Chapter 5

The days after the attack were a blur of pain and recovery. My "help" had come in the form of a discreet private doctor who patched me up without any official records. I spent the time in a secure apartment I had rented under a fake name, letting my bruised ribs and battered body heal.

I didn't answer any calls or messages. I simply disappeared. I knew Graves would be looking for me, but I had covered my tracks well.

During that time, Alex tried to reach out. She sent a barrage of texts to my old number, which I had kept active on a burner phone just to monitor their communications.

"Kimberly, I'm so sorry about what happened. Graves told me everything. He was just angry. Please come home."

"I know you hate me, but I really do want to be friends. Can we please talk?"

Then came the photos. Pictures of her and Graves, smiling and happy. One showed them on a yacht, another in a fancy restaurant. She even sent a picture of a diamond ring on her finger. A provocation. She was flaunting her victory, trying to get a reaction out of me.

I looked at the photos with dead eyes. There was no jealousy, no anger. Just a cold, detached pity for her naivety. She thought she had won. She had no idea she was just a pawn in a much larger game, and that her king was about to be checkmated.

One evening, Graves himself called the burner phone. I let it ring a few times before answering.

"Kimberly, where are you?" he demanded, his voice a mixture of anger and frustration. "Stop this foolishness and come back."

"I'm not coming back, Graves," I said, my voice flat.

"Fine! Be that way!" he snapped. "But there's a charity gala next week. Our company is a major sponsor. You have to be there. We have to maintain appearances."

He was still obsessed with his public image, even after everything.

"Alex will be there, of course," he added, as if it were an afterthought. "I'm introducing her to some important people."

He wanted me there as his wife, standing by his side, while he paraded his mistress around. The sheer arrogance was astounding.

"Alright, Graves," I said, after a long pause. "I'll be there."

He sounded relieved. "Good. Don't be late."

He hung up without another word.

The night of the gala, I made my entrance. I wore a stunning, backless red gown that hugged my curves and a diamond necklace that had been a gift from my father. I could feel every eye in the room turn to me as I walked in.

Graves was standing with a group of investors, with Alex clinging to his arm like a trophy. She was wearing a white dress, trying to look pure and innocent. When he saw me, his eyes widened in appreciation, a flicker of the old desire in their depths.

He excused himself and walked over to me. "You look... incredible," he said, his voice low.

"Thank you," I replied, my expression unreadable.

Throughout the evening, he tried to keep up the facade, pulling me into conversations, introducing me as "my brilliant wife, Kimberly." But his attention was always on Alex. He would fetch her drinks, laugh at her silly jokes, his hand always possessively on her waist.

At one point, a wealthy investor, a notorious drunk, cornered me, trying to get me to drink with him. Graves saw what was happening. He walked over, not to defend me, but with a cold, calculating look in his eyes.

"Kimberly, be a sport and have a drink with Mr. Harrison," he said, his voice a low command. "He's a potential partner for our new project." He then leaned in closer, whispering in my ear, "Do this for me, and I'll buy you that penthouse you always wanted in the city."

He was trying to pimp me out for a business deal.

That was the last straw. The rage that I had kept buried for so long finally erupted.

"No," I said, my voice shaking. I tried to walk away, but he grabbed my arm, his grip like steel.

"Don't make a scene, Kimberly," he hissed.

I ripped my arm from his grasp. "Let go of me!"

The sudden movement caused a commotion. People turned to stare. I didn't care. I pushed past them and headed for the exit. I needed to get out, to breathe.

I ended up in the restroom, splashing cold water on my face. My heart was pounding, my hands trembling. I was so close to losing control.

The door opened, and Alex walked in. She was no longer pretending to be drunk. Her eyes were sharp and clear, filled with a triumphant malice.

"Having a tough night?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

I ignored her, grabbing a paper towel to dry my face.

She leaned against the counter, blocking my way. "You know, he's only with you for appearances. He told me he can't wait for the divorce to be final so he can marry me."

I stayed silent, my jaw clenched.

"He loves me, Kimberly," she purred, stepping closer. "He would do anything for me. And you? You're just a relic of his past. A washed-up old woman he's stuck with."

She smiled, a cruel, sharp smile. "Don't worry, though. I have a little something planned for tonight. A grand finale. You won't want to miss it."

She sashayed out of the restroom, leaving her words hanging in the air like a threat. A cold dread washed over me. I knew she was planning something. Something terrible. And I knew, with a sickening certainty, that it would be aimed at me.