The morning sun sliced through the gaps in the wooden blinds, stabbing directly into Calista's exhausted eyes.

She blinked against the harsh light. She reached her hand across the mattress.

The sheets were cold and empty. Jett was already gone.

Calista sat up, pulling her silk robe tightly around her shivering shoulders. She turned her head and stopped.

Sitting perfectly in the center of her nightstand was a massive, bright orange Hermes box.

Her heart gave a sudden, painful jolt against her ribs.

She reached out and untied the brown ribbon. Her fingers were trembling. She opened the box and peeled back the tissue paper.

Inside sat a limited-edition Birkin bag. The leather smelled rich and new. It was a bag that required years on a waitlist.

Tied to the handle was a small, thick card.

Calista picked it up. The signature at the bottom was a stamped print from Alex Reed, Jett's executive assistant.

The message was brief. "Happy Birthday. Attend the gala at the Plaza Hotel tonight."

Calista's chest tightened. She stared at the bag. He remembered. He actually remembered her birthday. She convinced herself that having his assistant sign it was just Jett being his usual, emotionally distant self. The gift itself was the olive branch.

She buried her face in her hands. A fragile, bitter smile broke across her lips.

She stood up and walked straight into the closet. She spent an hour picking out an elegant, deep emerald-green evening gown that perfectly matched the hardware on the new bag.

At five in the afternoon, she climbed into the back of the black Cadillac SUV the family had sent.

The heavy car rolled over the Queensboro Bridge, the Manhattan skyline looming ahead. The SUV pulled to a smooth stop in front of the red carpet at the Plaza Hotel on 5th Avenue.

The doorman opened her door. Calista stepped out, gripping the handles of her new Birkin tightly.

She walked through the grand entrance and into the glittering ballroom.

The crystal chandeliers overhead threw blinding light across the room. Camera flashes popped like strobe lights from the press pit.

Calista stepped further into the room. Instantly, she felt the physical weight of the stares.

Women in diamonds and silk turned their heads. Their eyes dragged up and down her body with sharp, undisguised judgment.

Calista spotted a senator's wife she had spoken to last month. She forced a polite smile and raised her hand in greeting.

The senator's wife looked right at her, turned her back completely, and started talking to a waiter.

Calista's hand froze in the air. Her face burned. She quickly lowered her arm and squeezed the handles of her bag until her knuckles turned white.

She walked over to the towering champagne pyramid. She picked up a cold flute, using the glass as a shield to hide her awkwardness.

Two socialites in sparkling dresses walked up to the marble pillar right behind her. They didn't see her.

"Can you believe she's carrying that?" the first woman whispered loudly. "Parading around with a basic corporate gift."

"I know," the second woman laughed. "I heard that's the standard model Alex Reed gives out to all the executives' wives this year. The real VIPs get the custom exotics, not the off-the-shelf ones. It's the standard 'keep them quiet' package."

Calista's entire body went rigid.

The champagne glass tilted in her hand. The cold liquid spilled over the rim, splashing onto her wrist.

She looked down at the orange leather bag in her hand. Her stomach dropped so fast she felt physically sick. Bile rose in the back of her throat.

It wasn't a gift from her husband. It was an assembly-line handout.

The tiny spark of hope she had nurtured all morning was crushed into dust.

She couldn't breathe. The air in the ballroom felt thick and suffocating. She needed to leave. She needed to run out the front doors.

Just as she turned, the massive double doors of the ballroom were pushed open by two waiters.

The loud chatter in the room died instantly. Every single head turned toward the entrance.

Calista followed their gaze. The blood drained from her face. Her body turned to ice.

Jett Holder was walking into the room. His long strides commanded the entire floor.

And wrapped tightly around his arm, smiling brightly for the flashing cameras, was Kassandra Mckee.

Kassandra lifted her chin, soaking in the attention like a victorious queen.

The camera shutters fired like machine guns.

Flashes exploded in rapid succession, capturing Jett and Kassandra as they posed perfectly at the entrance.

Calista stood frozen by the champagne tower. She felt entirely invisible. She was a ghost haunting her own life.

Kassandra released Jett's arm. She lifted the heavy train of her silver gown and glided gracefully toward the microphone stand in the center of the room.

The overhead spotlight snapped onto her.

The light hit the massive, twenty-carat blue diamond resting against Kassandra's collarbone. The gem fractured the light, throwing blinding blue sparks across the walls.

A collective gasp echoed through the crowd.

Patty, a distant cousin from the Mckee side, purposely raised her voice over the quiet murmurs.

"My god, is that the finale piece from the Sotheby's Spring Auction?" Patty gasped loudly.

Gus, another relative, immediately chimed in. "Yes! Jett dropped three million dollars on it just to celebrate the new Mckee-Holder partnership."

The words hit Calista like a physical blow to the chest.

Her lungs seized. She instinctively pulled her arm back, trying to hide the bulk-ordered PR bag behind her green dress.

