Chapter 3

A week later, one of the city's top charity auctions.

My financial advisor had just finished going over the hidden assets under my name. "Miss Whitfield, your liquidity is excellent. You can pull out anytime."

I stood on the second-floor terrace with a glass of champagne, looking down over the whole hall.

Tonight the spotlight belonged to Reuben Simmons and Jasmine Swanson.

They walked in arm in arm, and the entire circle crowded around them. The same socialites who used to call me "Mrs. Simmons" at every turn were now fawning over Jasmine.

The final lot of the night was a pink-diamond bracelet called Starfield.

A month ago, Reuben had flipped through the auction catalog and told her, "This one suits you. Think of it as our fifth-anniversary gift."

That night she'd secretly folded down the corner of that page and tucked it under her pillow, touching it three times before she fell asleep.

The auctioneer called the opening price. Reuben raised his paddle without hesitation.

The bidding climbed and climbed, and he took it for thirty million. The room burst into applause.

He lifted the bracelet from its silk box, turned, and fastened it onto Jasmine's wrist himself.

Jasmine's eyes went red with emotion. She rose onto her toes and kissed the side of his face.

I thought I'd be calm.

But this body's knees went soft first, and I had to grip the railing to stay standing. My chest felt like something was pounding it, blow after blunt blow.

At the dinner, Jasmine crossed the crowd with a glass in hand and stopped in front of me with the posture of a winner.

"Miss Whitfield, I didn't get the chance to say hello earlier. These five years, thank you for taking such good care of Reuben."

The area went silent at once. Everyone waited for me to lose it, to break down screaming.

Reuben stopped his conversation too, brows knit as he looked over.

He seemed to want to come stop this.

But his feet didn't move.

I raised my glass and lightly tapped the rim of hers.

"No need for thanks. Mr. Simmons is generous. These five years, I lived very well."

I drained the glass in one go. The liquor was strong, just enough to hold down the sob rising in my throat.

"A long and happy marriage, Mr. Simmons. Thank you for the hospitality."

No thrown drink, no tears, not one extra word of accusation.

Reuben's face darkened in an instant. My unruffled eyes had cut him.

Jasmine still wanted to chase it with another jab or two, but he seized her wrist.

"That's enough," he said, his voice cold.

Less than an hour after I got back to the apartment, the doorbell rang. It was Reuben's driver.

He held out an enormous velvet box. "This is an antique tiara Mr. Simmons bid on privately backstage. He says the fifth-anniversary gift he owes you, he's making up for it with this."

"Ding. Antique tiara valued at fifty million. Current progress, eighty-five percent."

I sat in the entryway holding the box for a long time.

What she wanted was never the crown. What she wanted was that folded-down page in the catalog.

I took a photo of the outer packaging and sent it to the auction house I worked with.

"Rush the appraisal. As fast as possible."