After My Husband Chose His Mistress Over My Dying Mother

The ballroom of the Cole estate glittered like a jewelry box—all crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes catching light. I stayed near the marble pillars at the edge of the room, trying to become part of the architecture. My arm throbbed where I'd pressed concealer over the bruises from carrying Mom's casket three days ago. The locket rested heavy against my sternum, a weight that kept me tethered to something real.

Maren held court in the center of the room, draped in emerald silk that probably cost more than my mother's funeral. She laughed at something a board member said, tilting her head in that way she had—mock innocence wrapped around malice. Her eyes swept the crowd and landed on me.

Her smile widened.

"Savannah!" Her voice cut through the chamber music, singsong and sharp. "Don't hide in the shadows. Come say hello to the birthday girl."

Every head turned. I felt their stares like pinpricks—the board members who thought I was a gold digger, the socialites who'd never accepted me, the executives who answered to Maren now. I pressed my lips together and moved forward, my heels clicking against marble that probably cost more per square foot than my mother's life had been worth.

"Happy birthday," I managed.

"How thoughtful of you to come." Maren traced her fingers along the champagne flute in her hand. "Especially after your recent... loss. Jason told me you've been so emotional lately."

The crowd murmured. Sympathetic on the surface. Judging underneath.

"I wanted to show you something special," Maren continued, gesturing to a handler near the terrace doors. "A birthday present to myself. All the way from Southeast Asia."

The handler approached carrying a glass terrarium. Inside, coiled and gleaming, was a snake—easily six feet long, its scales catching the chandelier light in patterns of gold and black. The crowd oohed appreciatively.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Maren's eyes glittered with that same reptilian quality. "And so misunderstood. People think she's dangerous, but she's just... protective of what's hers."

She took the terrarium from the handler, her movements deliberate. "Would you like to hold her, Savannah?"

"I don't think—"

"I insist." The sweetness in her voice had teeth. "Unless you're scared?"

The challenge hung in the air. I watched Jason across the room, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed in that permanent suspicion. Waiting for me to embarrass him. To prove his mother right about me.

I reached out.

Maren's hand slipped—or seemed to slip. The terrarium tilted. The snake's head emerged, tongue flicking, and then it struck.

The pain was instant and electric. Fangs sank into my forearm, and I gasped, stumbling backward. Blood welled up hot and fast, soaking through my sleeve. The snake dropped to the marble floor, coiling, and the crowd scattered with shrieks that sounded more excited than alarmed.

"Oh no!" Maren pressed her hands to her mouth, her eyes dancing. "How clumsy of me. Someone call—well, actually, she's not venomous. Probably. The breeder said she was mostly harmless."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Nervous. Entertained.

I pressed my hand against the wound, feeling my pulse hammer against my palm. The room tilted. I needed to leave. Needed to clean this, treat it, get away from these people who watched my pain like it was dinner theater.

I turned toward the exit.

Jason appeared in my path, solid as a wall. His face was carved from ice, but his hands trembled slightly at his sides—that tell he got when his stomach was bothering him. When the ulcers were eating him alive.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice was low, dangerous.

"I'm bleeding, Jason. I need to—"

"You need to stop making a scene." He stepped closer, his breath smelling of whiskey. "Do you have any idea how this looks? You come to Maren's party, you insult her gift, and now you're going to run away like a victim?"

The blood dripped from my elbow onto the white marble. "I was bitten by a snake."

"Accidentally." His jaw clenched harder. "Maren already apologized. But you can't just accept it gracefully, can you? You have to make everything about you. Your mother. Your pain. Your endless need for attention."

Something hot and terrible surged up my throat. "My mother is dead because you wouldn't—"

"Enough." He grabbed my uninjured arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You want to keep your personal accounts? You want your little fashion hobby to survive? Then you're going to walk back over there, get on your knees, and apologize to Maren for ruining her birthday."

I stared at him. This man I'd married. This stranger.

"On my knees," I repeated.

"Show some proper respect." His eyes narrowed to slits. "Or I'll make sure you have nothing left. No accounts. No business connections. No way to survive without me. Your choice."

The ballroom had gone quiet. Everyone watching. Waiting.

I touched the locket at my throat with my bloody hand, leaving a red smear on the vintage silver.

Then I walked back to Maren.

Her smile was radiant as I approached, her head tilted in that mockery of sympathy. She knew she'd won. She always knew.

I started to lower myself to my knees, the pain in my arm nothing compared to the glacier cracking in my chest.

"Wait," Maren said, her voice bright with discovery. "Is that a locket? How charming. Vintage?"

My hand moved instinctively to cover it. "It was my mother's."

"Oh, how perfect!" She clapped her hands together. "I've been looking for something exactly like that. For my collection. You should give it to me. As a birthday gift."

The world stopped.

"No," I whispered.

Maren's eyes glittered. "No?"

"It's all I have left of her."

"Jason," Maren called, her voice still sweet. "Your wife is being difficult again."

I watched him cross the room. Watched him look at my bleeding arm, at my face, at the locket I clutched like a lifeline.

"Give her the necklace, Savannah."

"Jason, please—"

"Security," he called, his voice carrying across the marble. "Lock the doors. No one leaves until my wife learns some manners."

The click of the locks echoed like gunshots.

Maren held out her hand, waiting.