CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE – A LIVING NIGHTMARE

The night of the gala arrived, and Charlotte had to admit Julian was right - it felt invigorating to get out of the apartment and into a more civilized environment. As their limousine pulled up to the glamorous venue, she couldn't help feeling a flutter of nervous excitement. Julian looked devilishly handsome in his immaculately tailored tuxedo, escorting Charlotte inside with a possessive hand at the small of her back. Charlotte felt her spirits lift as she took in the glittering scene, the gentle hum of refined conversation and the soft music of the string quartet. For a few blessed hours, there was no drama, no pettiness. Just Charlotte on her husband's arm, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. That illusion came crashing down when Julian suddenly stiffened beside her, his jovial expression darkening like a thundercloud. "Speak of the devil," he muttered under his breath, mouth set in a grim line. Charlotte followed his gaze across the elegant ballroom to the entrance,