Chapter 3

After dinner, Sophie insisted we go for drinks.

"Loosen up," she urged. "We'll have Edward come pick you up later."

I laughed.

"I'm pretty sure he's a little tied up tonight."

Sophie gave me a strange look.

"What's going on with you two? Is he really that busy? I haven't heard about any big projects at Grant Holdings."

"The company might be quiet," I said, swirling the ice in my glass, "but Edward's been making plenty of moves on his own..."

Sophie looked stunned. I told her everything. Her jaw hit the floor.

"Edward is cheating on you?" she yelled. "And you're just taking it?"

I crossed my legs, feigning a world-weary sigh.

"What can I do, Sophie?" I said.

My voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"I can't cause any more trouble for the Evans family."

I forced a brittle smile.

"You of all people know I'm not a real Evans."

Sophie was furious on my behalf.

"That's bullshit! Your parents would never want to see you put up with this!"

Put up with it?

For the first time all night, my smile felt genuine.

"Oh, honey, I'm not putting up with anything."

*****

I thought my heart was made of stone by now. I thought I had built a fortress around it so that nothing could get through.

But then, around eleven o'clock, I was scrolling on my phone and stumbled onto a live stream.

Some influencer was on the street doing New Year's Eve interviews with couples, families, and friends, all sharing their hopes for the coming year.

Watching them, I felt my eyes well up.

The tears were streaming down my face when I saw my darling husband, Edward, with his arm wrapped around a pretty girl.

"My wish," he said to the camera, "is for her to be happy, always."

For a split second, my heart actually ached.

He was even wearing the scarf I had spent weeks knitting for him last year, the one he had teased me about, saying it was way too long.

But now, that extra length was looped lovingly around Lily's neck, binding them together.

They looked so cozy in love.

The oversized scarf hid the lower halves of their faces, making them seem even more intimate.

They made such a perfect couple. It was a shame they were cheating.

After the initial wave of nausea passed, another thought hit me, sharp and clear. I yelled, "Shit. I wasn't recording."

If I had recorded it, I would have had him dead to rights.

In a flash of pure rage, I decided to do something about it.

I dragged Sophie to the trendiest bar in the city, dropped an insane amount of money, and ordered eight male models to our table.

One of them had this sweet grin and kept calling me "Miss" all night.

Another one could actually sing, and his voice was smoother than any pop star on the radio.

One was a dancer, and his rock-hard eight-pack looked like it had been carved from marble.

Another one devoted himself to feeding me strawberries.

One gave me a shoulder massage that was pure magic.

And another kept leaning in close with a flirty smile as he offered me another glass of champagne.

They were the ultimate hype squad, and the vibe was electric.

I generously donated the last two to the ever-so-proper Sophie.

Honestly, I was ready to indulge in a night of glorious, unapologetic excess. This was my party.

But, of course, that's when my phone rang. It was the real heiress herself, Emily Smith.

Before I could even manage a "hello," one of the models leaned in and purred, "Having fun, Miss?" right into the receiver.

The line went dead silent for a beat. Then, Emily absolutely exploded.

"Charlotte Evans! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I hung up without a word and coolly texted her my location.

Then I added: [Come alone.]