Chapter 1 - The Excoriation
The restaurant security guards hesitated at the threshold of the private dining room. Both wore black suits and silver ties, looking back and forth between Derek’s raised hand and the broken glass resting in a pool of red cabernet at Simone’s feet.
"Get her out," Derek said, his voice clipped and smooth, perfectly calibrated to sound like a man dealing with a tragic, unstable stranger. "She’s trespassing on a private family event. She wasn't invited."
"Derek, you sent me the paper invitation on Tuesday!" Simone’s voice cracked, but she did not back away. She reached into her leather handbag, her fingers trembling as she pulled out her phone. "Look at the screen. Look at the text message from four o'clock today."
"She’s sick, Derek," Candace said, taking a step back toward the wall. Her face was flushed, her expensive silk dress suddenly looking like a trap. "You told me she signed the papers in April. You showed me the decree!"
"It was a preliminary draft, Candace," Derek said quickly, his hands hovering in the air between the two women. "The court had a backlog. My lawyer assured me—"
"You forged it," Simone realized aloud. The truth hit her with the physical weight of a blow. "You forged a divorce decree to trick her, and you kept me in the dark so I wouldn't file for spousal support or freeze your accounts."
A collective gasp swept through the twenty relatives seated around the table. Aunt Patricia, a stern woman of sixty who had known Derek since he was in diapers, slammed her hand onto the walnut surface.
"Derek Arthur Patterson," Patricia snapped, her voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioning. "Is this true? Did you bring this girl to the Bahamas while you were still sleeping in Simone's bed?"
"Aunt Pat, you don't understand the pressure I've been under," Derek said, turning his back on Simone to face his family. "Simone hasn't worked a real job in three years. She's been living off my income, refusing to contribute, dragging down my credit score—"
"I worked forty hours a week as a paralegal until you asked me to quit so I could manage your father's estate care!" Simone yelled. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over, leaving hot, burning tracks down her cheeks. "I spent eighteen months nursing your father through dementia while you were 'traveling for business'!"
"Security," Derek roared, dropping the mask of tired patience. "Remove her now, or I call the police and file a restraining order!"
The taller guard stepped forward, reaching for Simone’s elbow. "Ma'am, please. Let's take this outside."
"Don't touch me," Simone said, her voice dropping an octave into a register of cold, absolute steel.
She turned her head to look at the guard. Something in her expression—the total absence of panic, replaced by an ancient, predatory stillness—made the guard halt mid-reach.
Simone took two steps toward Derek. He flinched, leaning back against the edge of the dining table.
"You took six years of my life," Simone said softly, her words carrying clearly across the silent room. "You took my savings. You used my name to co-sign your failed commercial lease in South End. And then you tried to erase me in front of your family like I was an inconvenient piece of trash."
"Simone—"
"Don't say my name," she whispered. "You think you're getting rid of me, Derek. But you have no idea what you've just started."
May you like
She turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
The heavy oak doors closed behind her, cutting off the sudden explosion of shouting relatives, Candace’s high-pitched demands for an explanation, and Derek’s desperate, panicked attempts to regain control of the room.
