And

to the cold, unforgiving sea. As I fought for my life i

e would be no 4

would simply

pte

night is the annual Starlight Foundation Charity Gala, the pinnacle of the city's social calendar, and I am a ghost at my own husband's side.

s attention, his very orbit tonight, is centered on another woman. An hour ago, in the silent, tense atmosphere of our penthouse

feeling well, the anxiety is acting up. The thought of facing this crowd alone... she's terrified. Could you possibly let her be my plus-one

crimson dress he bought her last week in Paris, clings to his arm in the full glare of the spotlight. She plays the part of the

ly for vintage wines and exotic holidays. Then, the auctioneer, a man with a booming voice and a practiced smile, announces the next lot. "And n

eply personal piece, one I almost couldn't part with. It depicts a lone lighthouse against a

r delicate frame colliding with a passing waiter. A heavy silver tray, laden with a tureen of scalding lobster bisque and several glasses of dee

my chest and shoulder. The wine follows, staining the pale silver fabric a gruesome, bloody crimson. I am a

o the city's collective memory. A wave of murmurs, a mixture of shock,

not down towards me, but up towards the source of the chaos. He wraps his strong arms around a "shocked" and trembling Seraphina, shielding her fragile

that blinding, public moment, I realize