Break Free from Kylan's Shackles

This year, all the major companies in Seattle were hosting Thanksgiving gala dinners, and as the husband of a prominent socialite, Kylan was expected to bring a woman home. Countless young women and models surrounded him, each doing their utmost to become tonight's chosen one.

But Kylan's gaze fell on me, his smile teasing. "Of course, my charming companion should be chosen personally by my wife," he said. I smiled back and pointed to a woman who looked most like Eleanor.

He complimented my choice, then, egged on by the crowd, jokingly suggested that he and the girl should have a child for me to raise. Before I could respond, he shook his head with a smirk. "I might not care about a child she has on her own, but I certainly wouldn't want my well-bred child to be brought up to be as dull as she is."

I felt like an animal in a cage, watched by judgmental eyes amid the laughter. I knew this charade should have ended long ago.

As Kylan finished speaking, I felt the eyes on me from all directions. Mockery and scorn, like watching a performance. They wouldn't respect me just because I was Kylan's wife. After all, Kylan's disdain for me was an open secret. I was merely the partner from a failed alliance when Kylan lost both his parents and his family faced bankruptcy.

In the past, I was indifferent to Eleanor’s ruin, his true love. Over the years, I lost count of how many humiliations I've endured, but this time, I wouldn't let it slide. Suddenly, the towering champagne tower was toppled. The vibrant red wine spilled across the floor.

The lights reflected off the spilled wine and glasses, and before anyone could react, I spun around and slapped Kylan hard across the face. The sharp sound silenced the party. In the stunned silence, I massaged my stinging hand and smiled, pulling the tablecloth to overturn the entire table.

Rich sauces and the sounds of breaking glass cascaded together. The young model beside Kylan shrieked as hot soup splattered her. Kylan, who had been watching me with a cold expression, finally spoke.

"Margaret, what kind of madness is this?" he demanded.

I ignored him. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a waiter holding a spiced honey cake. The smile on my lips grew. Perfect.

I stepped forward, took the spiced honey cake from the waiter's hand, and returned to stand in front of Kylan. "Happy Thanksgiving," I said with a smile, pressing the entire cake into his face. The sweet cream slid down from Kylan’s chin, staining his expensive suit.

The noise stopped abruptly. Everyone watched Kylan, eager to see how he would handle his unruly partner in this farcical marriage. But Kylan merely wiped his face with a hand. The smattering of cream only accentuated his attractiveness, lending him an air of aloofness.

He looked up at me, his lips curving slightly. "Are you done?"

Kylan's voice was