“You’ll only em.bar.rass me wearing that dress.”
I heard my husband speak those words from downstairs as I remained motionless before the mirror, my hands freezing with shock.
Spencer Conway had just climbed out of his black SUV outside our mansion in Shaker Heights, looking impeccable in his gray suit, as if he were heading to receive an award rather than break my heart one final time. Mrs. Gladys, our devoted housekeeper for many years, gently asked whether I planned to come downstairs.
He never even glanced toward my window.
“There’s no need. I’m going with someone else tonight.”
I clutched the curtain so tightly that my fingernails pressed pa!nfully into my skin.
I was dressed in the only formal gown I still possessed, a navy-blue dress I had purchased before marrying Spencer. The sleeves had already begun to wear thin. During three years together, I had never asked him for money, never relied on my family name, never bragged about who my father was. I truly believed humility would make him love me. I believed shrinking myself would finally make him notice me.
How incredibly wrong I had been.
A few moments later, I heard high heels tapping across the polished marble floor.
Paisley Daley appeared holding my husband’s arm, dressed in a champagne-colored gown with a diamond necklace glittering like a cru:el punchline. She leaned comfortably against him, wearing a polished, sugary smile.
“Do I look beautiful, Spencer?”
He gazed at her in a way he had never once looked at me.
“You’re perfect.”
I slowly made my way downstairs.
The instant Spencer noticed me, he frowned as though I were an ugly mark on his spotless floor. Paisley slowly examined me from head to toe, allowing her eyes to linger on the frayed sleeves of my dress.
“Oh, so you’re the wife,” she laughed, covering her lips. “Now I understand why he never takes you anywhere.”
Spencer said nothing to stop her.
His silence w0unded me more than a s.
“The Apex Group annual gala is much too important,” Paisley went on. “There will be CEOs, politicians, international investors… influential people. You should stay home, Phoebe. Looking like that, you’d only ru!n Spencer’s evening.”
I stared at my husband, hoping for a single word.
Just one.
Instead, he extended his arm toward her.
“Let’s go. We’re running late.”
I stood there watching them walk away together.
The sound of the SUV slowly disappeared into the darkness.
Mrs. Gladys came over, her eyes filled with quiet compassion.
“Ma’am… would you like me to make you something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
I returned upstairs, shut my bedroom door, and stared toward Euclid Avenue, where the gala was being held on the highest floor of one of the city’s finest luxury hotels.
My phone suddenly vibrated.
It was a message from Paisley.
I had no idea how she had managed to get my number.
She had sent me a picture from the back seat of Spencer’s SUV. She smiled brightly while flashing a victory sign with her fingers. Spencer’s side profile appeared reflected in the window beside her.
Below the picture, she had written:
“Tonight he’ll be completely mine. Enjoy waiting for him.”
I silently set my phone down on the table.
Then I pulled open the bottom drawer of my vanity and removed an old red velvet box.
Inside rested a SIM card I had not touched in three years.
I slid it into my phone.
Only one contact remained stored.
Dad.
My finger shook as I tapped Call.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Phoebe?” an older, deep voice answered, filled with disbelief.
My chest tightened pa!nfully.
“Dad… I want to come home.”
A long silence followed.
Then Raymond Harrell, one of the state’s most influential businessmen, answered in a voice trembling with emotion.
“My little girl… I’m coming for you.”
At that moment, I understood the evening would not end with tears.
It would end with a truth so unexpected that nobody attending that gala would ever look at one another the same way again.
I had absolutely no idea what was about to unfold next…
PART 2
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