I patted down the front of my dress as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was dolled up, but my eyes looked dead and lifeless, almost like a doll's. Memories of what I witnessed last night still swirled around my head.
A tear slipped from my eyes, which I immediately wiped away.
I was wearing the dress Alessandro bought for me specifically for this occasion. It was a mini bodycon white dress with spaghetti straps. He even controlled what I wore.
It wasn't my style.
This dress wasn't something I would pick out from a mall or an online shop. I thought I looked like a whore in it.
He got it for me and the heels too, so I couldn't reject them or not wear them. Left to me, I would rather appear there in sweats or a hoodie. I loved and cherished my comfort so much.
How was I going to do it? How was I supposed to meet the girl I saw having sex with my husband?
I deserve an award for my endurance and self-restraint.