Blog

Part 4: The Gala Preparation

The fever broke three days later.

When I finally emerged from the bedroom, Desmond was standing in the kitchen, wearing an apron, looking like the picture of domestic perfection.

“Aria! You didn’t tell me you were sick!” he scolded gently, rushing over to press his hand against my forehead. “I flew back from London the second I heard. You have to take better care of yourself.”

“Do you care?” I asked, my voice completely dead.

His smile froze for a fraction of a second. “Are you still angry about the hospital? Darling, I bought you a gift.”

He reached onto the counter and handed me a velvet box containing a stunning, diamond tennis bracelet. Beside it sat a brand new bottle of pills.

“The supplements from before clearly weren’t effective,” Desmond lied flawlessly. “I spoke to a top-tier specialist in London. He gave me these. As long as you take them consistently, I promise you, we will have a baby soon. I’ll be the best father in the world. Let bygones be bygones.”

I looked at the pills. I looked at the man.

I pulled out my phone and held up the video Camille had sent me.

“Is this the specialist in London?” I asked coldly.

Desmond’s face drained of color. The charming facade instantly shattered into something incredibly ugly.

“Where the hell did you get that?!” he demanded, slapping the phone out of my hand. “Are you spying on me?!”

“Do I need to spy on you to know you’re a fraud?” I countered, standing my ground.

Desmond ran his hands through his hair, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. Then, he stopped, letting out a harsh, cruel laugh.

“Fine. You want the truth? Yes, I slept with Camille. So what? I never asked for a divorce. I never kicked you out of the penthouse. I still provide for you.”

He stepped into my personal space, his height intimidating. “I’m a man, Aria. I have needs. Every day I come home and look at your depressed, lifeless face, who am I supposed to confide in? What billionaire in this city doesn’t have a girl on the side? I haven’t publicly embarrassed you. I kept it quiet. You should be thanking me for being merciful.”

I stared at him, marveling at the sheer, unadulterated narcissism.

“I’ll see you at the office tomorrow,” I said, turning my back on him.

The next morning, I walked into the lobby of Hayes Technologies carrying a manila folder containing drafted divorce papers.

As I approached the private executive elevator, Camille stepped out, blocking my path.

“Aria! What a surprise,” Camille gloated, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “Desmond has back-to-back acquisitions today. He won’t have time to see you. Should I pass along a message? Though, honestly, it might end up in the trash.”

I dug my fingernails into my palms. “How my husband and I communicate is none of your concern.”

“Actually, it is,” Camille smirked, stepping closer. “Because I’m carrying his heir. Even if you divorce him and take half, I will never disappear. He promised that once the baby is born, he’ll buy me an estate in the Hamptons.”

She leaned in, dropping her voice to a malicious whisper.

“Oh, by the way. I’m organizing Desmond’s massive birthday gala for you this weekend. Did you think he was doing it out of love? He’s doing it for PR. He needs the investors to see him as a devoted family man.”

Camille unbuttoned her trench coat. Underneath, she was wearing an incredibly provocative, sheer French maid outfit. A dark, fresh bruise of a hickey was clearly visible on her collarbone.

“I’m wearing this for him right after your little party ends,” Camille sneered. “He said he’s tired of acting with you. He deserves a break. Aria, you were destined to fail. Your mother died because she couldn’t keep a man, and now you’re doing the exact same thing. It’s pathetic.”

The mention of my mother snapped the final, frayed cable of my sanity.

But I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell.

I looked at her, a cold, terrifying calm washing over me.

“You’re right, Camille,” I smiled softly. “I should just let you handle the gala.”

I turned and walked out of the building. It wasn’t time yet. The execution needed a bigger audience.

(Click ‘Next’ to continue)