The hallway felt like a courtroom—bright lights, silent witnesses, a woman on the floor, and a husband standing in judgment.

And Lily was already convicted.

Ethan helped Daisy up slowly, his hand firm around her shoulders. “Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice lowered and tight.

Daisy shook her head weakly. “I’m fine… Don’t blame her. I shouldn’t have followed her.”

Followed her.

As if she were the wounded one chasing reconciliation.

A breath escaped Lily that sounded almost like a laugh. “You’re really good,” she said quietly.

Ethan’s gaze snapped toward her. “What did you say?”

“I said she’s really good.”

Daisy flinched as if struck again. “Lily, I know you don’t like me,” she whispered tearfully, “but I never wanted to come between you two—”

“Then don’t,” Lily cut in sharply. “Go back overseas.”

The air seemed to explode. Ethan’s expression darkened instantly. “Enough. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough tonight.”

Embarrassed.

Lily stared at him, something wild flickering behind her eyes. “I embarrassed myself? I stood quietly while your friends mocked me. I watched you open the car door for another woman. I watched you hold her waist on the dance floor.” Her breathing grew uneven. “And now she slaps herself and I’m the villain?”

“I didn’t—” Daisy began weakly.

“Shut up!” Lily shouted.

The sound cracked violently down the corridor. Even Ethan looked momentarily stunned. Years of swallowed words were finally clawing their way out.

“For seven years I endured everything. Every comparison. Every humiliation. I carried luggage while you walked ahead like I was your servant.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “But tonight? Tonight you can’t even let me sit in your car.”

“This isn’t about a seat,” Ethan said coldly.

“Then what is it about?” she demanded. “Your white moonlight finally came back, so I should just disappear, right?”

“Watch your words,” he warned.

“No. You watch yours.”

Behind them, the whispers were no longer subtle.

“She’s gone crazy.”

“Jealous women are terrifying.”

“This is why you don’t marry someone beneath you…”

Beneath you.

Lily turned toward them abruptly. “Yes! I’m beneath you all, right? Just a housewife. No Ph.D., no overseas glory. Just the woman who kept his house warm while he waited for his first love!”

Someone actually stepped back.

Ethan grabbed her wrist. “Have you lost your mind?”

His grip was tight—painful.

Lily looked down at his hand wrapped around her arm. Seven years, and this was the tightest he had ever held her.

“Let go.”

“You owe Daisy an apology.”

The words struck harder than any slap.

“What?”

“You frightened her.”

Lily stared at him in disbelief. “She hit herself! Are you blind?”

Daisy clutched his sleeve again. “Ethan, don’t fight because of me…”

“See?” someone murmured. “She’s still protecting her.”

Something inside Lily shattered completely.

“You want an apology?” she laughed, the sound sharp and unstable. “Fine.”

She stepped forward suddenly. Daisy instinctively recoiled into Ethan’s chest. Lily bent slightly, her voice eerily calm now—quieter, steadier, far more dangerous.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking directly into Daisy’s eyes. “I’m sorry I married him before you came back.”

Daisy’s pupils flickered.

“That’s enough,” Ethan snapped.

“No.” Lily wrenched her wrist free. “You want to protect her? Then protect her properly.”

She stepped back, chest hollow, heart pounding against something that no longer felt like hope.

“If you love her so much,” she said, her voice breaking but loud enough for every witness to hear, “then divorce me.”

The hallway fell completely silent.

Even Daisy forgot to cry.

Ethan’s expression shifted slightly. “You’re being irrational.”

“Irrational?” Lily laughed, and this time it bordered on manic. “You dance with her in front of me. You defend her in front of me. You choose her in front of me. What part of that is rational?”

Her fingers suddenly gripped the collar of her stained dress. The red wine spread across the white fabric like blood.

“Does this look rational to you?”

With one sharp motion, the fabric tore.

Gasps erupted. The neckline ripped slightly under her desperate grip.

“Lily!” Ethan barked.

“Is this dramatic enough for you?!” she cried.

Her hair was disheveled, lipstick smudged, eyes blazing. She looked unhinged.

And for once—

She didn’t care.

Daisy buried her face in Ethan’s chest again, whispering faintly, “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have come back…”

Ethan wrapped both arms around her protectively.

That image was the final blade.

Lily went still.

Seven years of loving him. Seven years of waiting for one moment where he would choose her first.

And here was her answer.

He never would.

Her voice flattened. “Don’t worry. I won’t make things difficult for you.”

She turned and walked past them. This time, no one tried to stop her.

Behind her, the whispers resumed.

“She’s unstable.”

“Ethan’s too good for her.”

And then the music from the ballroom swelled again, as if nothing had happened. As if her marriage hadn’t just collapsed in a brightly lit hallway.

The night air outside was freezing. Lily stepped out of the venue barefoot—she didn’t even remember when she’d taken off her heels. Her torn white dress fluttered in the wind, stained red like a wounded flag.

Cars passed in streaks of light.

She walked with no direction, no plan.

Her phone buzzed.

Ethan.

She stared at the screen as it rang, stopped, then rang again.

She turned it off.

An hour later, she stood in front of the mansion gates. Home. The word felt foreign. The guards looked startled at her appearance but wisely said nothing.

Inside, the house was dark, silent, enormous.

Empty.

For the first time in seven years, she didn’t wait for him.

She went upstairs, entered their bedroom, and looked at the bed they shared. Disgust rose unexpectedly in her throat.

She walked to the closet, pulled out a suitcase, and began throwing clothes inside—not neatly, not carefully, just enough. Her hands trembled. Tears blurred her vision again.

But this time she wasn’t crying because she was hurt.

She was crying because something inside her had finally died.

On the bedside table, their wedding photo stood quietly—Ethan in a black suit, Lily in white. He hadn’t been smiling widely in the picture.

But she had.

She walked over, picked it up, and turned it face down.

“Seven years,” she whispered into the darkness.

“Enough.”

Far away, fireworks from the party burst across the sky, celebrating the return of the white moonlight.

Inside the dark bedroom—

A wife finally stopped begging to be chosen.