02
Joy, in high heels and a dress similar to mine, walked towards us with an elegance tinged with provocation. Holding a glass of wine, she offered a seemingly sincere smile: “Happy fifth wedding anniversary to President Holland and hi sister–in–law, and congratulations on the birth of your son!” As she spoke, Blake’s grip on my arm tightened involuntarily; I could feel his
nervousness.
Just as Joy was about to raise her glass, Blake suddenly stopped her, his voice laced with concern: “Joy, you’re not feeling well; you shouldn’t drink.” He took the glass from her hand, and Joy promptly leaned into his arms.
I stood aside, watching their oblivious intimacy and feeling like a superfluous outsider. The guests present cast strange glances, but Blake didn’t care at all, gently coaxing Joy in front of everyone. After a few words in hushed tones, Blake looked at me and said, “Luna, I’ll take Joy
home, and I’ll be right back.”
My heart was full of bitterness. What was the point of agreeing or refusing? Their intimacy was already like a slap in the face, hitting me hard. This banquet was destined to be a failure.
Blake supported Joy as they walked out. When they reached the door, Joy suddenly stopped,
turned around, and walked towards me. With a look of feigned apology, she said, “Luna, I’m so
sorry to disturb your dinner party.” She spoke loudly, ensuring everyone around could hear. But
then, leaning in close and speaking in a voice only I could hear, she hissed, “I’m pregnant toc
know Blake’s feelings for me. The child in your belly won’t have a good ending!”
Hearing those words, I could no longer contain my rage. I raised my hand and slapped her
across the face.
