Chapter 4

The annual Hope Gala was the premier event on the D.C. political calendar. It was less about charity and more about matchmaking and power brokering. It was where alliances were forged and careers were made or broken.

A few days before the event, Debra, my husband's long-term mistress, appeared at my door. With her was her daughter, Molly, the illegitimate result of her affair with Matthew.

Debra had perfected the art of the helpless victim. She and Molly were always dressed in simple, unassuming clothes, a stark contrast to my own tailored, powerful style. It was a calculated performance to make me look like the aggressive, unfeeling wife.

"Gabby," Debra began, her voice soft and hesitant. "Molly has heard so much about the Hope Gala. She would so love to see it, just once."

Molly, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, looked at the floor, the picture of shy humility.

In my past life, this was another one of my sins. I had refused. I told them that Molly's presence at such a high-profile family event would cause a scandal, that an illegitimate child had no place there. Andrew, of course, had used it as another example of my cruelty and elitism. He had screamed at me for hours, defending the "innocent" Molly against her wicked stepmother.

This time, I smiled. A warm, welcoming smile that seemed to startle them both.

"Of course," I said. "Molly is Matthew's daughter. She is part of this family. I'll make the arrangements immediately."

Debra's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly masked it. "Oh, Gabby, you are too kind."

I waved it off. "It's the least I can do."

The night of the gala was a whirlwind of camera flashes and whispered conversations. I made sure Molly and Debra were seated at our table, a prime location. I was the very picture of a gracious, inclusive matriarch.

Andrew was tense all evening. He kept shooting glances toward the Lesters' table, where Annabel sat, looking radiant. His attempts to catch her eye were consistently ignored. Without my influence greasing the wheels, he was just another congressman's son.

Then, the chaos erupted.

A scream, followed by a loud splash.

Everyone turned toward the grand ornamental pool in the center of the atrium.

And there was Andrew, a look of heroic concern on his face, pulling a sputtering, drenched young woman from the water. It was a classic, almost theatrical, damsel-in-distress rescue.

I recognized the girl instantly. Nicole Chavez. The unfortunate fiancée from my past life. Daughter of a respectable but not particularly powerful State Department official.

Just as Andrew helped her to her feet, a shrill voice cut through the stunned silence.

"Nicole! My poor child! What has he done to you?"

Nicole's stepmother, a notorious social climber, rushed forward. She grabbed Nicole, who was shivering and crying, and pointed an accusing finger at Andrew.

"You! You have ruined her! In front of everyone! Her reputation is destroyed! You must take responsibility for this!"

The scene was perfectly staged. Too perfectly.

Andrew looked horrified. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be the hero, earning a nod of approval from the powerful Senator Lester, not getting entangled with the socially insignificant Nicole Chavez.

He looked at me, his eyes wide with panic. He expected me to step in. To shut this down. To use my power to make this vulgar little problem disappear and preserve his eligibility for Annabel.

I met his gaze. And I smiled.