Chapter 4

Dessie POV

I never should have agreed to come.

But Elek had been relentless. He insisted I needed to show my face, to prove to this city-and perhaps to myself-that I wasn't hiding.

I wore a black dress. It was sleek, severe, and bound tight against my skin-my attempt at armor.

The venue was a rooftop garden, suspended high above the noise of the streets. The city lights shimmered below us, cold and indifferent to my misery.

Craig commanded the stage. He held the microphone with a casual arrogance, looking untouchable.

"This project wouldn't be possible without the support of my family," he said, his voice smooth as expensive scotch. He gestured to the front row.

Chanel was there. She blew him a kiss.

The crowd applauded on cue.

Then, Craig saw me. He paused. A flicker of annoyance tightened his jaw, but he smoothed it over instantly, rearranging his features into a mask of polite surprise.

He stepped off the stage and strode toward me. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.

"Dessie," he announced, loud enough for the surrounding circles to hear. "So glad you could make it."

With a theatrical pause, he reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box.

"I wanted to give you this," he said. "A token of appreciation for your... past contributions."

He opened the box. Inside was a company commemorative coin. It was a cheap piece of brass, stamped with the logo-the kind of trinket they tossed to unpaid interns.

"Thank you for your service," he said.

It was a public dismissal. He was treating me like a fired employee he was escorted out of the building.

I stared at the coin, feeling the blood drain from my face.

"Is this a joke?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"It's a memento," he said, his eyes glacially cold. "Take it."

Chanel appeared at his elbow, marking her territory. She looped her arm through his.

"Oh, look, Craig," she said, her voice high and sugary. "She came to beg."

She looked at me, her eyes scanning my body with deliberate, predatory slowness.

"You look tired, sweetie," she said. "Rough night?"

"Chanel," Craig warned softly.

"What?" she laughed, a brittle sound. "She needs to know her place. Look at her. She's pathetic. Hanging around her ex-husband like a stray dog."

People were watching. I could feel their eyes on my skin, prickling like heat rash. They were whispering behind their champagne flutes.

That's the ex-wife.

She looks desperate.

I heard she refused to sign the papers.

"I'm not begging," I said. My voice shook, betraying me. "I'm here because I built the architecture for this project. That implies I have a right to be here."

Chanel laughed. It was a sharp, barking sound.

"You built it?" she mocked. "Craig did all the work. You just fetched the coffee."

She held up her left hand. A massive diamond ring sparkled on her finger. It was huge. Gaudy.

"This is what a real partner gets," she said. "Not a brass coin."

She stepped closer, invading my personal space. She lowered her voice so only I could hear.

"He told me about the abortion," she hissed. "Good choice. We wouldn't want a mongrel running around."

Something snapped inside me. The grief, the rage, the humiliation-it all boiled over into a blinding white heat.

My hand moved before I could stop it. I slapped the coin out of Craig's hand. It clattered onto the floor, spinning noisily against the stone.

"You told her?" I screamed, my composure shattering. "You told her about my medical records?"

Craig's face darkened.

"You're making a scene," he said through gritted teeth.

"You made the scene!" I yelled, pointing a trembling finger at Chanel. "You stole my husband. You stole my life. And you stand there laughing?"

I stepped toward Chanel. I didn't know what I was going to do. Maybe shake her. Maybe scream in her face.

Craig moved. He was fast.

He stepped between us, shielding her. He raised his hand.

Smack.

The sound was louder than the music. It cracked through the air like a gunshot.

My head snapped to the side. My cheek burned as if branded. I tasted the copper tang of blood.

I stumbled back, disoriented. My heel caught on the uneven pavers, and gravity took over. I fell hard onto the stone floor, my knees scraping against the grit.

The music stopped. The crowd went silent. The air was sucked out of the room.

I looked up. Craig was standing over me. His hand was still raised. He looked furious. Not sorry. Furious.

"Don't you dare touch her," he snarled. He was protecting Chanel.

Chanel stood behind him, smirking. She looked like a cat that had just eaten the canary.

"Get security," Craig barked at a waiter. "Remove this woman. She's trespassing."

I lay on the floor. My face throbbed in time with my pulse. My heart was shattering into a million pieces.

He had hit me. In front of everyone. To protect his mistress.

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't work. The humiliation was a physical weight, pinning me down like lead.

Craig turned his back on me. He put his arm around Chanel and led her away.

"Sorry about that, everyone," he called out to the guests, slipping back into the role of the charming host. "Just a disturbance. Please, enjoy the champagne."

He left me there. Like trash.

The world started to spin. The lights blurred into streaks of neon.

"Dessie!"

A voice cut through the fog.

Elek Preston was running toward me, shoving through the crowd of gawking onlookers without apology.

He fell to his knees beside me. His expensive suit hit the dirty floor, heedless of the grime.

"Dessie, look at me," he said. His voice was frantic.

He reached out, but he didn't touch me. He hovered, his hands trembling, afraid to hurt me more.

"I'm okay," I tried to say, but it came out as a broken whimper.

"You're bleeding," he said, his voice tight.

He looked around. He saw the brass coin lying near my hand.

He picked it up. He squeezed it in his fist until his knuckles turned white.

"I'm going to kill him," Elek whispered.

I closed my eyes. The darkness was better than the light.