Chapter 3

The phone rang at three in the afternoon.

The screen flashed Linda Grant's name.

She was Charles's mother.

I picked up. Her voice was all fake polite, way more formal than she usually is. "Emily, Charles told me what happened. He didn't handle things right, and I totally get why you're upset."

I didn't say a word.

She paused for a couple of seconds, then kept going. "I've met Olivia. Her family's nothing special, but she's got a clean reputation. Charles likes her, and as his mother, I really can't object."

"Mrs. Grant, is that really why you called me?" I asked.

"I'm trying to help you out," Linda said with a little laugh. "Emily, I've seen everything between you and Charles these past ten years. Half of his business empire is thanks to your hard work."

"But—" Linda's tone turned cold and businesslike. "You never got the marriage license, so legally, you don't count for anything.

"Before things get ugly, why not settle everything cleanly now, while there's still some feeling left between you two?"

"What do you mean by 'settle everything cleanly'?" I asked.

"Charles had an agreement drafted. You'll get one million dollars, plus the right to stay in the old house at the villa. But the catch is, you can't show up anywhere as Mrs. Grant ever again," Linda said.

To them, ten years and two human lives were worth no more than a million.

"The agreement's already in your inbox. Take a look, and if you're okay with it, sign. Don't drag it out. No one benefits from waiting," Linda added.

She paused, then lowered her voice. "Emily, you're smart. You don't have family backing you up, and you've got nothing to bargain with.

"If you keep fighting Charles, you're going to lose. One million dollars is enough for you to live a quiet life out in the suburbs."

I gripped my phone tightly, not saying a word.

She waited a few seconds, then let out a sigh. "Alright, think it over. Tonight, Charles is bringing Olivia to the party. If you show up, be smart about it. Don't make the girl unhappy."

She hung up.

I opened my email.

Charles's name was on the agreement, dated three days ago.

It meant that before he took me to the bridal shop for that last fitting, the agreement was already drawn up.

While he was fussing over the waistline of my wedding dress, he was already figuring out how to send me packing with one million dollars.

The doorbell rang.

The courier handed me a document envelope, and inside was a printed copy of the same contract.

On the last page, right beside the signature line, Charles's signature was already there.

His handwriting was perfectly neat, the ink unmistakably from his favorite fountain pen.

I gripped the pen they'd tucked inside, staring at the space where my name was supposed to go for what felt like forever.

From upstairs, Olivia's cutesy voice floated down. "Charles, does this dress look good on me?"

"You look good in anything," Charles replied, his voice very soft.

I didn't sign it. I placed the agreement on the coffee table.

*****

At seven sharp, the car arrived.

I changed into an old black dress and waited by the door.

Olivia descended the stairs with her arm linked through Charles's.

I instantly recognized the dress she was wearing.

It was the custom-made gown Charles had ordered from abroad two years ago.

The embroidery was all done by hand, with sequins and silk threads painstakingly stitched over four months.

Paired with the matching ruby necklace, the entire ensemble cost one hundred million dollars.

He'd handed it to me himself on his birthday, telling me it was one of a kind and that only I was worthy of wearing it.

Now, it hugged Olivia's figure, though the waist was a bit loose, so she cinched it with a thin belt.

Charles glanced at me and said, "Let's go."

*****

The party was at the Grandview Hotel downtown.

When we pulled up, Olivia hopped out first.

She stood on the steps, waving me over. "Emily, the dress is too long. Can you help me hold it up?"

Charles didn't say a word to stop her.

He slung his arm around her, leaned in and whispered something, and she giggled, swatting him.

I bent down, grabbed the hem of that one-hundred-million-dollar dress, and followed them into the hall.

The lights were so bright that they stabbed at my eyes.

Everyone in the room was staring at them.

Someone spotted the dress.

"Wasn't that custom-made for his fiancée? Why's it on that girl?"

"You didn't hear? Mr. Grant married a college student. The one up front is the girl who stuck by him for ten years."

"Wow, now she's the new girl's dress holder?"

The gossip swarmed around me like flies, thick and suffocating.

I kept my head down, fingers digging into the expensive fabric.

Olivia flicked her dress, then shot me a quick look. "Emily, careful. This dress costs a fortune, right? Charles said it's one of a kind."

I didn't say a word.

She turned and whined to Charles, "Charles, everyone's staring at me. I'm freaking out."

"Don't worry. I'm right here." Charles said. He pulled her closer, strutting through the crowd calmly.

Someone came over with a glass of wine and clapped Charles on the shoulder. "Mr. Grant, is this your wife? Not bad. She's young and pretty. What about Emily? Is she still hanging around?"

"Hanging around? Seriously?" someone else snorted. "Ten years and being abandoned? Now she's the dress holder. How dumb can she get?"

My hand clenched and unclenched.

After a few rounds of drinks, Charles was surrounded by a group of people in the corner, drinking and chatting.

I slipped away to a side corridor, wanting to catch my breath.

But then I heard his voice, loud enough to carry, slurred with booze and laughter, drifting out from the half-open door of the private room.

"Emily? Come on, don't mess with me. Ten years with me, and I've broken her in. She's got no fight left, can't think straight anymore. Without me, she'd be totally lost," Charles said.

Someone laughed and pressed, "What if she really leaves?"

"She won't," Charles said, sounding sure. "She's like an old rag. Even if I throw her on the floor, nobody will bother picking her up. When I get tired of Olivia, I'll call her, and she'll come crawling back, like always."

The sound of glasses clinking filled the air.

The whole group burst out laughing.

I leaned against the wall in the corridor, my legs going weak.

I stared at the restroom sign at the end of the hall for a few seconds, then forced myself to walk over, each step heavy and slow.

I pushed open the door, locked it behind me, turned on the faucet, and bent over, splashing cold water on my face again and again.

But the cold water couldn't cool the burning heat in my eyes.

Charles bet wrong this time.

This old rag he thought was worthless would never wait for him anymore.