The Wife Damien Blackwood Forgot

The second I got home, I walked straight into my closet and realized something

horrifying.

Every dress looked like Damien chose it.

White.

Safe.

Elegant in a painfully expensive way.

The kind of dresses rich men liked putting on wives they didn’t actually love.

I stared at the rows of pale fabric for a long moment.

Then started throwing them onto the floor.

One after another.

Silk.

Satin.

Designer labels worth more than most people’s rent.

Didn’t care.

By the fifth dress, my housekeeper rushed into the room looking panicked.

“Mrs. Blackwood—”

“No,” I corrected, yanking another gown off a hanger.

“Tonight I’m being Celeste.”

The poor woman looked terrified.

Fair.

So was I a little.

Because I suddenly realized something embarrassing:

I couldn’t remember the last time I dressed for myself.

Not Damien.

Not his mother.

Not Manhattan society.

Me.

Then I saw it.

Hidden all the way in the back of the closet beneath garment bags and forgotten

fabric.

The red dress.

Deep crimson silk.

Backless.

High slit.

Completely inappropriate for a respectable billionaire wife.

Which explained why Damien hated it.

I bought it two years ago.

He looked at it once and said:

“You look like trouble in that dress.”

So I never wore it.

Tonight felt like the perfect time to become a problem.

An hour later, I walked down the staircase of Blackwood Mansion in red heels and

enough confidence to ruin lives.

The entire foyer went silent.

Staff stopped moving.

A waiter nearly dropped champagne.

Even Mrs. Blackwood looked personally offended by my existence.

Good.

Damien stepped out of the study at exactly the wrong moment.

And froze.

Interesting.

His eyes moved slowly over the dress.

The slit.

The bare skin of my back.

Then his jaw tightened.

“You’re wearing that?”

I smiled.

“Congratulations. Your eyesight still works.”

Vivienne descended the staircase behind him wearing silver couture and the

expression of a woman who thought she already won.

Then she saw me.

And stopped smiling.

Even better.

Mrs. Blackwood recovered first.

“Celeste,” she said sharply, “go upstairs and change immediately.”

I picked up a champagne glass from a passing tray.

“No.”

The single word hit the room harder than shouting.

Damien walked toward me slowly.

“You made your point earlier.”

“Oh, I haven’t started making points yet.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my exposed leg.

Then snapped back to my face.

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

I laughed softly.

“That’s rich coming from the man bringing his mistress to a charity gala.”

Vivienne crossed her arms.

“At least Damien won’t spend the entire night babysitting me.”

I looked at her calmly.

“Sweetheart, if Damien wanted someone classy on his arm, he wouldn’t be dating his

rebound.”

The silence afterward tasted expensive.

Vivienne’s face darkened instantly.

Damien exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Enough.”

“No,” I replied lightly. “You lost the right to tell me what to do around the same time

you started sleeping with her on office furniture.”

One of the maids physically turned around to hide laughter.

Honestly?

Iconic behavior.

Mrs. Blackwood looked horrified.

“Celeste! There are staff members present!”

I took a sip of champagne.

“Perfect. Saves me the trouble of spreading the gossip myself.”

Damien stepped closer suddenly, lowering his voice.

“What exactly are you trying to do tonight?”

Interesting question.

Because two hours ago, I would’ve answered:

Hurt you.

Now?

I looked directly at him.

“I’m trying to remember who I was before marrying you.”

That shut him up.

Completely.

For a second, something strange crossed Damien’s face.

Regret.

Tiny.

Gone immediately.

Then the front doors opened.

Alexander Sterling walked in.

Black suit.

Black gloves.

Black tie.

God.

The man looked like he had several international arrest warrants.

His gaze swept across the foyer lazily—

then landed on me.

And stopped.

Not dramatically.

But long enough for Damien to notice.

Oops.

Alexander removed his gloves slowly.

For the first time since I met him, the man actually looked caught off guard.

His eyes moved over the dress once more before he said calmly:

“You changed.”

I leaned against the staircase railing.

“So did my personality.”

A faint smile pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth.

Vivienne noticed immediately.

Women always notice those things.

Especially women losing attention.

Damien’s expression darkened again.

“Alexander,” he said sharply.

Wrong move.

The second Damien used that tone, half the room looked toward Alexander instead.

And suddenly—

something shifted.

Because Alexander didn’t react like an employee being addressed by his boss.

He reacted like a man being interrupted.

Very interesting.

Alexander’s eyes stayed on me.

“You shouldn’t wear red around men like Damien.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

His gaze flicked briefly toward Damien.

“They start confusing possession with love.”

Dead silence.

Even the grandfather clock seemed uncomfortable.

Vivienne laughed awkwardly.

“That’s inappropriate.”

Alexander finally looked at her.

“Yes.”

“So is sleeping with engaged men, but apparently we’re ignoring social rules tonight.”

Jesus Christ.

I almost choked on champagne.

Damien looked seconds away from killing someone.

Probably Alexander.

Possibly me.

Maybe everyone.

And somehow—

that only made the night more entertaining.

A butler entered the foyer carefully.

“The cars are ready.”

Damien immediately held out his arm toward Vivienne.

Vivienne smirked at me while slipping her hand through his arm.

Poor decision.

Because instead of getting upset—

I laughed.

Then I looked directly at Alexander.

“Do you know what’s funny?”

His brows lifted slightly.

“What?”

“I think my husband accidentally brought me to the gala looking like this…”

I glanced at Vivienne’s silver gown.

“…while escorting the less attractive woman.”

Silence.

Then Alexander looked down briefly.

