After My Groom Murdered My Parents, I Planned My Escape

The Phoenix Charity Gala glittered with New York's elite, crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across the ballroom. I stood alone near the bar, a glass of untouched champagne in my hand, watching Gavin work the room. He moved with practiced charm, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, while Nadia hovered nearby, her red dress a stark contrast to my black Valentino gown.

"Rosalie." Nadia's voice slithered over me like oil on water. "Enjoying the party?"

I turned to face her, keeping my expression neutral. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, her perfume overwhelming. "I thought you should know—Gavin was particularly... enthusiastic last night." Her smile widened as she traced a finger down my arm. "He always says you're too fragile for what he really wants."

My stomach clenched, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.

"He described it to me," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How he takes me from behind while thinking of you. How he—"

"Stop." The word came out strangled.

"Why?" Her eyes gleamed with malice. "You should know what your husband really desires."

I stepped back, bumping into the bar. "I don't need to hear this."

"Oh, but you do." Nadia moved closer, her body nearly touching mine. "You need to understand that you're just a placeholder. A convenient widow he can manipulate while building his empire."

I tried to sidestep her, but she blocked my path.

"Let me pass," I said, my voice shaking.

"Make me." Her smile turned vicious.

Before I could react, Nadia grabbed her wine glass and flung its contents across her chest. The red liquid spread across her white blouse like blood.

"You psychotic bitch!" she screamed, her voice cutting through the elegant murmur of the crowd. "She attacked me!"

The room fell silent. Hundreds of eyes turned toward us as the music screeched to a halt.

"I didn't—" I began, but Nadia was already sobbing dramatically.

"She said she'd ruin me if I didn't stay away from Gavin," she wailed, tears streaming down her perfectly made-up face. "Then she threw her drink at me!"

Gavin appeared at her side instantly, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. "What happened?" he demanded, though his eyes told me he already knew.

"Nothing," I said firmly. "She did this to herself."

---

"Ladies and gentlemen." Gavin's voice boomed through the microphone. The crowd had formed a circle around us, their faces a blur of curiosity and judgment. "I apologize for this unfortunate incident."

He turned to me, his expression thunderous. "Rosalie needs to make a public apology."

"I won't." I stood my ground, even as my heart hammered against my ribs.

Gavin leaned close, his breath hot against my ear. "You will, or I'll have you committed tonight."

He thrust the microphone into my hand, his fingers digging into my wrist until I winced.

"Apologize," he hissed.

Tears burned behind my eyes as I raised the microphone. The room swam before me, faces blurring into a sea of pity and scorn.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"Louder," Gavin commanded. "So everyone can hear your remorse."

I swallowed hard, tasting bile. "I'm sorry for my jealous outburst, Nadia. It was... inappropriate."

Nadia dabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin. "I accept your apology, Rosalie. We all understand you've been through a lot."

The crowd murmured sympathetically, but I heard the undertones—poor, unstable Rosalie, falling apart in public.

---

Back at the penthouse, I threw my clutch onto the marble countertop. "I'm leaving."

Gavin blocked the doorway, his expression calm but dangerous. "No, you're not."

"I can't stay here another minute." I pushed past him toward the bedroom. "I'll sleep in a hotel."

I pulled a suitcase from the closet and began stuffing clothes inside. Gavin watched silently from the doorway.

"Go ahead," he said finally. "Pack all you want."

I froze at his tone—too confident, too controlled.

He crossed to the desk and picked up a thick manila folder. "Before you go, you should see this."

He dropped it onto the bed. I opened it with trembling fingers.

Involuntary commitment papers. My name printed in bold black letters.

"I have Dr. Mercer on retainer," Gavin said casually. "One phone call, and you'll be in a private facility for evaluation. Six months minimum."

The room seemed to tilt around me. "You can't do that."

"I can and I will." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're either my wife, or you're a patient. Choose."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, the folder slipping from my fingers. The commitment papers scattered across the floor like fallen leaves.

"Choose, Rosalie." His hand came to rest on my shoulder, heavy as a shackle. "Choose wisely."