From Abandoned Puppet to the Tycoon's Contract Wife

"Push the price up by another twenty percent and tell them we walk if they do not agree."

Gabrielle Webb kept her eyes glued to the glowing screen of her phone as she spoke into the Bluetooth earpiece. She sat in the back of the town car, the heavy black frames of her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She pushed them back up with her index finger, a habit she had perfected over the last five years.

"Got it, Gabby," Keira said through the earpiece. Her assistant sounded breathless. "But are you seriously not looking out the window right now? The entire street is stopped."

Gabrielle did not look up. She was too busy scrolling through Johan's schedule for the next week.

"I am looking at a spreadsheet, Keira. Just handle the paparazzi issue. I do not want any photos of Johan leaving that club last night leaking before his birthday party."

"But Colvin Sykes is on the screen," Keira insisted. "The big screen in Times Square. He is actually doing an interview. The whole financial district is losing its mind."

Gabrielle let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, her brain barely registering the name. She tapped her finger against the leather armrest.

"Make sure the caterers know about the peanut allergy for the director," Gabrielle said.

Outside the tinted windows of her car, the giant digital billboard illuminated the night sky. On the screen, Audra Jennings leaned forward in her chair.

"Mr. Sykes, what made you decide to move Sykes Capital back to New York after dominating London for so long?"

The camera cut to Colvin Sykes. He wore a custom Tom Ford suit that looked like armor. His blue eyes stared directly into the lens. The chaotic noise of Times Square seemed to mute itself.

"For a woman," Colvin said. His voice was a low, steady rumble that vibrated through the speakers. "A woman who once rejected me."

The internet exploded in real time.

Inside the car, Gabrielle's phone vibrated with a screenshot from Keira. The hashtag about Colvin Sykes was already trending. Gabrielle swiped the notification away without opening it.

Her screen lit up again with a text from an unknown number.

"I have exclusive footage of Johan. It will cost you."

Gabrielle let out a tired breath. She typed a reply with rapid, mechanical precision.

"Send it to my biggest competitor and see what they pay you."

She locked her phone and tossed it into her bag. She pinched the bridge of her nose, a wave of sheer exhaustion washing over her. She was used to cleaning up his messes, used to intercepting these low-level models trying to get a payout because Johan bought them a drink. But the constant vigilance was draining her soul. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing the frustration down. Hopefully, tonight's birthday gift would finally make him settle down. Tonight was about him.

She reached into her oversized tote bag and pulled out a sleek wooden box. She traced the smooth surface with her thumb. Inside was a limited edition Patek Philippe watch. It had taken her six months to track it down.

A soft smile broke through her professional mask. She pictured Johan's face when he opened it.

"We are here, Ms. Webb," the driver said.

Gabrielle looked up. The car was idling in front of Johan's luxury apartment building in Tribeca.

"Thank you," she said.

She grabbed her bag and stepped out into the crisp night air. She pushed her glasses up her nose again and walked toward the glass doors. Her mind was already racing with the logistics of the surprise. She needed to hide the box, dim the lights, and wait for him to come home from his script reading.

Miles away, in a penthouse office overlooking Wall Street, Colvin Sykes stood perfectly still.

He was staring at a wall of monitors. The center screen showed a live feed of the Tribeca building entrance. He watched the woman in the ill-fitting gray suit walk through the doors.

"Sir, Johan Lee and Lacey Morrow entered the same building five minutes ago. Our people are in position and ready to intervene if necessary," Alex Rivers said from the doorway.

"I know," Colvin said.

He did not turn around. His index finger tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against the edge of his mahogany desk. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped beneath his skin.

He had waited five years for this night. He knew exactly what was waiting for her in that apartment.

Gabrielle rode the elevator to the top floor. She used her spare key to unlock the door. The apartment was pitch black and completely silent.

"Perfect," she whispered to herself.

She slipped off her sensible heels and left them by the door. The hardwood floor was cold against her bare feet. She walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

A faint scent hung in the air. It was sweet, like vanilla and cheap flowers. It did not belong here.

Gabrielle ignored the tight feeling in her chest. She pushed the bedroom door open.

The bedroom was immaculate. The moonlight spilled across the floor, highlighting the slight wrinkles on the expensive duvet.

Gabrielle set her bag on the armchair. Johan must have come home to nap between meetings. She unzipped her tote and pulled out the black lace lingerie she had bought specifically for tonight.

She unbuttoned her stiff blazer and let it drop to the floor. She unhooked her bra and stepped out of her skirt. The cold air hit her skin, making her shiver. She pulled the delicate lace over her body.

She walked over to the full-length mirror. She reached up and pulled the pins from her tight bun. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders. She took off the heavy black glasses and set them on the dresser.

The woman in the mirror did not look like an assistant. She looked striking. Her cheekbones were sharp, her eyes wide and clear. This was the face she hid from the world because Johan hated when people looked at her instead of him.

The sound of a key turning in the front door echoed through the quiet apartment.

Gabrielle's heart hammered against her ribs. He was early.

She looked around the room in a panic. The walk-in closet was her only option. She grabbed her clothes and her bag, darted into the massive closet, and pulled the door shut. She left a tiny crack open so she could see.

