Standing in that ballroom watching my husband’s own voice condemn him, I felt the specific, unglamorous relief of a person who has carried a terrible secret alone for weeks and has finally set it down where everyone can see it, so that she never has to carry it in the dark again.

It was not triumph.

Triumph is hot.

This was cold, and clean, and it felt less like winning than like finally being allowed to breathe.

Chapter 13 — How Was Your Day, Julian

I stepped out from the crowd, and Eleanor Thorne stepped out beside me, and two uniformed process servers stepped out behind us, and I walked across that silent ballroom directly to my husband while the assembled elite of the city watched.

“How was your day, Julian?” I asked.