Chapter 4

The internet exploded again. This time, it was a photo of Kason Hanson, the powerful CEO, heroically cradling his fragile, injured sister-in-law. His identity as Hazel' s benefactor was now public knowledge.

The narrative was overwhelmingly positive. "A True Gentleman," one headline read. "Mogul Supports Grieving Sister-in-Law's Career."

Buried at the bottom of these articles was a single line about me. "Architect Clara Spears also sustained minor injuries in the incident."

Then came the negative comments, a tidal wave of hate directed at me.

"She probably pushed Hazel. She's just jealous."

"What a sore loser. Can't stand seeing someone else succeed."

"Kason Hanson is a saint for putting up with her."

There was not a single negative word about Hazel. Kason's PR team had worked overtime to scrub the internet clean of any dissent.

I lay in my hospital bed, scrolling through the poison, a bitter smile on my face. He was protecting Hazel's reputation while systematically destroying mine. Not once did he visit me in the hospital. Not a single call.

Instead, I watched him on a talk show, sitting beside Hazel. She was wearing a neck brace, a prop for her performance.

The host asked about their relationship. Hazel blushed and looked at Kason.

"Kason has been my rock," she said softly. "We've known each other a very long time."

He put his hand over hers. "I'll always be there for her."

I remembered all the times I' d begged him to publicly acknowledge our engagement, and how he always said he preferred to keep his private life private.

I remembered the smear campaigns I' d endured, baseless rumors about my personal life that he never once stepped in to deny. He would just tell me to ignore the noise.

But for Hazel, he would move mountains. He would burn my world to the ground just to keep her warm. The hypocrisy of it all was suffocating.

I decided I' d had enough. Against the doctor's orders, I checked myself out of the hospital. I had to attend the annual Architect' s Guild Gala. It was an important event, and I wouldn't let him erase me completely.

I spent hours getting ready, my assistant Lily helping me into a stunning, one-of-a-kind gown by a famous designer. It was a loan, a privilege reserved for architects of my standing. It was silver, like moonlight on water, and it made me feel powerful, despite the dull ache in my ribs.

In the backstage dressing room, I came face-to-face with them. Kason and Hazel.

Hazel's eyes widened when she saw my gown. Pure, unadulterated envy flashed across her face.

Kason walked toward me. My heart gave a stupid, hopeful flutter.

"Clara," he said, his voice low. "Take off the dress."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

"Give it to Hazel. This is her first major gala. She needs to make an impression."

The request was so absurd, so brutally cruel, I could only laugh. "You can't be serious."

I tried to explain. "Kason, this is a couture loan. It's tied to my name, my reputation. She can't just wear it. She doesn't have the standing."

He sneered, a cold, ugly twist of his lips. "Standing? I can buy her standing."

He pulled out his phone and made a call. "I want to buy the silver gown Clara Spears is wearing tonight. Yes, I'll wire the money now. Double the price."

He hung up and looked at me, a cruel glint in his eyes. "There. Now it's mine. And I want Hazel to wear it. Take it off. Now."

He wanted me to strip in a crowded backstage hallway. The sheer, calculated humiliation of it stole my breath. People were starting to stare, whispering.

My hands trembled as I reached for the zipper. With as much dignity as I could muster, I slipped out of the gown, leaving me in my simple slip.

I threw the shimmering fabric at him. It landed at his feet like a dead thing.

"You really are a monster, Kason," I said, my voice hollow.

Someone's phone flashed. A picture.

Kason's head snapped up. "No photos!" he roared, and his security team moved in, intimidating the onlookers.

He took off his suit jacket and threw it over my shoulders. It was a pointless, empty gesture.

"You're being so dramatic, Clara," he said, his voice full of disdain. "It's just a dress."

I walked out to the gala in my slip and his oversized jacket. The whispers and mocking looks followed me. Later that night, Hazel made her grand entrance in my dress. She was radiant. She told every reporter who would listen that it was a special gift from Kason.

The headlines the next morning were all about Kason Hanson's extravagant gesture of love for his sister-in-law. My humiliation was just a footnote.