I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Pressing my hands against my burning cheek, I smoothed down the front of my crimson silk gown, forced a calm smile onto my face, and stepped back into the grand ballroom.
But the moment I approached the main floor, I realised the seating arrangements for the executive dinner had been altered.
When I reached the primary tier where the Brown family and lead investors sat, my name card was gone. A head waiter appeared beside me, his expression fixed in an apologetic, tight grimace.
“Mrs. Brown, my apologies,” he murmured, his voice lowered so the surrounding elite could hear every word. “Madam Eleanor requested a last-minute adjustment. Your seat has been moved to Table Fourteen.”
Table Fourteen. Tucked away in the back corner of the ballroom, right next to the kitchen doors, where minor press staff and low-tier contractors were placed. It was a deliberate, public execution of my social standing, orchestrated by my mother-in-law.
I looked across the room toward the head table. Dominic was already seated, surrounded by billionaire board members, and directly to his right, in the seat that belonged to his wife, was Selena Whitmore.
Selena didn’t just look beautiful; she looked triumphant. Her flawless white gown glowed under the chandeliers, her neck and ears glittering with the blinding Céleste diamond set. I recognised that exact design immediately.
Three years ago, Dominic had shown me the blueprints, promising those very diamonds for our fifth anniversary. When the date came and went, he had coldly dismissed it as a delayed corporate investment. He hadn’t delayed it. He had saved it for her.
“The diamonds are breathtaking, Selena,” a senior investor’s wife cooed loudly from the main tier. “Dominic truly has impeccable taste. It’s so wonderful to see the two of you representing Brown Holdings together again.”
Dominic didn’t correct her. He lifted his wine glass, offering a smooth, charming nod while Selena slid her manicured hand possessively over his arm.
To the entire room, Selena was the real partner, the rightful queen, while the woman in red standing by the kitchen doors was invisible.
“I heard a rumour,” a board member whispered, just loud enough for my ears.
“Dominic secretly funded her entire return gala through a private Brown Holdings subsidiary. He planned her comeback months ago.”
The room began to spin. The quiet dread in my stomach exploded into agonising reality. Everything I had built my life around was publicly humiliating me. My belief that patience and sacrifice could fix our love cracked and died right there.
I couldn’t sit at Table Fourteen like discarded trash. Gathering the last shred of my pride, I marched straight toward the head table, ignoring the mocking stares and pointing fingers.
“Dominic,” I said, my voice tight but steady as I stopped right behind his chair.
He didn’t turn immediately. He finished speaking to an investor, took a slow sip of his drink, and finally looked up. His dark eyes were vacant, irritation flickering beneath the surface. Selena’s smile never faltered; she watched me with cold, competitive amusement.
“We need to speak privately. Right now,” I whispered, desperation leaking through.
His expression hardened into a ruthless mask. Without a word, he stood and led me out.
The penthouse was oppressively silent when we got back. I stood by the tall windows, arms wrapped around myself.
The bedroom door opened behind me. In the mirror, I watched Dominic loosen his tie with unhurried steps, his face completely at ease, like a man returning from a successful dinner.
He walked to the wardrobe and started unbuttoning his shirt, not sparing me a glance.
“You left early,” he said flatly. “Mother had to make excuses for your sudden departure to the press.”
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned around, the crimson silk rustling like a dying flame. “Your mother slapped me in front of the entire board, Dominic. She moved me to Table Fourteen by the kitchen doors, and you sat there and let Selena wear the Céleste diamonds you promised me three years ago.”
Dominic sighed, irritated, and tossed his tie onto the bed. “We’ve discussed this, Bianca. Tonight was about securing the European sector. Selena is an international fashion executive; her presence was strategic. The diamonds were part of the corporate image.”
“Strategic?” I stepped closer, my voice rising. For six years, I had shrunk myself, believing patience would fix the cold distance. But now, staring into his vacant eyes, dread hardened into rage. “Did you secretly fund her return gala? Did you plan her comeback months ago while I was managing your home and defending your name?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He paused, staring at me with those cold, unreadable eyes for a long, heavy moment. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then he turned back to his shirt, deliberately unbuttoning the rest with slow, precise fingers, revealing the hard lines of his chest as if my words barely touched him.
