Chapter 5

Alexandra Wright POV:

The night of the Architectural Guild Awards arrived, draped in velvet and glittering with false promises. The ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was a sea of black ties and sequined gowns. Champagne flowed, and the air buzzed with the self-important chatter of the city' s elite.

Anthony was in his element. He moved through the crowd with the easy charisma of a king in his court, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. I was his prize, his perfect accessory. He' d bought me a stunning, backless emerald green gown, a dress designed to be admired.

"You look breathtaking, Alex," he' d murmured as we' d gotten ready, his eyes filled with a convincing facsimile of adoration. "My beautiful wife. Twenty years, and you' re more beautiful than ever."

I had simply smiled, a serene, Mona Lisa smile that I knew was unnerving him. I was a porcelain doll, beautiful and silent and utterly unreadable.

Before we left the house, I' d sought out Jacob in his room. He was dressed in a suit that was a little too big for him, looking sullen and uncomfortable.

"You look handsome," I said, my voice gentle.

He just grunted, not looking up from his phone.

I sat on the edge of his bed. "Jacob, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me." My voice trembled, but this time, the emotion was real. A final, desperate plea for the son I thought I had. "If... if your father and I were to separate, who would you want to live with?"

He finally looked up, his eyes cold and devoid of sympathy. He didn' t hesitate. Not for a second.

"Dad, obviously," he said with a scoff. "At least he' s fun. You' d probably just sit around and cry all day."

The cruelty of it was breathtaking. He had rehearsed this. He had fantasized about this moment.

"I see," I whispered, the last embers of maternal hope dying in my chest. The boy I had raised was gone, replaced by this cold, callous stranger who saw me as nothing more than an obstacle to his father' s happiness.

"Don' t worry," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You' ll get used to being alone."

He stood up, adjusted his tie, and walked out of the room, leaving me in the echoing silence of his judgment.

That was it. The final cut. I took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up. The woman who walked out of that room was no longer a mother. She was an executioner.

At the gala, I played my part. I smiled, I mingled, I accepted congratulations on my husband' s behalf. And I watched.

I saw Katia arrive, an uninvited guest who had clearly been personally invited by Anthony. She was wearing a red dress, a slash of scarlet in the sea of muted tones. It was a dress that screamed for attention. Around her neck was a diamond necklace I recognized from a Tiffany' s box I' d found hidden in Anthony' s closet weeks ago-a gift he' d claimed was a surprise for me.

Jacob' s face lit up when he saw her. He abandoned his post by the shrimp cocktail and rushed to her side, his earlier sullenness vanishing.

"Katia! You look amazing!" he gushed, hugging her with a familiarity that made my stomach turn. "Doesn' t she look amazing, Dad?" he called out, waving Anthony over.

Anthony, who had been deep in conversation with a major developer, froze. His face went pale. He shot Jacob a look of pure fury before composing his features into a tight, forced smile.

"Ms. Shepherd, what a pleasant surprise," he said, his voice strained. He subtly angled his body, trying to put space between himself and Katia, but Jacob was oblivious.

"Dad was just saying he hoped you could make it," Jacob announced proudly.

Katia preened, her eyes flicking to me with a look of triumphant malice. "Anthony is always so thoughtful."

The use of his first name was a deliberate, targeted strike.

Anthony' s smile was a rictus of panic. He put a hand on my arm, a gesture meant to be reassuring but felt like a manacle. "Alex, honey, you remember Jacob' s counselor, Ms. Shepherd."

"Of course," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "It' s a pleasure to see you again, Katia." I let my eyes drift down to the necklace. "That' s a beautiful piece. It looks almost identical to one my husband bought for me."

Katia' s hand flew to her neck, her smile faltering. Anthony' s grip on my arm tightened painfully.

Just then, Principal Thompson and Katia' s parents, a mousy, bewildered-looking couple I' d made sure were seated at a prominent table, walked over. The trap was closing.

Katia looked like she was going to be sick. She muttered a hasty excuse about needing to find the restroom and fled, her red dress a blur of panic.

Anthony' s face was ashen. "I... I should make sure our guests are comfortable," he stammered, making his own escape in the opposite direction, chasing after his mistress.

I didn' t need to follow him. I knew exactly what was happening. He was calming her down, reassuring her, making promises he had no intention of keeping.

I let them have their moment. I needed him composed for the main event.

I found them ten minutes later, tucked away in a service corridor behind the stage. I didn't need to get close. I just needed to see. Their argument was heated, their voices hushed but frantic.

Katia was crying. "You said she didn' t know! You said she was an idiot! She looked right at me, Anthony! Everyone is staring!"

"Calm down," he hissed, grabbing her arms. "It was a coincidence. She doesn' t know anything. You need to pull yourself together. This is my night."

"Your night?" she sobbed. "What about me? What about us? You promised me, Anthony. You promised that after this award, you would leave her. You said we could finally be together."

He pulled her into a rough embrace, his eyes scanning the corridor nervously. "And we will. I promise. Just get through tonight. Smile, be happy for me, and I swear, tomorrow we will start our new life. You and me."

He silenced her protests with a desperate, hungry kiss. A final, sordid act in the wings of his triumph.

It was everything I needed.

I stepped back into the shadows, a ghost at the feast. I returned to the ballroom, my heart a calm, steady drum. I took my seat at the head table, smoothed down my emerald dress, and picked up my champagne flute.

The show was about to begin.