Chapter 3
Alia got booted from her company for "seriously damaging the company's image."
Honestly, it was just a straight-up firing. They only dressed it up to make it sound less harsh.
In a single morning, she went from a rising star intern in investment banking to an industry-wide punchline nobody wanted to touch.
Andrew was scrambling, totally under fire. He had to comfort the sobbing Alia while dealing with all the office gossip and the boss breathing down his neck.
He probably thought my revenge was done, that if he could ride out this storm, everything would get back on track. He was way too naive.
I waited a week, let him catch his breath. When he thought the worst was over, I sent him my second "gift."
It was a sleek, beautifully designed e-invite, sent straight to his personal inbox.
The subject line was: [Boundaries, A Solo Curated Art Exhibition by Giselle Proctor.]
I kept the email short and to the point. [I'm curating a new exhibition and would be honored if you could attend. I've also personally invited Mr. Lewis from Lewis Capital Group.]
David Lewis from Lewis Capital Group was the key figure in a billion-dollar project Andrew was working hard to secure. If Andrew could land this deal, he'd be untouchable at the company. So, he would definitely show up.
He called me, his voice guarded and wary, "Giselle, what are you up to now?"
"What could I possibly be up to?" I replied, sounding light and innocent. "I'm just a curator putting on my own exhibition. You're my husband.
"Shouldn't you be here to witness my little achievement? Mr. Lewis is really into contemporary art, so I'm just catering to what he likes."
He went quiet. In the end, the lure of opportunity outweighed his doubts.
He needed this deal and David's support to clean up his reputation after all that tabloid drama, so he said yes.
Andrew showed up at the opening. He was dressed to the nines in a sharp Armani suit, wearing that flawless, high-flyer smile. And he really dragged Alia along for the ride.
She had on a white dress, her makeup was subtle and perfect, and she trailed behind him like a lost puppy, trying her best to look pitiful yet dignified, playing the role of the wronged but still kind and sensible girl.
She was desperately hoping to patch up her ruined image in front of Andrew's friends and clients.
It was honestly pathetic.
The exhibition was pure class, soft, flattering lights, gentle music drifting through the air, and a guest list packed with high-profile names.
The elite from the art world, fashion scene, and finance industry were all in attendance.
Everything was so perfectly in place, so routine, that Andrew finally let his guard down.
He took a glass of champagne and, with practiced ease, found David. The two were soon deep in conversation.
I watched as that strategist's confidence settled right back onto his face.
He probably thought I was still the same Giselle who always put the bigger picture first and would never make a scene at an event like this.
At eight o'clock sharp, the exhibition officially kicked off. As the curator, I stepped onto the makeshift stage.
The spotlight hit me as I stood there in a simple black gown, calmly scanning the room. My eyes briefly landed on Andrew and Alia before moving on.
"Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming to my first solo exhibition, 'Boundaries'," I said. "Everyone of us has boundaries, in life, at work, in love. Some are crystal clear, and some are a total blur.
"Tonight, through art, we're diving into that razor-thin line between what's human and what's business, between loyalty and betrayal."
My voice carried clearly through the microphone, reaching every corner of the room.
Andrew's smile faltered for a split second.
David watched me with keen interest.
"And now, I'd like to unveil the centerpiece of this exhibition. It's called 'Betrayal'," I announced.
I turned and walked toward the centerpiece in the middle of the gallery, draped in a huge red velvet cloth.
Every light in the room zeroed in on it.
With all eyes on me, I reached out and unveiled the red cloth myself.
As the fabric slipped off, the room went dead silent. Then came the unmistakable sound of people sucking in their breath.
It was an installation piece. A man's sculpture, pieced together from countless shattered, discarded phone screens, gave off a chilling, lifeless aura.
In his arms, he held a woman's sculpture made from cheap colored crystals and clear plastic, throwing off a tacky, greedy shine under the lights.
But that wasn't even the real gut punch. The real killer was the spot where the guy's "heart" should've been was completely hollowed out.
Inside, a screen was embedded, looping dynamic images over and over. On the screen was the infamous shot of Andrew and Alia, caught in a naked embrace.
I gave the photo a pop art twist, splashing it with loud, garish colors to crank up the absurdity and irony.
Right next to the image, I used fancy, artsy fonts to spell out all the data and project names, making sure every detail popped.
[Project A PR Expenses: $100,000 for One Hermès Birkin Bag]
[Project B Travel Expenses: $150,000 for A romantic trip for two]
[Project C Consulting Fee: $60,000 for A Cartier Ballon Bleu watch]
Every single one was undeniable evidence that Andrew had been embezzling company money to splurge on Alia.
Every detail was dead-on, not a single number out of place.
I copied every last file from the hidden folders on Andrew's study computer.
He thought he was so clever, but he had forgotten that it was me who set the password for his computer. It was our wedding anniversary. How ironic it was.
David's smile disappeared in a flash, his expression darkening on the spot.
He glanced at the piece called "Betrayal," and then slowly turned to Andrew, who looked like he'd just seen a ghost. His look said everything.
Andrew's body shook uncontrollably, and the champagne glass slipped from his hand, smashing to the floor with a loud crash, champagne spraying everywhere.
He glared at me, and his eyes filled with utter hatred and despair.
Alia let out a short, piercing scream the moment she saw the screen, her face turning ghostly pale as she collapsed on the spot.
The whole place instantly erupted into chaos.
And there I was, the one who set all this in motion, still standing on stage, unshaken.
I raised my glass, offering a perfect smile to the shell-shocked guests below. "Art comes from life. Cheers to this crazy-ass life."