“Selena was my first love, Bianca,” he admitted, the words striking my chest like a physical blow. He didn’t blink, showing only cold interest. “You knew that when we married. I don’t understand why you’re being this way when you clearly know everything about it. You’re making me the villain here.”
How could I have forgotten? The thought ripped through me, fresh pain blooming hot in my chest. How could I have ignored how miserable he was when she left?
How could I have foolishly believed our marriage could ever replace what they shared? That elite, passionate connection his family had always wanted. I had been nothing but a warm body filling the space, pouring love into a man whose heart had never truly belonged to me.
What a pathetic fool I’ve been. Tears stung my eyes, my throat tight with the weight of six wasted years. My hands trembled as betrayal and self-anger crashed over me in waves.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached down to my left hand. My fingers wrapped around the platinum wedding band, pulling it off my finger for the first time in six years.
The soft clink of the platinum band against the glass nightstand seemed to linger in the silence.
Dominic’s fingers paused on the buttons of his shirt. He looked down at the ring, then up at my bare hand. His jaw tightened slightly, but his eyes remained entirely flat, devoid of remorse. I had spent six years praying to see.
"Are we playing games now, Bianca?" he asked. He didn't reach for the ring. "Taking off your ring because you're upset about corporate seating arrangements is childish."
"Childish?" My voice shook, the tears finally cutting paths through my makeup. "You admitted to my face that you funded her return. You let your mother humiliate me. You let her wear the diamonds you promised me. And you're calling me childish?"
Dominic let out a long, weary sigh and tossed his shirt into the laundry hamper, completely unbothered by my tears. "I told you, Selena is a strategic partner for the European sector. Her return gala, the diamonds, it's all part of the corporate image to secure the board's confidence. I am trying to protect Brown Holdings, which means I am protecting our lifestyle."
He walked closer, looking down at me with an expression of cold, detached pity.
"You are rewriting reality because of your own insecurities, Bianca. Selena was my past. Right now, she is a co-worker. If you walk around without your ring, the press will have a field day, and the board will think our marriage is unstable. Put it back on. I don't have time for this drama before the morning summit."
"A co-worker?" I whispered, my heart sinking at how completely he missed the point. He truly believed what he was saying. He thought a penthouse, a credit card, and the title of wife were enough to make up for everything else. Enough to keep me quiet while he gave someone else the part of him that had never belonged to me.
"I heard her ask when you were going to divorce me, Dominic," I said softly. "And you told her you'd take care of it."
"Because the media will be handled," Dominic snapped gently. "I told her that to keep her quiet so she wouldn't cause a scene that would embarrass you. I am trying to keep the peace, and you are trying to make me the bad person."
He didn't wait for my response. He turned around, picked up his phone from the nightstand, and walked into the dressing room, closing the door behind him.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the space where my husband had just stood. He wasn't screaming or hitting me. He was simply erasing my reality, making me feel like an unstable, jealous child in my own home.
The sharp buzz of the penthouse intercom broke the silence a few hours later, long after Dominic had left for his early morning corporate meetings.
"Mrs. Brown," the concierge's voice came through, sounding strained. "Ms. Selena Whitmore is downstairs. She states she left a corporate folder in the penthouse study during the executive briefing earlier this week."
My hands clenched into fists against the silk of my gown. Dominic hadn't mentioned any briefing at the penthouse.
"Send her up," I said flatly.
When the elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse foyer, Selena stepped out. The elegant, innocent smile she wore around Dominic was completely gone. She closed the doors behind her and let her gaze drift lazily over the grand living room before her eyes locked onto me.
She noticed my bare left hand immediately. A flash of pure, malicious triumph crossed her face.
"So, you took it off," Selena purred, walking into the room with sharp, confident steps. She didn't look toward the study to look for a folder. Instead, she stopped right in front of me. "Let me guess what Dominic said. 'You're imagining things, Bianca. She's just a co-worker.' Am I right?"
I stood my ground, keeping my breathing shallow. "Get out of my house, Selena."
"Your house?" Selena laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that cut straight through the quiet room. "Dominic bought this place with the bonuses from the first merger I helped him close seven years ago. Everything he built has my blueprint on it. You've just been a glorified housekeeper keeping his seat warm while I was gone."
