The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Design Comeback

The flashbulbs from the Manhattan press corps exploded like strobe lights against the night sky as Aubrey stepped out of the Rolls-Royce Phantom.

She expertly adjusted the heavy velvet hem of her custom Oscar de la Renta gown and the matching velvet shawl draped loosely over her arms. The fabric dragged across the concrete, a heavy weight that matched the tight knot forming in her stomach.

She turned toward the Vogue photographer. She pulled her lips back, exposing her teeth in the flawless, untouchable smile of an Upper East Side socialite.

She walked up the iconic carpeted steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her chin was high. Her posture was rigid.

Sloane Everett appeared from the sidelines. She slipped a crystal flute of champagne into Aubrey's hand.

"You are the absolute headline tonight," Sloane whispered, her eyes scanning the intricate beading on Aubrey's bodice.

Aubrey took a small sip of the champagne. The liquid burned her throat. Her eyes involuntarily darted toward the grand entrance of the hall.

Sloane noticed the shift in her focus. "Waiting for Dominick's transatlantic call?" she teased, bumping her shoulder against Aubrey's.

At the sound of her husband's name, Aubrey's slender fingers tightened around the stem of the glass. The crystal pressed hard into her skin.

She let out a cold, practiced laugh. "Dominick is still in Singapore dealing with that merger."

It was a lie.

Her mind violently snapped back to three hours ago. She had been sitting in the penthouse getting her hair styled. She was mindlessly tapping through Instagram stories when she clicked on Carter Dalton's profile.

The video showed a private party in the Hamptons. Electronic music blasted through the phone speaker.

At the very edge of the frame, a man's large, distinct hand held a glass of Macallan whiskey.

Wrapped around that wrist was a platinum Patek Philippe grand complication watch.

Aubrey's lungs had stopped working in that makeup chair. It was the anniversary gift she had bought Dominick two years ago, forced by her family to keep up appearances.

There was a microscopic custom scratch on the side of the dial. It was impossible to mistake it for anyone else's.

The timestamp on the story showed it was posted last night, but the caption read, 'Unforgettable Hamptons weekend,' with the location tagged in East Hampton. Yet, three days ago, he had explicitly told her the Singapore negotiations were entering a critical phase.

The humiliation had boiled in her chest. She had gripped a lipstick tube on her vanity so hard the plastic had nearly cracked in her palm.

A sudden, loud commotion at the main entrance yanked her back to the present.

The PR teams aggressively cleared the floor. Every single camera lens pivoted in the exact same direction.

Aubrey's heart skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She turned around.

Dominick Carrillo stood at the entrance. He wore a razor-sharp Tom Ford tuxedo.

His gray-blue eyes swept over the room with the cold, suffocating authority of a Wall Street predator.

Low gasps rippled through the crowd. The heir to the Carrillo Group had returned without a single warning.

Aubrey's vision blurred. The woman standing next to him felt like a physical slap to her face.

Veronica, Hollywood's newest Best Actress winner, had her hands wrapped intimately around Dominick's bicep.

Veronica flashed a coy, radiant smile at the cameras. She looked like she was claiming ownership of the entire New York social scene.

Dominick's gaze cut through the sea of expensive suits and gowns. He locked eyes with Aubrey from fifty feet away.

The temperature in the room plummeted. They stared at each other across the noise, the first silent battle lines drawn in the marble hall.

The PR directors ushered the guests toward the main dining hall. The room smelled of expensive perfume and roasted truffles.

Aubrey walked toward the head table with Sloane by her side. Her steps were perfectly measured, but her spine was stiff as a board.

She found her name card on the right side of the long table. Dominick's name card sat diagonally across from hers.

Dominick guided Veronica to her seat. He pulled the heavy chair out for her with smooth, practiced ease.

The socialites at the neighboring tables immediately started whispering behind their hands. Portia Vaughn caught Aubrey's eye and let out a cold, mocking smirk.

Aubrey sat down. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending the stares didn't feel like needles pricking her skin.

Sloane reached under the table and squeezed Aubrey's cold hand.

"I just got promoted to editorial director," Sloane whispered, desperately trying to change the subject.

Aubrey raised her glass. "Congratulations, Sloane," she said, forcing a genuine smile onto her face.

But a media executive sitting across from them instantly dragged the conversation back to the elephant in the room.

"Dominick!" a Vanity Fair editor called out loudly. "What brings you back to New York so suddenly?"

Dominick looked up. His face was a blank mask. "Annual evaluations for the Carrillo Group."

Veronica leaned in, her shoulder brushing his. "He's really here to support my new charity initiative," she giggled.

