Chapter 3

The day in the wine cellar was a cold, dark eternity. Sarah huddled on the concrete floor, hunger gnawing at her, the chill making her fractured wrist ache mercilessly. When Ethan finally opened the door, his face was unreadable.

"I trust you've had time to reflect," he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

Sarah simply stared back, her eyes burning. Reflection had only hardened her resolve. Her escape couldn't come soon enough.

A few days later, Ethan's assistant delivered a garment bag and a velvet jewelry box to her room. "Mr. Hayes expects you to accompany him to the Children's Foundation Gala tonight," the assistant said, her tone professionally detached.

Inside the bag was an exquisite, but somber, designer gown. The jewelry was understated, expensive. An attempt at a fragile truce, or perhaps just maintaining appearances.

The gala was a glittering affair held at the Museum of Modern Art. As Ethan guided her through the throngs of New York's elite, Sarah spotted Tiffany across the room. She was preening in a vibrant, daringly cut dress, a spectacular diamond necklace – one Sarah recognized from a recent Sotheby's catalog – blazing at her throat. It was the kind of piece Ethan usually reserved for major anniversaries. With Sarah.

Whispers followed them.

"Isn't that Ethan Hayes with his wife?"

"And there's Tiffany Vance... with the necklace."

"He's certainly not trying to hide it, is he?"

Ethan, sensing Sarah's stiffening posture, leaned close. "Don't be so petty, Sarah. Tiffany is my guest. She supports my philanthropic efforts."

His dismissive tone, the casual insult, barely registered. Sarah was a block of ice, moving through the motions. She endured the stares, the whispered judgments about her, about Tiffany, about Ethan's brazenness. Her hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

The charity auction began. Sarah, on a whim, bid on a small, charming painting donated by a local artist.

"One thousand dollars from Mrs. Hayes," the auctioneer announced.

"One thousand and one dollar!" a bright, challenging voice called out. Tiffany Vance, smiling sweetly at Sarah, her hand fluttering near the diamond necklace.

A ripple of amusement went through the crowd.

Sarah raised her paddle. "Two thousand."

"Two thousand and one dollar!" Tiffany chirped again, her smile widening.

This petty charade continued for a few more bids, Tiffany always adding just one dollar, her eyes fixed on Sarah, enjoying the public provocation.

Sarah had had enough. When the next item came up – a significant donation to build a new children's wing for a hospital – she waited for the bidding to reach a respectable sum. Then, she raised her paddle high.

"Lighting the sky lantern," she said, her voice clear and cold, using the auction term for an unlimited, all-in bid that effectively ends the auction for that item. "My husband and I will cover the entire remaining cost for the new wing. Whatever it takes."

A stunned silence fell over the room, followed by a wave of applause. Ethan looked surprised, then a flicker of something – pride? annoyance? – crossed his face. Tiffany's smile froze. Under the rules of this particular auction, the "sky lantern" bid was a power move, often used by major philanthropists. Sarah, as Ethan's wife, had every legal right to make such a pledge from their joint accounts. It was a financial assertion Tiffany couldn't match.

Tiffany, her face pale, suddenly clutched her chest. "Oh... I... I don't feel well," she gasped, tears welling in her eyes. She turned and stumbled dramatically towards the exit.

Ethan's face darkened with fury. He shot Sarah a look of pure venom, grabbed her uninjured wrist, his grip like iron. "You enjoy making scenes, don't you?" he hissed.

Before Sarah could respond, he released her abruptly and hurried after Tiffany, his voice carrying back, full of concern. "Tiffany! Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Sarah stood alone, the eyes of the room on her. She felt nothing but a weary disgust. Her departure couldn't be more than two weeks away. She focused on that. Two more weeks.

She woke the next morning to a blaring news alert on her phone.

"Private Collection of Notorious Tech Billionaire's Wife Up for Clandestine Auction – Intimate Photos Shock Elite Circles."

Her blood turned to ice. There was only one person who would, who could, do this.

Ethan.