My Husband Forced Me to Serve His Mistress

All I did was refuse a toast at Ivy’s welcome banquet.

The man I’d been married to pried open my mouth and forced hard liquor down my throat.

My body broke out in hives, my chest seized, and I nearly suffocated from an allergic reaction.

And him? He held Ivy in his arms and pointed at me with contempt.

“She used to kneel and beg to drink for me—now she claims she’s allergic? So good at making a scene.”

They laughed, mocked me, and even urged him to kiss her in front of me.

He agreed without hesitation, kissing her deeply before carrying her off to a hotel as I was abandoned on the floor, breathless, begging for help.

After returning from the hospital, I packed my bags. And drafted the divorce papers.

---

The amber liquid in the crystal glass caught the chandelier's light, casting golden reflections that danced mockingly before my eyes. Around me, the Hamptons estate buzzed with the kind of laughter that came easily to people who had never known want, never felt the crushing weight of desperation.

My dress—a castoff from James's previous charity auction—hung loose around my shoulders, the faded burgundy fabric a stark contrast to the designer gowns that swirled around me like exotic flowers. I tugged at the neckline, trying to make it sit properly, but it was hopeless. Everything about me felt wrong in this glittering world.

"Ladies and gentlemen," James's voice boomed across the marble-floored ballroom, commanding attention with the effortless authority that had first drawn me to him five years ago. "I want you all to meet someone very special."

My stomach clenched as his arm snaked around Ivy Meyer's tiny waist, pulling her closer to the microphone. She looked radiant in a slip dress that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, her honey-blonde hair cascading in perfect waves over bare shoulders.

"Ivy has just returned from her successful stint in London, and I'm thrilled to announce that she'll be joining Smith & Associates as our new Chief Public Relations Consultant."

The crowd erupted in polite applause. I watched Ivy's face light up with practiced surprise, as if she hadn't known this moment was coming. As if the three of them hadn't planned this entire evening around her grand entrance back into James's life.

"Now," James continued, his eyes finding mine across the room with laser precision, "I think it's only fitting that my wife, as the gracious hostess of this evening, should lead us in a toast to welcome Ivy home."

A server appeared beside me as if summoned, offering a silver tray with a single glass filled to the brim with bourbon. The sharp, medicinal scent hit me immediately, making my throat constrict in memory of past reactions.

I looked up at James, hoping to catch his eye, to remind him silently of what he already knew. But his gaze was cold, expectant, surrounded by the eager faces of his Wall Street cronies and their