Chapter 3

The next morning, David was gone before I woke up. He left a note on the bedside table. "Annual Charity Gala tonight. Don't be late." He hadn't even bothered to tell me in person.

I found out from a society gossip column online that he was attending with Samantha Green as his date. The company had officially announced her as his companion for the evening. I, his wife, had been replaced.

A cold fire burned in my chest. No. Not tonight.

I spent the entire day preparing. I chose a deep red gown that clung to my body, a stark contrast to the pale, simple dresses I used to wear to please him. And around my neck, I clasped the 'Star of the Sea,' my mother's favorite necklace, a piece she had designed herself. It felt like armor.

When I arrived at the gala, my entrance caused a stir. Heads turned. Whispers followed me like a shadow.

"Isn't that Chloe Miller? I thought David Hayes was coming with Samantha Green."

"Look at her. She actually looks... stunning."

"This is going to be a disaster."

I ignored them all. My eyes were fixed on one point across the grand ballroom: David, with Samantha clinging to his arm.

He saw me. For a second, his cool composure slipped. His eyes widened, a flicker of shock, maybe even admiration, in their depths. He had never seen me look like this. I wasn't his meek, quiet wife anymore.

Then, just as quickly, the mask was back in place. He turned his attention back to Samantha, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. He was deliberately ignoring me.

I walked straight toward them, my heels clicking a steady, determined rhythm on the marble floor.

"David," I said, my voice calm and clear. "You seem to have forgotten your wife."

Samantha's smile faltered. She pressed closer to David. "Chloe, I didn't know you were coming. David said you weren't feeling well."

"I'm feeling much better now," I replied, my eyes locked on David. "Funny how a little betrayal can clear the head."

"Chloe, don't make a scene," David warned, his voice low.

"A scene?" I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "You bring your mistress to a public event, and you're worried about me making a scene?"

Samantha's eyes filled with tears. "David, I don't want to cause trouble between you two..."

"Then you should have stayed away from my husband," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

She flinched, turning her tear-streaked face to David, a silent plea for protection.

"That's enough," David said, stepping in front of her. "Apologize to Samantha."

I looked at him, at the man I had loved, now defending the woman who was helping to destroy me. The last thread of hope inside me snapped.

I picked up a glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray.

"Apologize?" I said softly. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I tossed the contents of the glass onto Samantha's pristine white dress.

Gasps erupted around us. The wine spread like a bloodstain on the white fabric.

"She looked a little pale," I said, placing the empty glass back on the tray. "I thought she could use some color."

David's face was thunderous. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in painfully. "Apologize. Now."

"No," I said, meeting his furious gaze without flinching.

"David, it's okay," Samantha sobbed, pulling at his sleeve. "Don't be angry with her. It's my fault."

Her performance was perfect, making me look like the cruel, unhinged wife.

"I said, apologize," David repeated, his voice a low growl.

The pain in my heart was a dull, constant ache. I knew he would always choose her. I had known it for years, but hearing it, seeing it, was still a fresh wound.

"The legal Mrs. Hayes," I said, my voice loud enough for those nearby to hear, "is being asked to apologize to a mistress. Is this the new standard for the Miller and Hayes families?"

"Chloe, you're going too far," David warned, his eyes flashing.

Samantha cried harder, burying her face in David's chest. "I'm so sorry, David. I've made things so difficult for you."

"It's not your fault, Sam," he murmured, stroking her hair with a gentleness he had never shown me.

Suddenly, a sharp slap echoed through the ballroom.

My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging.

My father, Mr. Miller, stood before me, his face contorted with rage.

"You disgraceful girl! How dare you embarrass the family like this!"

I looked at him, the man who had sold me for a company, now hitting me to protect his scheme. The last bit of daughterly affection I held for him curdled into pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Embarrass the family?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Would Mom be proud of you right now, Father? Standing here, defending my husband's affair?"

His face paled. "I... I am just trying to keep the peace. You're being hysterical."

"Hysterical?" I laughed, a raw, broken sound. "You call this hysterical? I call it a long-overdue reality check."

"You are a disgrace!" he bellowed, raising his hand again.

This time, I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, my chin held high.

"Go ahead," I said, my voice like ice. "Hit me again. But know this: I am Chloe Miller, David Hayes's wife. That makes her," I pointed a shaking finger at Samantha, "a homewrecker. And it makes you, Father, the man who condones it."

He froze, his hand hovering in the air. My words, spoken so clearly and publicly, had hit their mark. He was shaking with rage, his reputation in tatters around him.

Just then, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the main event.

I turned to leave. I had done what I came to do.

But then the auctioneer announced the next item, and my blood ran cold.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, a truly special piece. A one-of-a-kind necklace known as 'The Star of the Sea,' designed by the late, great Elara Miller."

My mother's necklace. On an auction block.