Chapter 4

The arts center was Kenia's dream. She had founded it in her old neighborhood, a safe space for underprivileged kids to create and express themselves. Holden had funded it, another one of his grand gestures.

She knew attending the gala was a bad idea, but she had to go. For the kids. For her mentor, the center's director, Mr. Evans.

The makeup team did their best to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the pale, gaunt look of her face. She looked like a porcelain doll, beautiful and fragile.

When she arrived, the kids from the center swarmed her, their faces bright with excitement. "Kenia! You're here!"

For the first time in days, a genuine smile touched her lips. This was real. This mattered.

The gala was in full swing. Mr. Evans went on stage to give a speech.

"I want to thank the person who made all of this possible," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "Her vision and dedication have given these kids a future. Please join me in thanking Miss Kenia Hayes!"

The room applauded. But a reporter from a notorious gossip magazine stood up.

"Mr. Evans, our records show that the primary donor to this center is listed as Miss Estella Duncan. Are you mistaken?"

Mr. Evans looked confused. "No, that's not right. Kenia did everything. She brought the proposal to Mr. Dalton, she oversaw the construction, she designed the curriculum..."

All eyes turned to Holden. He was standing in the front row, looking impossibly handsome in his tuxedo.

Kenia's heart pounded. This was it. His chance to tell the truth. To give her this one small piece of credit.

He walked up to the stage, took the microphone, and stood next to Mr. Evans.

He didn't even look at Kenia.

"Mr. Evans is a passionate man," Holden said, his voice smooth and charming. "But he is mistaken. The idea for this center, the funding, it all came from Estella. She has a big heart."

He then turned to Kenia, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gesture that looked intimate but felt like a shackle. His voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear.

"Why are you doing this, Kenia? Trying to steal Estella's credit? I'm so disappointed in you."

The room erupted. Cameras flashed in her face. Reporters shouted questions.

"Miss Hayes, are you a fraud?"

"Are you the other woman in Holden and Estella's relationship?"

"Did you fake the kidnapping to get attention?"

Tears blurred Kenia's vision. She looked at Holden, her last bit of hope crumbling. She asked him one last question, her voice breaking.

"Holden, am I your fiancée, or am I just your mistress?"

He stared at her, his face unreadable. He said nothing.

That was her answer.

In his world, in front of his people, she was nothing. A toy. A secret. A shame.

Her love, her dignity, her entire life for the past three years-it all collapsed in that one moment of silence.

With trembling hands, she reached into her purse and pulled out her marriage license. The one he had proudly presented to her three years ago.

She held it up for all the cameras to see.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she tore it in half. And half again.

She threw the pieces into the air like confetti. They fluttered down around her, little white ghosts of a life that never was.

"We're over, Holden," she said, her voice clear and strong.

She turned and walked away, not looking back. She could hear him calling her name, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos of the media frenzy.

He caught up with her outside, grabbing her arm. He dragged her to his car and shoved her inside.

He took her back to the penthouse and locked her in.

"You've caused enough trouble," he said, his voice cold. "You'll stay here until you calm down."

He took her phone, her laptop, her connection to the outside world. He treated her not like a jilted lover, but like a naughty child having a tantrum.

She was a prisoner in her gilded cage. The staff ignored her. The days blurred into one another. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just existed, a hollow shell of the woman she used to be.

One day, Estella came to visit, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"How does it feel to be the most hated woman in New York?" she asked.

Kenia just smiled, a vacant, empty smile.

It was Sarah, the secretary who had shown her a moment of kindness, who broke the news. She slipped a phone to Kenia when no one was looking.

The headline was stark. "Community Arts Director Dies of Heart Attack Amidst Scandal."

Mr. Evans was dead. The stress of the media scandal, the accusations of fraud, had been too much for him.

The article included a photo. A "condolence" cake had been sent to his family. On it, in cheerful icing, were the words: "Sorry for your loss! Another victim of the prank! - H & E."

Kenia stared at the photo, her whole body shaking. This was the final straw. They hadn't just destroyed her; they had killed an innocent man.

That night, she broke the piggy bank where she had been stashing cash, a secret habit from her poorer days. She paid off a maid, and while Holden and Estella were out celebrating their victory, she slipped out of the penthouse and disappeared into the night.