Revenge Party

by Emily Lynn Paulson

Genres: Women's Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

"Do you have what it takes to bring down the bad guy?" When a husband’s lies are no longer a secret and manipulation passes for love, a wife must decide how far she’s willing to go to expose the man she married—and what justice truly means—in this dark, modern marriage thriller.

He used women to climb to the top. Now watch him fall.

Devoted mother and party planner Katherine Valentine thought she’d finally found safety when she married Seattle’s golden boy, Shane Sutton. Charming, generous, and politically untouchable, he’s the kind of man people protect. But behind the polished façade lurks a predator who collects women like trophies, and Katherine has become his latest prize.

Desperate to protect her children, Katherine devises the perfect plan: use Shane's mistress against him. But Isabella Meyer is no pawn. She didn’t come to be saved. She came to settle a score.

And revenge is only the beginning.

In The Revenge Party, marriage is a stage, politics is a weapon, and every woman has a reason to lie. A razor-sharp, female-driven psychological thriller of social warfare and buried secrets, when women are pushed past polite.

Twisty, ruthless, and absolutely to die for.

Release date: May 12, 2026

Publisher: Rise Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

From The Revenge Party by Emily Lynn Paulson:

My fingers absently twisted my wedding ring. “So, you’ll always remember you’re mine,” Shane had whispered when he slipped it on. I found it romantic then. Lately, I’d woken from nightmares where it tightened in my sleep, cutting off circulation until my finger blackened and fell to the floor. Yet I wore it daily, both shield and shackle. Taking it off was a declaration I wasn’t ready to make.

What I couldn’t figure out was why he was keeping me around if he had a new plaything? A younger, more improved version of me? Why hadn’t he left? That was the question and the problem, the reason I stopped myself every time I considered packing up and driving away: the prenup. I’d get nothing if I initiated a divorce: no alimony, no share of Sutton Strategy, nothing. The righteousness I once had signing the document—Look how evolved I am! How not-gold-digger!—now sat like a chokehold. A formality, he’d said. So, I wrote my swirly signature and put my initials on page after page. I suppose nobody marries with the end in mind. I’d believed in forever once, so desperate to prove to everyone, my mom, my friends, myself, I could make marriage work this time, and I wasn’t the failure my first divorce suggested.

But it wasn’t simply money or pride I worried about. Shane’s political connections ran deep. If I left him, would I be blacklisted from the social circles I relied on? Would the kids face backlash? I told myself I’d never blow up my children’s lives the way my parents had demolished mine, and they’d already endured Eric’s scandal.

Stop spiraling, Katie. I pulled my hair into a bun and scanned my calendar for the day. I opened a spreadsheet, each cell color-coded and cross-referenced. I’d been planning events since Emma was in preschool. I was good at making things look effortless, at creating moments other people would remember.

How poetic that I could orchestrate a gala for three hundred people but couldn’t seem to plan an exit from my own marriage?

This afternoon, I had to finish details for a graduation committee meeting, a class party, emails to vendors, and hopefully make it to the gym in time for my noon class. Yes to committee chairs and bake sales. Yes, to Shane’s proposal after only a few months of dating, despite everyone’s warnings it seemed rushed.

My phone lit up, and a Google alert for Sutton Strategy filled the top of my screen. There were more and more of them lately.

MODERATE REPUBLICAN MCFADDEN AND HIS NOT-SO-MODERATE-TAKES—SMART STRATEGY, OR SELLING OUT? – By Anna Dollarhide

A side note in the piece made my scalp prickle: murmurs that Sutton Strategy was “positioning for higher office.” Whose? No one said.

I’d always ignored politics; what was the point in a blue state like Washington and an even bluer city? But Shane had dragged politics into our home, our dinner conversations, and my children’s classrooms. My eyes were wide open, and I couldn’t close them.

I’d watched him strategize and shift beliefs long enough to learn an important lesson: getting what you wanted sometimes meant playing by rules you hated.

I glanced at the clock. “I give up.” Piper hopped up after me, knowing I’d again given in to her furry charm when I grabbed the leash. “The party planning can wait, I suppose.”

I walked past Shane’s office on the way out the door. Locked, as always. He claimed it was because of confidential client information. There was a time when his mysteriousness was sexy, like I’d won the affections of a man too important to be fully known. Now I was almost afraid of what I’d find locked inside.

We trotted down the driveway. “Wait, Piper, wait,” I begged as my impatient dog pulled my shoulder practically out of its socket, and another text popped up. It was Shane.

Going to be a late night with the McFadden team tonight, will miss the game, be home late. Don’t wait up. Love you.

That’s it. It was time to confront him about the affair. He was obviously smitten with this woman. He could be reasonable, despite the prenup, right? He’d never leave us high and dry, would he?

Before I could respond, another text.

Don’t forget to take your medication today. You seemed off this morning.

I glared at the screen, ice spreading through my veins, standing frozen with my anxious dog and my failing marriage.

I thought I had things handled, but I was running out of time.