Aubrey pressed her knife into her truffle steak. The metal blade scraped against the porcelain plate with a sharp, high-pitched screech.

Dominick's eyes snapped to her hands. He caught the sound instantly. His gaze dragged up to her face.

Aubrey looked right back at him. Her eyes were entirely dead, filled with nothing but pure mockery.

Dominick's brow furrowed. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He clearly didn't like the coldness radiating from her.

A waiter stepped forward to pour Dominick more wine. Dominick lifted his left hand to move his glass.

The platinum Patek Philippe watch caught the light of the crystal chandeliers. It gleamed with a cold, hard shine.

Aubrey stared at the watch. The three days of lies dug into her pride like a rusted blade.

Veronica suddenly leaned closer to Dominick. She whispered something directly into his ear.

Dominick didn't pull away. He nodded slightly, his posture relaxed and intimate.

Camera flashes erupted from the press pit nearby. They had just captured the perfect scandalous shot.

Bile rose in the back of Aubrey's throat. She dropped her knife and fork and grabbed her water glass, gripping it with both hands to hide her shaking.

Sloane kicked Aubrey's shin under the table. It was a silent demand to fight back.

Aubrey took a deep breath. The air filled her lungs. She turned to a Wall Street investor sitting to her left.

She pitched her voice perfectly-loud enough for the table, loud enough for Dominick. "The recent tech acquisitions have been an aesthetic disaster."

She dissected the exact user interface failures and brand positioning flaws in the Carrillo Group's latest Asia-Pacific tech merger. She used precise, brutal design critiques to point out how the outdated visual identity was actively tanking the merger's market valuation.

Dominick's hand froze around his wine glass. His dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

He finally spoke. His voice cut across the table, heavy and demanding. "Aubrey Middleton. When did you suddenly develop an interest in Wall Street?"

The lights in the dining hall dimmed as a renowned auctioneer from Sotheby's took the stage to host the charity bidding.

Aubrey looked across the table at Dominick. "I read Bloomberg every morning," she said smoothly, brushing off his question.

Dominick stared at her for a long second. He didn't push it, but his eyes tracked her every movement.

The auctioneer presented the next item. It was a vintage Bvlgari emerald necklace, donated by Veronica.

"Starting bid at one hundred thousand dollars," the auctioneer announced. A few paddles went up in the back.

Veronica turned her head and looked at Dominick. Her eyes were wide, practically begging him to bid.

Aubrey watched them. She picked up her water glass to hide the bitter twist of her lips.

Dominick's face remained completely expressionless. He raised his paddle. "One million."

The entire room went dead silent. Then, a wave of shocked gasps and frantic whispers flooded the hall.

A million dollars for a necklace worth barely three hundred thousand. It was a massive, public declaration of support for the actress.

Portia Vaughn leaned past two chairs just to look at Aubrey. Her eyes were filled with fake pity and real cruelty.

Aubrey's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. She kept the smile glued to her face.

The gavel slammed down. "Sold!" Veronica gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked at Dominick with teary eyes and mouthed a thank you.

Dominick gave a single, curt nod. But his eyes immediately slid diagonally across the table, landing on Aubrey.

Aubrey didn't give him a single second of eye contact. She looked down at her phone, typing a fast reply to Sloane's angry text.

The dinner finally ended. Guests began filtering out toward the valet waiting area.

Aubrey pulled her velvet shawl tightly over her shoulders. She just wanted to call her own driver and escape the suffocating air.

She walked down the side corridor of the museum. A large, solid figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

Dominick stood there. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. He smelled of expensive cologne and raw power.

"Let your driver go," he ordered. His voice left no room for argument. "You're riding back with me."

Aubrey let out a harsh laugh. "Why? Is Veronica's van not big enough to fit your ego?"

Dominick took a step forward. His dress shoes clicked heavily against the marble floor.

"There are paparazzi swarming the exits," he said, looking down at her. His voice was ice. "Do you want tomorrow's New York Post headline to be about the Carrillo marriage collapsing?"

Aubrey ground her teeth together. She knew the rules of her family's trust fund. She couldn't tank his stock prices.

She glared at him, her chest heaving. She stepped around him and walked aggressively toward the exit.

They pushed through the glass doors together. A blinding wall of camera flashes assaulted them instantly.

Dominick's large hand clamped down on her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, playing the role of the fiercely protective husband.

The heat of his palm burned right through the velvet of her dress. Her entire body went rigid.

The bodyguard pulled open the door to the stretch Lincoln. Aubrey practically dove into the backseat to get away from his touch.

Dominick climbed in right behind her. The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the screaming reporters.