Kassandra leaned into the microphone. Her voice was dripping with sugar.

"I just want to say a massive thank you to my wonderful brother-in-law, Jett, for his incredible generosity tonight."

Jett stood near the stage. He had one hand in his pocket. A rare, soft smile touched the corners of his mouth as he watched Kassandra.

Kassandra clapped her hands together lightly. "And I have a second announcement. Holder Group has officially granted the development rights for the Lower Manhattan real estate project to the Mckee family!"

The ballroom erupted in applause.

Bo Mckee, Calista's biological father who had long ago forced her to use her mother's surname, Beck, to disown her publicly, stood near the front. His face was flushed red with pride as businessmen patted him on the back. His wife, Susan, who had always favored Kassandra, wiped a dramatic tear from her eye, beaming at the girl she treated like her own daughter.

Not a single person in the room looked at Calista.

Patty walked over to the champagne tower. She swirled the wine in her glass, her eyes locking onto Calista.

Patty let out a sharp, ugly laugh.

"Taking up space and giving nothing in return," Patty sneered. "Can't even drop an egg, can you?"

Gus stepped up right beside Patty. He looked Calista up and down with pure disgust.

"Even her own biological parents can't stand the sight of her," Gus mocked. "A nameless piece of trash. I don't know how she ever thought she was good enough for Jett."

The socialites nearby stopped talking. They turned their bodies toward the corner, watching the humiliation unfold with eager eyes.

Calista bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. The sharp pain grounded her. The metallic taste of blood flooded her tongue.

She straightened her spine. She stared directly into Patty's eyes.

"Watch your mouth," Calista said. Her voice was low and cold.

Patty gasped in exaggerated shock. She pressed a hand to her chest.

"Why should I respect a scheming bitch who crawled into his bed to get a ring?" Patty yelled.

The commotion was too loud to ignore.

On the stage, Kassandra looked over. A dark, satisfied gleam flashed in her eyes.

Jett frowned. His sharp gaze cut through the crowd and locked onto Calista trapped in the corner.

He set his crystal whiskey glass down on a passing waiter's tray. He started walking.

The crowd of billionaires and socialites immediately parted, clearing a wide path for the true king of New York.

Jett stopped directly in front of Calista.

His tall, broad frame blocked out the light from the chandeliers, casting a heavy, suffocating shadow over her.

Patty and Gus instantly shrank back. The arrogant sneers vanished from their faces, replaced by nervous, fawning smiles.

"Good evening, Jett," Patty stammered.

Calista looked up at her husband. Her eyes were red-rimmed. A tiny, desperate spark of hope flared in her chest. She waited for him to defend her.

Jett's eyes were like frozen steel. He didn't look at Calista. He looked at the relatives.

"This is a public event," Jett said. His voice was dangerously low. "There are Wall Street Journal reporters outside those doors."

He took a half step forward.

"Watch your behavior. Do not embarrass the Holder family," he ordered.

Patty turned pale. She nodded frantically. She and Gus practically scurried backward, disappearing into the crowd.

Calista let out a shaky breath. Her tense shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He had stepped in. He had stopped them.

"Thank you," Calista whispered.

Jett slowly turned his head to look at her.

There was no comfort in his eyes. He looked at her like she was a stain on the floor.

"Don't start trouble at this partnership gala," Jett warned. His voice was thick with annoyance.

The blood drained from Calista's face. Her heart stopped beating for a full second.

"I didn't start it," Calista said, her voice cracking. "They came over here and-"

"Jett!"

A soft, panicked cry cut through the air.

Kassandra was hurrying toward them. Suddenly, the heel of her shoe caught on the hem of her heavy silver dress. She pitched forward.

Jett moved with terrifying speed.

He lunged forward and caught Kassandra firmly by the waist before her knees could hit the marble floor.

Kassandra collapsed against his chest. Her hands gripped the lapels of his custom tuxedo tightly.

The cold annoyance vanished from Jett's face entirely. His jaw unclenched.

"Are you hurt?" Jett asked. His voice was incredibly soft. "Did you twist your ankle?"

Kassandra shook her head weakly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. But from the corner of her eye, she shot a vicious, triumphant glare straight at Calista.

Calista stood three feet away.

She watched her husband hold another woman with the tenderness he had never, not once, shown her.

Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke. She felt like a sick joke.

Jett helped Kassandra stand upright. He turned his head back to Calista. The warmth in his eyes died instantly.

"Go to the restroom and fix your makeup," Jett commanded coldly. "You look like a ghost. It's an eyesore."

The words were a serrated knife sliding between her ribs.

A few women standing nearby covered their mouths, failing to hide their quiet giggles.

The air was sucked out of Calista's lungs. She couldn't stay in this room for another second.

She didn't say a word. She spun around, shoved past a waiter, and practically ran toward the long hallway.

Kassandra watched Calista's retreating back. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a dark smile.

"I need to go fix my dress," Kassandra whispered to Jett.

She let go of his arm and quietly followed Calista out the doors.