A Woman Scorned: The Return Of Aretha Hawthorne

Chapter 2

I am most definitely regretting taking fashion advice from Stella.

“Mrs. Berfield, I must say you look quite stunning tonight.” The umpteenth business partner my husband will be introducing me to tonight says, shooting me a smirk but he might as well be talking to my cleavage just like every other man present here tonight had done.

The woman hanging off his arm (seemingly his wife) shoots me a death glare, most likely for unintentionally seducing her husband and I shoot her what I could only hope comes across as an apologetic smile in return.

Letting Stella decide my outfit for tonight easily tops my list of lifetime regrets, quite contrary to what she’d said I wouldn’t feel after taking her advice tonight. Since I arrived at the venue of the celebration with my husband, I’ve garnered the attention of most people, just like Stella said I would, and have been getting varied looks from unabashed leering (courtesy of the men) and reproachful glares (from the women), much to my chagrin.

At first, it’d been worth it when Daniel was initially stunned to see me. He’d stared at me as I descended the stairs back at home when it was time for us to leave, the desire in his eyes quite palpable and for the first time in a long while, I’d felt seen by him, like I was the center of his focus: momentarily, things had felt like they used to be before we got married and started to drift apart.

All through our ride to the venue, Daniel hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of me and it’d felt really good to have my husband’s sole attention once again but it was the total opposite to have everyone else’s attention on me.

Daniel’s hold around my waist tightens almost to the point of pain, an indication that he isn’t at all pleased with the man’s suggestive comment but he doesn’t say anything in return to him, simply choosing to excuse us from the couple. My husband strides across the large room of the rented hall, tossing quick responses to greetings from the guests, his pace fast and hard to keep up with in my heels as he guides us to a secluded, dark hallway.

Gripping my hand, he yanks me forward until I’m standing in front of him, trying to catch my breath after the unexpected workout he’d just put me through. I gauge Daniel’s expression as he levels me with a harsh glare, making me swallow nervously.

“Did you purposely dress like a w***e to seduce every man in this room tonight?” He spits at me, his words like a punch to my guts. Instinctively, I shrink back from him, raising my hands to try to cover my exposed shoulders and chest as self-consciousness overwhelms my senses.

“I-I— Daniel, that’s not—”

“And why are you wearing something so flamboyant? Do you think you’re a model like Stella? As my wife, you should be blending into the background and not trying to outshine me on my own special day. What f*****g stunts are you trying to pull, Aretha?” he seethes.

“Nothing! Daniel, nothing. Please, I-I wasn’t trying to outshine you tonight at all. I-I—It was Stella who—”

“Tried to warn you, Retha.” A new voice cuts in and I turn towards it to see my foster sister in question approaching us.

Taking in her words, I frown in confusion. “What?”

Stella shrugs nonchalantly, coming to a halt beside my husband. “I did try to warn you about your choice of outfit, Sis. I told you that not only is it quite provocative for a married woman but also that wearing the same dress I’d worn to the premiere of a popular movie would surely cause PR problems for Danny and his family.”

My eyes immediately go wide, almost bulging out of their sockets as I watch my foster sister in disbelief. Effortlessly lying against me right to my face, Stella returns my baffled look with a completely innocent expression, but the look in her eyes is one I’ve neither seen before nor can I decipher, however, it’s potent enough to cause a shiver to run down my spine.

I open my mouth to speak but before I can, an outburst from my husband draws my attention to him. Daniel looks livid with his face stained a tomato red and I subconsciously take another step back from him while attempting to pacify him. “Honey, that’s not—”

“You’re wearing the same f*****g dress Stella wore to a movie premiere?! Are you trying to ruin the Berfield family name? The next thing you know, the media is making speculations on how we’re probably going poor if you can’t afford to buy a new f*****g dress for your own husband’s birthday rather than wear something of your sister’s.”

My mouth runs dry at the realization of what Stella had tricked me into doing and like a fool, I’d stupidly played right into her trap. It takes a great deal of effort not to smack myself across the face but Daniel’s next words succeed in doing exactly that.

“Tell me, Aretha, is this your way of getting some attention from the public? I can’t believe I married someone so f*****g selfish and stupid.”

Tears well up my eyes as I shoot Stella a betrayed look, earning a triumphant smirk from her, before quickly returning my attention to my husband, trying to explain myself and hoping he hears me out but we’re once again interrupted by the presence of someone else—Melinda, my foster mother.

Blind hope blooms within me as I turn to her for help in this matter but before I can even dare to speak, she shoots a sharp glare, traversing her gaze up and down my body with a disgusted expression on her face, and my stomach bottoms out ominously.

“What have you done, Aretha?” Melinda says, contempt heavy in her voice.

“W-what, Mother. I promise it’s not like that. Stella—”

A sharp sound suddenly echoes through the hallway, effectively cutting off my speech rather abruptly as my head whips to the side from the impact of my foster mother hitting me across the face. A belated gasp follows the sound but I’m in no mood for Stella’s theatrics as I stiffly turn back to face my foster mother, overwhelmed by the shock of what she’d just done to me.

My own loved ones had just turned against me because of something as trivial as my outfit.

I palm my cheek in hopes of suppressing the sting there but regardless, the tears that’d filled my eyes due to Stella’s lies, Daniel’s insults and now, the hit from Melinda, still overflow and begin to trail down my face. Blinking repeatedly, I open my mouth to say something but can only close it back, repeating the action a few times like a fish out of water.

I watch as Stella grips her mother’s arm, feigning concern. “Mother, you shouldn’t have done that. That’s too much for her simple mistake. Retha hadn’t meant to wear something like this. Perhaps she’d done it to impress Danny since it’s his birthday tod—”

“I could care less about what the w***e chooses to wear!” Melinda yells, making me flinch at her choice of words while Stella gasps again. “How dare she attempt to tarnish the reputations of the Winthrop and Berfield families by committing a******y?!”

Once again, I’m filled with shock and confusion by my foster mother’s words and yet I’m too frozen by the sequence of events to refute their accusations.

Melinda takes a threatening step forward, most likely intending to hit me once more but she is quickly stopped by my husband and Stella who are more interested in hearing what she has to say rather than for my safety.

“What, Mother? What do you mean?” Stella asks and Daniel echoes the question.

“Yes, Melinda. What do you mean ‘a******y’?”

Breaking out of their hold, she walks to the entrance of the corridor leading back to the party and gestures outside. “Come, see for yourselves.”

Without delay, Stella and Daniel move towards the entrance and although I think it best not to put myself in such a close proximity to my foster mother where she could just as easily smack me like before, curiosity wins out and I find myself edging towards the passage entrance like the others. The first thing I notice when I peek through is that the party seems to have slowed to a halt, the gentle background music now replaced with quiet murmurs as everyone in the room is now focused on something at the front.

Confused by what is going on, I follow everyone’s gaze to the front and my heart drops quite literally down to my feet when I take in the big flat screen TV that’d previously been showing slideshows of my husband (the birthday celebrant) and what is now being projected on it for everyone to see.

It’s a slideshow of my own pictures, but not just any picture of me—risque and incriminating photos of me in bed with another man, who although his face has been blurred out, it is quite evident in his hair color and other features that he isn’t my husband, Daniel Berfield, who has always had blonde hair and an ectomorph body type.

But more importantly, why are such pictures of me being displayed? Completely fake pictures at that.