Hiding a smile.

And Damien Blackwood finally realized something terrifying:

The more confident I became—

the less control he had over me.

Panic

The ballroom went quiet when I entered.

Not fully quiet.

Rich people never stop talking completely.

But enough to feel it.

Eyes followed us across the room.

Damien Blackwood arrived at the gala with his mistress on his arm.

And somehow—

I was still the scandal.

The moment I entered Blackwood Hall in the red dress, whispers started immediately.

Not subtle whispers either.

The kind rich women made when they wanted you to hear every word.

“That slit is ridiculous.”

“She looks desperate.”

“Trying to seduce her husband back in public? Embarrassing.”

“I heard Damien’s bringing Vivienne Laurent tonight.”

“Well… if I were competing with Vivienne, I’d panic too.”

I took a champagne glass from a passing tray and kept walking.

Honestly?

After surviving three years married to Damien Blackwood, socialites with too much

Botox weren’t exactly intimidating.

Across the ballroom, Damien stood beside Vivienne near the champagne tower.

One hand in his pocket.

The other lightly resting against Vivienne’s waist.

Not a single person blamed Damien Blackwood.

Interesting, wasn’t it?

A billionaire cheated publicly, brought his mistress to a charity gala, and somehow I

was still the woman people whispered about.

Not him.

Me.

My dress.

My lipstick.

My attitude.

Apparently infidelity became acceptable the second a rich man looked handsome

while doing it.

Impressive social engineering.

But strangely enough—

I didn’t care tonight.

Maybe I should have.

Maybe a better wife would’ve cried in the bathroom while Manhattan society ripped

her apart over champagne and caviar.

Instead, I lifted my chin higher and walked slower on purpose.

Let them stare.

For three years I dressed like Damien Blackwood’s quiet little trophy wife.

Tonight I wanted attention.

And judging by the way conversations stopped every time I crossed the ballroom—

I had it.

The red dress caught every light in the room.

Men stared too long.

Women looked annoyed about it.

Older socialites looked personally offended by my neckline.

Good.

I hoped their diamonds felt uncomfortable.

Across the ballroom, Damien kept pretending to listen to Vivienne while watching me

over her shoulder.

That part healed me a little.

Because for the first time since our marriage began—

I looked like the woman leaving him.

Not the one begging him to stay.

A blonde socialite walked past me holding a champagne glass.

“Honestly, Celeste,” she sighed dramatically, “this whole revenge-wife thing is

exhausting to watch.”

Her friends laughed immediately.

I smiled politely.

“Then stop watching.”

That surprised her enough to shut her up for two full seconds.

Unfortunately another woman joined in.

“You can’t seriously think walking around half-naked makes you look powerful.”

Before I could answer, Alexander reached over calmly—

and took the woman’s champagne glass directly out of her hand.

Then handed it to a passing waiter.

The woman blinked.

Confused.

Alexander looked at her politely.

“You seem drunk.”

Dead silence.

The woman’s face flushed bright red.

“I am not drunk.”

“Interesting,” Alexander replied smoothly.

“Then this personality is natural.”

I choked on champagne.

Several nearby guests physically turned away trying not to laugh.

The woman looked horrified.

“You can’t speak to me like that.”

Alexander adjusted one cuff slowly.

“You spoke to her first.”

That landed harder than it should have.

Because suddenly the ballroom got quiet.

Not fully.

Just enough for people to notice something strange.

Alexander Sterling wasn’t acting like employee.

He wasn’t nervous.

Wasn’t apologizing.

Wasn’t backing down.

He was standing beside me like protecting me was the most natural thing in the world.

And across the ballroom—

Damien noticed too.

His jaw tightened instantly.

Vivienne touched his arm lightly.

“Damien?”

He ignored her completely.

His eyes stayed locked on Alexander.

Or more specifically—

on the fact Alexander defended me publicly while Damien stood across the room

doing nothing.

Damien suddenly stepped away from Vivienne and walked straight toward us, fast

enough that nearby guests immediately moved aside.

“Stop,” he snapped.

Alexander looked over lazily.

Damien’s jaw tightened.

“Get back to my side, Alexander.”

Then Alexander took a slow sip of champagne and answered calmly:

“No.”

That one probably hurt.

That was it.

No shouting.

No speech.

Just no.

And somehow that pissed Damien off more than insults would’ve.

“You think kissing her changes something?”

Alexander finally looked at him directly.

“No.”

“But she kissed me in front of you.”

Even Vivienne looked uncomfortable now.

His jaw tightened hard enough to cut glass.

Then he looked at me.

“Are you doing this because you’re angry?”

Something in his expression shifted.

Not anger this time.

Panic.

Because for the first time since marrying me—

Damien Blackwood realized I might really leave.

Before he could speak again, the ballroom doors opened.

Richard Sterling walked inside.

And suddenly—

everything changed.

People stopped talking.

Stopped moving.

Even Damien straightened.

Richard Sterling ignored the entire room.

Ignored reporters.

Ignored investors.

Ignored Damien.

He walked straight toward Alexander.

Then stopped in front of him.

The room held its breath.

Richard Sterling looked Alexander over once.

“You’re late.”

Alexander checked his watch.

“Thirty-seven seconds.”

Richard Sterling nodded once.

Then—

he fixed Alexander’s tie.

The ballroom exploded.

Not loudly.

Rich people don’t scream.

But whispers ripped across the room instantly.

Because powerful men do not adjust employees’ ties in public.

Family does that.

And judging by Damien’s face—

He understood exactly what everyone else just realized too.

Alexander is not only his employee but has a higher position.