She never dared to loudly criticize a coworker again. She stopped bragging about her status. Every single time Ethan walked into a boardroom, or even passed her division’s floor, Claire would immediately drop her gaze, her shoulders tense, living in a state of constant, suffocating fear of a punishment that never actually came.
She was trapped in a prison of her own making, constantly aware that the man who held her career in his hands was the man she had mocked, and the woman she had abused was his wife.
That persistent, agonizing anxiety was the most fitting punishment imaginable. Her arrogance had been completely, systematically dismantled.
I leaned my head back against Ethan’s shoulder. He was sitting next to me on the outdoor sofa, reading a thick historical biography, his arm wrapped warmly around my waist.
He wasn’t wearing a Tom Ford suit today. He was wearing faded jeans and a plain, comfortable grey t-shirt. He looked exactly like the man I had fallen in love with in that small coffee shop two years ago.
I lifted my left hand, letting the evening sun catch the smooth, unadorned surface of the gold ring on my finger. The warm, yellow metal sparkled gently, quietly, without demanding attention.
Claire had once looked at this ring and called it cheap. She had looked at my dress and called it ordinary.
