After His Mistress Scratched the Hypercar, He Slapped Me

Before I could even blink, his hand swung.

The slap was fast and brutal.

*CRACK.*

The sound was like a whip snapping in the quiet room. It bounced off the high glass walls and the marble floor. My head whipped hard to the right.

Pain exploded across my left cheek, white-hot and stinging. My hair broke loose from behind my ear, tumbling across my face.

Someone in the crowd gasped. Then the entire showroom went dead silent.

A sharp taste of copper filled my mouth. Blood.

I didn't scream. I didn't touch my face. I just stood there, my head still turned toward the cold floor.

Sebastian took a half step closer. He rolled his right shoulder, casually adjusting his cuffs. He looked down at me the way someone looks at trash they just kicked off the sidewalk.

“Vows are just words, Sutton,” he said. His voice was smooth and utterly cold. “And words mean nothing to a man with power.”

My cheek throbbed with heat, but deep inside my chest, something froze.

The hand hanging at my side went completely still. My thumb stopped rubbing the edge of my wedding band.

For three years, I had held onto that habit. I had traced that ring every time he was cold, every time he forgot my birthday, every time he came home late with another excuse. I had excused all of it. I had given up a dynasty in Paris, turned my back on my own family, and quietly fed him millions just to be loved for who I was.

I waited for the tears to come. I waited for the heartbreak.

Nothing came.

Instead, a profound silence took over. The tiny flame that had burned in my heart for three years simply went out. The love died. Just like that.

Slowly, I straightened my neck. I looked at Sebastian. My eyes were level and dry.

Antonella took a step forward. She looked at my red cheek, then at my blank face. She didn’t see the death of my patience. She only saw defeat. She thought I was broken.

A cruel, giddy smile spread across her red lips.

“Look at her,” Antonella chirped, turning to the crowd. “Not a word! She knows she’s done.”

She looked around the room, making eye contact with the onlookers, the sales staff, and two burly security guards lingering near the entrance.

“A woman who can’t even pay for a scratch has no business wearing designer clothes,” Antonella said. Her voice rose, ringing clearly across the showroom. “She’s freeloading off Seb’s name. In fact, why are we letting her walk out of here with any dignity at all?”

She pointed a manicured finger straight at me.

“You two,” Antonella barked at the guards by the door. “Come over here. Grab her. Strip that coat off her. Strip that dress, too. Let's see what she looks like without Seb’s money covering her up.”

The guards hesitated, glancing nervously at each other.

Antonella wasn’t done. Her eyes were bright with vicious excitement. “Find some cardboard from the back. Write *WORTHLESS TRAMP* on it in big black letters. Hang it around her neck! Then march her barefoot right down Fifth Avenue. Let the whole city take pictures of what happens to a woman who forgets her place!”

A few people in the crowd looked uneasy. Stripping a woman in broad daylight was extreme, even for Manhattan’s vicious elite.

One of the junior salesmen shifted his weight and looked at Sebastian, waiting for him to shut it down.

Sebastian didn’t shut it down.

He slowly crossed his arms over his chest. A lazy, amused smirk formed on his lips. He leaned back against the counter, perfectly relaxed.

His silence was an order.

Seeing Sebastian’s approval, Antonella puffed up like a peacock. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and threw her head back, laughing out loud.

“Oh, what? Are you all scared?” Antonella mocked the room, clapping her hands together. “Don’t tell me you’re worried she’ll retaliate! Look at her! She’s a nobody! A pathetic, penniless housewife!”

She spun around on her high heels, arms open wide as if she were performing on a stage.

“Let’s make it interesting!” Antonella announced, her voice dripping with pure arrogance. “I’ll make a bet with every single person in this room right now!”

The crowd leaned in, watching the drama unfold.

“If Sutton Pierce somehow turns out to be more important than Sebastian Murray,” Antonella shouted, her eyes gleaming with mockery, “if she has even one drop of real power in this city... I will strip naked myself and walk down Fifth Avenue!”

The showroom erupted.

Rafael Voss let out a loud snort. The onlookers laughed, shaking their heads at the absurd joke.

“That’s a safe bet!” someone shouted from the back.

“She wouldn’t have a dime if Murray didn't give it to her!” another man laughed.

Antonella smirked, entirely pleased with herself. She turned back to the two guards and snapped her fingers.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she ordered, glaring at them. “Take her clothes off!”

The guards nodded this time. They stepped forward, their heavy boots squeaking against the polished floor, hands reaching out for my collar.

I didn't flinch. I didn't step back.

I just reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against my phone.