"Listen to me carefully, Bianca. Dominic is too proud to admit it to you, but you are nothing but a liability to his family and his company. His mother detests you. The board laughs at you. If you have even a shred of pride left, you will sign the papers and walk away before you are completely ruined. Because if you don't leave him voluntarily, I will make sure high society strips away whatever dignity you think you have left."
She smiled sweetly, leaning in to whisper against my ear.
"See you at the family dinner tonight, Mrs. Brown. Let's see how much more you can tolerate."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving me standing alone in the quiet penthouse.
The dining room of the Brown estate felt stifling. I sat alone at the far end of the long table while Eleanor and Selena entertained the senior investors. Dominic sat at the head of the table, occasionally joining the conversation, oblivious to the mocking glances and quiet amusement aimed in my direction.
"The European market requires a specific touch," Eleanor remarked. "Some people are built for high-stakes diplomacy. Others are barely equipped to manage a simple seating chart."
A low chuckle rippled through the table. Selena smiled softly, leaning over to whisper something into Dominic’s ear. He didn't pull away. He just smiled, a relaxed, easy expression he had never given me in six years of marriage.
"Dominic," I whispered, my voice tight as I leaned toward him, my hand clenching under the table. "I am not feeling well. Please, let's leave."
Dominic didn't even turn his head. He took a slow sip of his wine. "You just got here, Bianca. Stop being difficult. It’s an important night for the family."
"Family?" Selena purred, lifting a crystal pitcher from the center of the table. "Here, Bianca. Have some iced tea. It will calm your nerves. You look incredibly tense."
She poured the dark liquid into my glass with a flawless, innocent smile. I didn't want anything from her hands, but the heat in the room was making my throat dry. Desperate to mask the tremble in my fingers, I lifted the glass and took a deep swallow.
It tasted faintly bitter, with a metallic aftertaste, but I swallowed it anyway.
Less than two minutes later, a burning sensation spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. My vision blurred, the brilliant chandeliers above stretching into distorted streaks of light. I tried to inhale, but my chest felt like it was being crushed.
"Dominic..." I gasped, my hand blindly reaching out, knocking over my silver fork. It clattered loudly against the porcelain plate.
"Bianca, enough," Eleanor snapped. "Must you always draw attention to yourself when you feel ignored? It’s pathetic."
"Dominic, please, I clutched his arm, my fingernails digging into his sleeve. "Something is... wrong. I can’t breathe."
Dominic finally turned to look at me, his eyes thick with deep irritation and exhaustion. He peeled my fingers off his arm with a firm, cold grip.
"Bianca, stop this performance," he whispered harshly, his voice tight with embarrassment as the investors stopped talking to watch us. "Faking a medical emergency because you can't handle Selena being at the table is beneath you. Go to the restroom and compose yourself, or take a cab home."
Faking? The word shattered the last remaining piece of my spirit. I was suffocating right in front of him, and he thought it was a temper tantrum.
I stumbled out of my chair, the room spinning violently. Selena watched me, her innocent expression perfectly intact for the table, but the sickening satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable.
I forced my legs to move, staggering out of the dining room and down the grand hallway. My lungs refused to open. My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the cold floor of the corridor, darkness rushing in to claim me.
"Mrs. Brown!"
A panicked voice echoed above me. Through my fading vision, I saw Margaret, the senior housekeeper, rushing toward me. She touched my cold face, her hands trembling. She looked back toward the dining room, where the laughter and chatter continued completely uninterrupted. They weren't coming.
Realizing the family was completely ignoring me, Margaret's quiet caution turned into desperate panic. She grabbed my clutch bag, pulled out my phone, and frantically scrolled through the contacts until she found the one name she knew would answer.
She pressed the dial, lifting the phone to her ear as I took another agonizing, shallow breath.
"Miss Kane!" Margaret wept into the receiver, her voice shaking. "Please... you need to help her. It's Mrs. Brown. She's been poisoned at the estate dinner, and the family refuses to call for help. I'm smuggling her out through the side entrance right now, but she's losing consciousness."
On the other end of the line, a sharp, fierce voice exploded with sudden, protective fury.
"I'm sending my private medical team to meet you at the secondary clinic now," Olivia commanded, her words cutting through Margaret's panic like ice. "Get her out of that house, Margaret. Don't let a single Brown touch her. I'm on my way."
