Chapter 3

"Did it ever cross your mind how I looked to everyone when she walked around in my dress?" I shot back.

His frown deepened. "Claire, Sophia has had a rough few years. Her ex chased her for money after the divorce, and the Grant family's company got liquidated.

"Tonight is her way back into this world, and she needs an entrance with some dignity to it."

As I listened to him, I actually felt a strange sense of calm settle over me.

He finally laid it all out.

Sophia needed a dignified entrance, so my couture gown was fair game.

Sophia needed a seat at the main table, so my chair went to her.

And Sophia needed a way into the business world, so she used the Hughes Foundation's name.

He had it all worked out, and he'd never once thought to ask me.

The elevator arrived.

I stepped inside, Andrew right behind me. Sophia stayed outside, her eyes teary and red as she watched him.

"Andrew, let me handle this. Don't argue with Claire," she said softly.

Andrew glanced at her, his voice gentler now. "I'll wait for you."

I stood in the elevator, letting those words sink in.

"I'll wait for you."

In four years of marriage, I'd heard him tell clients in meetings, "I'll wait for you," tell his mother on the phone, "I'll wait for the driver," and to me, it was always, "You go ahead."

But tonight, those three words actually sounded tender.

The elevator doors slid shut, shutting out the lights and whispers from outside.

Andrew turned to me. "You really didn't hold back tonight."

I pressed the button for the top-floor suite, the metal button lighting up.

"This is just the beginning," I said.

Andrew whipped around, staring at me. "Claire."

I didn't react to his anger. "When the dress came back from the atelier, the brand warned me not to pull at the waist or hem.

"Sophia crushed the train when she sat down, and with that brooch, the shoulders are already misshapen.

"If she can afford the damage, she can keep it on until the party's over."

Andrew's expression shifted.

He probably expected me to cry, throw a fit, or demand answers from Sophia.

But all I cared about was the cost.

He wasn't used to me being this detached.

"How much?" Andrew asked.

I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors. "Custom couture, 620 thousand dollars. She wore it out tonight, so there's a breach on the brand contract too.

"The brooch was appraised separately, and Sotheby's put it in a seven-figure range last year.

"On top of that, she used the Hughes Foundation's name without authorization and disrupted tonight's auction and the foundation's standing."

I turned to him. "So, which one are you planning to pay for?"

Andrew's lips pressed into a thin line.

The elevator doors slid open.

Two staffers were already waiting outside the suite with backup dresses and garment bags. My secretary worked fast, and from the moment I stepped onto that stage, she knew what came next.

By the time Sophia was brought up, the second auction item was already underway in the banquet hall.

She followed behind security, looking pale as a ghost, one hand lifting her dress, the other shielding the brooch at her chest.

When she saw the staff waiting at the suite entrance, she froze.

"Claire, is this really necessary?" Sophia's voice quivered, barely steady.

I sat on the living room sofa with a cup of coffee beside me. The steam off it was thin and went nowhere.

"There are spare clothes inside. Change into them," I said, my voice calm and unwavering.

Sophia turned to Andrew.

Andrew stood silent in the doorway.

Her tears welled up again. "Andrew had it sent over. I thought it was an ordinary gown and I had no idea it was your custom piece."

I picked up my cup and looked her in the eye. "At the main table, you told Mrs. King that Andrew had this dress made for you, didn't you?"

She stiffened.

Andrew's brow furrowed. "You heard that?"

"I heard it as soon as I walked in," I replied, setting my cup down. "I also caught Mrs. King saying you looked just like the real hostess tonight."

The last bit of color drained from Sophia's face.

Her fingers shook on the waist of the dress. "I went along with it. Everyone was looking at me and I didn't know how to explain."

"Explain now," I said.

Sophia looked up.

I signaled my secretary to hand her the phone. "Post it. Say that tonight you wore someone else's gown by mistake, took someone else's seat, and had no authorization from the Hughes Foundation. You have ten minutes."

Andrew's face went cold. "Claire, how is she supposed to show her face after this?"

I looked at him. "She had no trouble showing her face when everyone was calling her Mrs. Lane earlier."

Sophia broke down. "I never asked them to call me that. They misunderstood."

"You could've denied it," I said.

She lowered her head, falling silent.

I stood up and walked over to her.

She was a little shorter than I, and in my couture her shoulders had pulled in small.

That dress asked the woman in it to stand straight with her back held, and Sophia had never quite filled it out.

But with Andrew standing beside her, she didn't have to hold anything up.

That was the part that cut.

I reached out and unfastened the emerald brooch at her collar.

Sophia instinctively held onto my wrist.

Andrew said lowly, "Sophia."

She let go, and her tears streamed down even more.

As I took off the brooch, the pin pulled a fine thread, leaving a small run in the fabric at the neckline.

The staffer's face instantly drained of color as soon as they noticed the damage.

I placed the brooch in the jewelry box and snapped it shut.

"The dress is damaged. Take photos for evidence," I said.

The staffer hurried over.