Chapter 4

After hearing Adrian assure Eleanor that I knew nothing, I let the week continue without confrontation. On the evening before the party, he performed the part of a loving husband perfectly.

He had chosen my dress himself—a fitted gown of dark emerald silk that shimmered whenever I moved.

I stood before the bedroom mirror while he pulled up the zipper. Afterward, his hands remained on my bare shoulders.

"Tomorrow night," he murmured, meeting my eyes in the mirror, "we’ll celebrate the first fifteen years and begin the next fifteen."

I looked at his reflection.

Once, words like those would have made me emotional. His words no longer reached the part of me that once believed them.

Adrian was working hard to preserve the image of our perfect marriage. Every touch, every gentle smile and every loving word had been carefully chosen.

But the more convincing his performance became, the more clearly I saw the truth.

The photographs and speeches hid the same fact: for three years, he had known I was no longer his wife.

Still, I said nothing.

Not yet.

If Adrian wanted to stand before everyone and pretend to be the perfect husband, I would let him have his stage.

I wanted to see how long he could continue the performance.

More importantly, I wanted to see his face when everything finally fell apart.

The anniversary gala was even more extravagant than I had expected.

Crystal lights filled the ballroom with a golden glow. Tall flower arrangements covered the tables, and waiters moved through the crowd carrying trays of champagne.

At the center of the room stood an enormous screen displaying photographs from the past fifteen years.

There were pictures from the early days of our marriage, when Adrian had owned little more than an ambitious business plan.

There were photographs of us working late during the difficult first years of his company.

Then came images from charity events, business dinners and expensive vacations—the polished life we had built after his success.

Guests watched the slideshow and smiled.

"You and Adrian are such a wonderful couple," one of his investors told me.

Another woman touched my arm and said, "After fifteen years, he still looks at you as if you’re the only woman in the room."

I managed a faint smile.

Inside, my stomach twisted.

The cruelest part was that the slideshow contained dozens of photographs from the last three years.

In every one of them, Adrian stood beside me with his arm around my waist. He smiled at the camera, celebrated our anniversaries and accepted everyone’s admiration.

All while Vanessa Cole was his legal wife.

When it was time for the speeches, Adrian placed one hand against my waist and guided me toward the stage.

Nearly three hundred guests watched as we climbed the wide staircase beneath the bright lights.

Adrian accepted the microphone and turned toward me.

His expression was so tender that anyone watching would have believed he loved me more than anything in the world.

"Claire is more than my wife," he announced. "She is the foundation of everything I have achieved."

The ballroom became quiet.

"For fifteen years, she has stood beside me through every success and every failure. She is my strength, my closest companion and the only woman I have ever truly loved."

Applause filled the room.

Some guests even rose from their seats.

I looked at Adrian and wondered how many times he had practiced those words.

He lowered the microphone and leaned toward me, clearly intending to finish his speech with a kiss.

Just before his lips reached mine, I turned my face away.

His kiss landed awkwardly near my cheek.

A wave of surprised whispers moved through the guests closest to the stage.

Adrian went rigid.

For a moment, the charming smile remained on his face. Then its edges began to crack.

He leaned close to my ear.

"What are you doing?" he whispered harshly. "Don’t make a scene."

I turned back and looked directly into his eyes.

Those eyes had once made me feel protected.

Now I saw nothing in them except the fear of losing control.

"Do you honestly have no idea why I did that, Adrian?"

The color slowly disappeared from his face.

His fingers tightened around the microphone until his knuckles turned pale.

I had not accused him of anything.

I had not mentioned the divorce, the forged signature or Vanessa.

Yet one small rejection and a single question had been enough to frighten him.

That told me everything.

Adrian quickly forced another smile for the audience.

"Claire is feeling a little overwhelmed," he said into the microphone. "If you’ll excuse us for a moment—"

He reached for my arm, intending to take me away from the stage for a private conversation.

Before he could move, the ballroom doors struck the wall.

Bang!

The tall wooden doors had been thrown open.

Every head turned toward the entrance.

The music stopped, and the entire room fell silent.

A woman stood in the doorway, framed by the bright light from the hallway.

Vanessa Cole.

She wore a silver gown that caught the light with every step. The fitted fabric and confident expression made it clear that she had not come there by accident.

But it wasn’t her dress that drew the guests’ attention.

It was the large diamond wedding ring sparkling on her left hand.

Beside me, Adrian stopped breathing.

His face turned so pale that he looked almost ill.

For the first time since I had discovered his betrayal, he had no prepared expression. No practiced smile. No believable excuse.

He clearly hadn’t expected Vanessa to appear.

And he had no idea what she was about to do.

Ignoring the whispers around her, Vanessa walked slowly across the ballroom.

The guests moved aside to let her pass.

She stopped at the foot of the stage and looked up at Adrian.

A strange, sharp smile curved across her lips.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, darling."