Footsteps approached the bedroom. Heavy, familiar steps. And then, the sharp click of high heels.

"Johan, are you sure your agent is not coming over?" a woman asked.

The voice was high and breathy. Gabrielle recognized it instantly. It was Lacey Morrow, the new actress Johan was supposed to be mentoring.

Gabrielle's stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck.

"Relax," Johan said. His voice was thick with amusement. "I told her I had a late meeting with the director. She believes everything I say."

Lacey giggled. She walked into Gabrielle's line of sight. She wrapped her arms around Johan's neck.

Gabrielle clamped her hand over her own mouth. Her teeth bit into her palm. The black lace against her skin suddenly felt like sandpaper. Her lungs forgot how to pull in air.

Lacey stopped in front of the mirrored closet door. She ran a hand through her blonde hair, staring at her reflection.

"When are you going to dump her?" Lacey asked. "I hate sneaking around like this."

Johan grabbed Lacey by the waist and pulled her away from the mirror. He threw her onto the bed.

"What is the rush?" Johan asked. "She is still useful to me."

The sound of their lips meeting sent a wave of bile up Gabrielle's throat. Her knees shook so violently she had to lean against the wooden shelves to stay upright.

Her perfect world shattered into jagged pieces right in front of her eyes. Five years of devotion. Five years of hiding her own light so he could shine.

She reached into her bag with trembling fingers. She pulled out her phone. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped it. She opened the voice memo app and pressed record.

She could not just run out crying. She was a top-tier agent. She needed leverage.

The noises from the bed grew louder. Every gasp and moan felt like a physical blow to Gabrielle's chest. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears burned a path down her cheeks, ruining her carefully applied makeup.

She forced her eyes open. She made herself watch through the crack in the door. She needed to burn this image into her brain so she would never be stupid enough to forgive him.

Outside the closet, Lacey suddenly stopped moving. She pushed Johan's chest.

"Honey," Lacey said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I feel like someone is in here."

Johan let out a breathless laugh. He rolled over and pinned Lacey to the mattress.

"Stop being paranoid, baby," Johan said. "It is just us."

Inside the closet, Gabrielle lowered her phone slightly. Her chest heaved with silent, shallow breaths. The air in the small space was suffocating.

Lacey traced her finger down Johan's chest. "Seriously though, what do you even see in Gabrielle? She looks like a librarian. She is so boring and stiff."

The words sliced through the dark closet and hit Gabrielle straight in the chest. She had dressed like that for him. She had made herself invisible for him.

Johan scoffed. The sound was thick with disdain.

"You don't get it," Johan said. "I keep her around because she is safe. She handles all my crap, she organizes my life, and she's obsessed with me. She never causes drama."

He paused, shifting his weight on the bed.

"Plus, she's so plain," Johan continued. "I can take her anywhere and she never steals the spotlight. I need an assistant who worships me, not a queen who expects me to bow."

The last shred of Gabrielle's breaking heart turned to ash.

The pain vanished, replaced by a freezing, hollow void in her stomach. She was not a partner to him. She was an appliance. A safe, ugly appliance.

Her phone screen suddenly lit up the dark closet. The phone began to vibrate violently in her hand.

It was the unknown number. The paparazzi was not giving up. Instead of a call, a rapid succession of text messages flooded her screen, each one accompanied by a harsh, buzzing vibration against her palm. Gabrielle panicked. She jammed her thumb against the volume down button, desperately trying to kill the haptic feedback, but her hands were shaking too badly. The screen illuminated her pale face as she read the incoming texts.

Ms. Webb, have you thought about my offer? Half a million for the pictures of your boyfriend and Lacey Morrow making out in the hotel garage.

Before she could even process the words, another message popped up. Come on. I have a video too. It gets really good.

The sudden, consecutive vibrations rattled against the wooden shelf of the closet, a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet room.

On the bed, Johan stopped moving. He sat up.

"What was that noise?" Johan asked.

Gabrielle's blood turned to ice. She clutched the phone to her chest, smothering the device with her own body.

Lacey pulled Johan back down by his shoulders. "It's probably just the ice maker in the fridge. Ignore it."

Gabrielle typed a message with lightning speed.

Send me the files. Now.

Three seconds later, a high-definition video and four photos loaded onto her screen. The images were undeniable.

Gabrielle stared at the screen. She looked at the digital proof of his betrayal, and then she looked through the crack in the door at the physical proof happening on her bed.

She typed one final message to the paparazzi.

I am not paying you a dime. But if you leak these, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every media outlet in New York. Try me.

The three typing dots appeared on the screen, and then vanished. The paparazzi went silent.

Gabrielle deleted the text thread. She stopped the voice recording. She did not need it anymore.

She looked down at the black lace lingerie. It felt ridiculous now. She wiped the wet streaks from her face with the back of her hand. Her hands were no longer shaking.

She took a deep breath. The vanilla scent in the room no longer made her sick. It just made her angry.

She reached out and grabbed the handle of the closet door.

She shoved the door open.

The hinges let out a loud, sharp squeal that cut through the heavy breathing in the room.

Johan and Lacey froze. They snapped their heads toward the closet.

Gabrielle stepped out of the shadows. The moonlight caught the edge of her bare shoulders and the cold, dead look in her eyes.