— Thank you, David. Happy anniversary!
In the ballroom, filled with guests, conversations momentarily hushed as she walked to her table. People turned to get a second look. Eleanor felt their attention but betrayed no emotion. Everything was going exactly as she had planned.
Mark sat beside her in silence, as if he’d lost the ability to speak. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment his wife had transformed from a familiar backdrop to his life into a woman whose presence outshone everyone else in the room. The anniversary party continued, waiters served dinner, music played, and guests chatted. But in the minds of Mark and David, one fact was becoming increasingly clear: Eleanor’s stunning appearance wasn’t just about the dress, makeup, or jewelry. It came from something within.
The party moved along at a pleasant pace. A jazz trio played softly in the corner, waiters glided between tables with trays of food and wine, and David accepted congratulations, his smile shifting from genuine to strained depending on who approached him. Eleanor sat next to Mark, looking as if the evening were nothing more than a typical social outing. She chatted with their tablemates, inquired about David’s new company projects, and laughed at a few well-told jokes. She seemed only superficially engaged. But inside, she knew the climax was near.
Mark, in contrast, was a bundle of nerves. His movements were jerky, and his wine glass trembled in his hand, a tremor he tried to hide by adjusting his cuff. He kept glancing toward the entrance, his eyes filled with dread. He knew Amber was capable of irrational acts, but he had held onto a sliver of hope that she wouldn’t dare ruin his partner’s celebration.
When the restaurant doors swung open and Amber walked in, one hand cradling her belly, Mark went pale. From her strategic seat, Eleanor saw it all: the messy hair, the dark circles under her eyes, the dress completely inappropriate for the occasion. Amber moved with a swift, determined stride, ignoring the surprised stares of the guests.
— Mark! — Her voice cut through the room’s gentle hum like a clanging bell. — You didn’t tell me you were coming to a party. You told me I was your woman, that you hadn’t lived with your wife for a long time.
The guests fell silent. Forks paused mid-air, wine glasses froze. David rose from his seat, his face a mask of disbelief as he looked from Amber to Mark.
— Amber, please, let’s go outside, — Mark muttered, trying to stand, but she stepped back and continued, her voice rising.
— You lied to me. You chose her, — she said, pointing a trembling finger at Eleanor. — Not me, not our baby. You chose your wife.
A collective gasp went through the room. A few women exchanged knowing glances; men shook their heads. Overcome with panic, Mark jumped up and grabbed Amber’s arm, trying to pull her out of the room. She resisted, but he tightened his grip and practically dragged her through the door.
Eleanor watched the scene with cold composure. She sat perfectly still, her expression serene, as if she had read this script before. There was no pain or anger inside her, only a firm satisfaction: what was hidden was now revealed. Everyone who had doubted or been unaware now saw the truth.
David, red with embarrassment, walked over to Eleanor. — I am so sorry for this horrible scene, — he said quietly. — I never expected this.
She turned to him and replied calmly, — You have nothing to be sorry for. Every party has its own entertainment, and sometimes there are unexpected acts.
Her words were calm, but they carried an ironic undertone that David didn’t miss. He looked down, realizing that perhaps the evening’s true director had been Eleanor all along. A strong woman.
Eleanor glanced at her watch. Her part in the evening was over. Everything had unfolded just as she had calculated: publicly, shockingly, and with maximum damage to Mark’s reputation. A faint, controlled smile touched her lips as she picked up her clutch from the chair. Standing, she excused herself to her tablemates. Her movements were fluid, her posture perfect. She walked toward the exit slowly, allowing every eye in the room to fix on her—the image of a confident woman who needed neither loud words nor dramatic scenes to win.
A car was already waiting for her outside. She was almost at the door when the chain of her purse snagged on a decorative room divider. The purse fell, and her phone slipped out of a side pocket. Eleanor didn’t notice; her heart was already beating to the rhythm of freedom.
A voice called out from behind her:
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