Grand Humiliation

"Ethan is nothing but a liar, a scumbag! I've known you to be poor, wretched, but never did I imagine you'd be this naive!" Mrs. Judith shrieked, her voice a whip-crack across the hushed ballroom.

Every eye drilled into Ethan, who visibly recoiled, each second a fresh stab of humiliation. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, their piercing gazes a physical weight pressing down on him.

"Why, Ethan? Why did you do this? It would have been better to bring no gift at all than this... this fake! I trusted you to make up for your behavior tonight, but you've only made it worse!" Evelyn's voice cracked, tears brimming, threatening to spill.

"You worthless brat! You've ruined a perfect evening with your misery!" a guest screeched, and like wildfire, the accusations ignited, everyone cursing Ethan. He could barely fathom the nightmare unfolding around him.

"I didn't buy a fake bracelet! Mr. Antonio is lying!" Ethan's desperate plea tore through the clamor.

Mr. Antonio, a predatory smile playing on his lips, stepped forward, a small device in his hand.

"In that case, I will prove to you all that this bracelet is indeed a fake!"

He held out the device, and as Evelyn, trembling, handed him the bracelet, the room plunged into an eerie silence. Every guest leaned forward, breaths held, eager for the verdict.

Then, like a sudden explosion, a collective gasp ripped through the air. The result flashed on the device: unmistakably, unequivocally, fake.

"Throw this fool out of here! He'll learn some manners next time!" David Sinclair's command was cold, precise. He watched, unblinking, as his men seized Ethan, who struggled, a desperate animal caught in a snare.

"Evelyn! These men are trying to ridicule me in front of you!" Ethan screamed, his voice raw.

"Get out of my sight, Ethan! You've disgraced yourself, and you've disgraced me!" Evelyn shot back, her voice laced with fury and sorrow, as she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking.

Ethan was dragged out, ignominiously tossed like refuse onto the damp pavement just outside the opulent premises. His suit, once pristine, was now torn and soiled. He had been brutally ejected from his own wife's party.

He lay there, the cold concrete seeping into his bones, his mind a chaotic whirl. How had everything gone so wrong, so swiftly?

He stared at the bracelet, clutched in his trembling hand, his eyes burning with a blinding rage. The guards spat on him before retreating, their cruel laughter echoing in the night. Onlookers captured his humiliation with their phones, flashes illuminating his wretchedness. He forced himself up, every muscle screaming in protest.

But back inside the glittering hall, Lord David and Mr. Antonio raised their glasses, silent smiles etched onto their faces.

"I never knew you could pull this off with such ease," David whispered, a note of impressed malice in his tone.

"You did exactly as I instructed."

"I told you I could handle it, but you doubted me," Mr. Antonio replied, taking a slow sip of wine. "Ethan paid ten thousand dollars for the real deal but got a replica at the last minute. I've never witnessed a scam this effortless. He won't forget this humiliation in a hurry. Still, I have my fears."

Their eyes darted around, searching for eavesdroppers amidst the lingering festivities.

"There's no need to fear. Ethan has no control, no wealth, and certainly no connections," David Sinclair growled, his grip tightening on his wine glass. "I'm just glad you contacted me so quickly. Ethan always stood in my way, but not anymore. This time, I am in control."

"But the celebration seems... ruined. Mrs. Evelyn is clearly disappointed, saddened by this," Mr. Antonio ventured, a flicker of guilt, cold and unwelcome, touching his heart. His smile vanished as he observed the subdued mood of the remaining guests. "Are you sure we did the right thing, Mr. Sinclair?"

"She'll come around," Lord David dismissed, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Everything is working, falling into place just as I planned. Your reward will be granted, Mr. Antonio. You've certainly won my heart tonight." He clapped Mr. Antonio firmly on the shoulder.

Ethan, meanwhile, a mere shadow of his former self, struggled to contain the boiling rage within.

He realized then: this was no ordinary coincidence. He had been scammed, meticulously set up.

As he staggered back towards the entrance, a black Mercedes, its license plate conspicuously absent, screeched to a halt behind him.

