Picking Up My Real Husband At My Exes Party

Summary

It was 11:59 PM. I forced myself to push past the anger of being woken by my phone and shoved open the gilded door of the private room.

“Excuse me, everyone, I apologize for the interruption, but I’m here to pick up my husband.”

The next second, the room’s raucous New Year’s countdown came to a screeching halt.

Dozens of eyes belonging to a room full of society’s elite were suddenly pinned on me.

And the man sitting in the center seat, impeccably tailored, his expression cool and remote, was slowly tracing the rim of a cocktail glass.