As he adjusted his tuxedo in their bedroom, Mara watched from her wheelchair, carefully straightening the wheel that had slipped out of alignment.
“Leo,” she said gently, her voice hopeful. “May I come with you tonight? It’s been so long since I’ve gone out. I want to see you receive your award. I bought a dress—red. I think you’d like it.”
Leo paused, meeting her reflection in the mirror. There was no warmth in his eyes. Only irritation.
“Come with me?” he scoffed. “Mara, this isn’t some casual dinner. It’s a gala. Executives, investors—people who matter. What exactly are you going to do there?”
“I’m your wife,” she replied softly, emotion breaking through. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”
He turned fully toward her and crouched down, his voice lowering into something sharp and cruel.
