The first slap came before we had even cut the wedding cake. The second came after I looked directly at my groom and said, “I am not your mother’s servant.”

Thirty men were seated at long banquet tables beneath crystal chandeliers, most of them Daniel Mercer’s relatives and business associates. I was still wearing my wedding gown, my veil perfectly pinned in place, when my mother-in-law, Lorraine, put a silver tray into my hands.

“Now you prove you can be a proper Mercer wife,” she announced. “You pour the whiskey, clear every plate, and serve the men before you eat.”

For a moment, I honestly thought she was joking.

She wasn’t.

The ballroom became so quiet that I could hear ice shifting inside the glasses.

I lowered the tray onto the table.

“No.”

Lorraine’s smile immediately stiffened.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. I’m your son’s bride, not unpaid staff.”

A few of the men gave uncomfortable laughs.

Daniel walked toward me, his jaw tight.

“Just do it, Elena,” he whispered. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

His hand struck my face.

Gasps swept across the ballroom.