Like a meticulously planned ambush, four shadowy figures burst from the vehicle, knocking him unconscious in a brutal, swift attack.

A sack was thrown over his head, and he was hoisted into the trunk before the car vanished into the dead of night, leaving only a handful of stunned witnesses gaping in the aftermath.

Ethan's eyelids fluttered open, his head throbbing, the last remnants of a horrifying nightmare clinging to his mind.

But this wasn't a nightmare.

His hands and feet were bound tightly to a chair, a single, bare light bulb swinging precariously overhead, casting eerie shadows across the cold, concrete room.

"Welcome, Ethan. We've been waiting for you to emerge from your beautiful slumber for a while. We have urgent business to attend to."

A feminine voice, cool and precise, drifted from the darkest corner of the room.

"Who are you? What do you want with me? Where am I?" Ethan screamed, his voice hoarse, raw with fear.

"You're in a place where no one will find you easily," the woman revealed, stepping into the stark light.

She was striking, undeniably beautiful, but her allure was the least of Ethan's concerns as he strained against his bonds.

"And until we are finished with our business here, there's no escape for you."

"You've kidnapped the wrong person! I'm Ethan Brooks, husband of Evelyn Quine! You've made a mistake!"

"Oh, shut your dirty mouth, Ethan!" she snarled, her composure shattering. "I know who the hell you are. You're the dirty slug husband of Evelyn, one of the most top aspiring models in this country. Everyone knows your poverty-stricken name; it's a curse everyone fears!"

Her words lashed at him, and for a moment, Ethan's voice died in his throat, his head lowering in burning shame.

"You are here strictly on business!"

The lady snapped her fingers. Instantly, three burly men stepped forward. Two quickly cut the ropes binding his hands, while the third slid a small table directly in front of him.

"Who... who are you?" Ethan whispered, his voice barely audible.

"You can call me Mrs. Amber," she revealed, a chilling smile playing on her lips. "And right here are the divorce files you must sign, as courtesy demands."

"If this is a prank, you can stop now," Ethan muttered, attempting a show of defiance. "Because you look more stupid than you appear."

Amber's hand shot out, a stinging slap echoing in the confined space. Her rage, cold and absolute, seemed to fill the very air around them.

"I have been given orders to have your signature on these divorce papers before the morning sun," she threatened, her eyes like chips of ice. "And I've been ordered to use any means necessary. Your marriage to Mrs. Evelyn Quine is about to come to an end, and not even you can stop it, Mr. Ethan. It's best you sign these papers before things get ugly for you."

She watched, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, as goosebumps rose on his skin.

"Who are you working for?" Ethan demanded, his voice trembling slightly as he slowly picked up the pen. He stared at the divorce papers, the words blurring, a grotesque reflection of his ruined life.

Was this even real? Perhaps it was just another bloody nightmare.

"I work for someone who clearly doesn't want you married to Mrs. Evelyn..."

"I need a name!" Ethan interrupted, a surge of desperate anger fueling his words.

"That's all you need to know. Now sign those papers!" she screamed back, her patience wearing thin.

"Over my dead body will I sign any of these papers! You all can go to hell!" Ethan roared, a newfound boldness, born of despair, blazing in his eyes.

"Mrs. Amber, I suggest we beat him to a pulp, break his teeth, and make him suffer for a few minutes," one of the men suggested, cracking his knuckles with a sickening pop.

Ethan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Amber rubbed her forehead, a sigh escaping her lips. Then, with chilling deliberation, she drew a gleaming pistol from her holster, aiming it directly at Ethan's head.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence.

"My master wants your signature on those papers and your wretched ass out of the way," she revealed, her voice dangerously soft. She clicked off the safety pin. "Perhaps with you dead, both objectives will be achieved."

"You won't dare pull the trigger!" Ethan screamed, his heart racing, the air growing thick with suffocating tension.

But even as fear clawed at him, a stubborn resolve hardened his gaze.

He wasn't ready to surrender, not even one bullet could put down his sheer defiance.