Chapter 4

Kelsey POV

I needed air. The ballroom felt like a velvet-lined coffin, suffocating me with perfume and pretension.

I found a quiet corridor behind the kitchen, a service hallway lined with stacked chairs and smelling faintly of industrial cleaner.

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. Broken pot.

Is that all I was to him? A ceramic vessel to be shattered and glued back together at his whim?

I thought about the years I spent laundering his money through my gallery. The nights I spent soothing his paranoia. The way I erased myself so he could be big.

"He went too far this time."

The voice came from the prep room next door. The walls were thin, offering no secrets.

It was Luca, Bennett's Consigliere.

"She's humiliated, Bennett. The families are uncomfortable."

"Good," Bennett's voice replied. It was cold. Calculating. "Let them be uncomfortable."

"Why provoke her? She's leaving. Let her go."

"She's not going anywhere," Bennett laughed. It was a dark, ugly sound that scraped against my nerves. "Do you think I'm doing this because I love the intern? Alya is a tool. She is insufferable, honestly."

My breath hitched.

"Then why?" Luca asked.

"Kelsey needs to be broken," Bennett said, his tone clinically detached. "She was getting too independent with that gallery. Too much 'me,' not enough 'us.' I need to strip her down to nothing. Humiliate her. Isolate her. Make her jealous."

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.

"When she's at rock bottom," Bennett continued, "when she has no money, no status, and no pride... she'll come crawling back. And she'll be grateful that I took her back. That's how you train a wife, Luca. Total control."

"And the baby?"

"There is no baby," Bennett said. "Alya is faking it to secure her spot. I know it. I'm letting it play out until Kelsey breaks. Then I'll expose Alya and bring Kelsey home to 'comfort' me."

I felt bile rise in my throat.

It wasn't just cruelty. It was a game. A strategy.

He wasn't in love. He was a sociopath.

Every tear I shed, every ounce of pain I felt-he was counting it like points on a scoreboard.

The illusion shattered. The last tiny piece of me that thought he might have just fallen out of love... it died right there in that service hallway.

I didn't feel sad anymore. I felt disgusted.

I pushed off the wall. I didn't need to hear another word.

I needed to move.

I slipped out the side door and hailed a cab. I didn't go to the safe house. I went to the gallery.

It was late. The place was dark, shadows stretching across the polished floors like grasping fingers.

I unlocked the private office. My hands were shaking, not from fear, but from adrenaline.

I went to the hidden safe behind the Modigliani print.

I dialed the combination. 0-4-1-8. Our anniversary. God, how stupid I had been.

I grabbed the black USB drive.

This wasn't just data. This was my life.

It contained the real ledger. Not the fake one for the IRS, not the one for the family. The one that showed exactly which paintings were real assets I had bought with my own inheritance, and the encrypted contacts of art dealers in Europe who owed me favors.

It also contained the escape route I had been building for years, subconsciously. A bank account in Zurich. A passport under my maiden name.

I clenched the drive in my fist.

"Going somewhere?"

The lights flicked on, blinding me for a fraction of a second.

Bennett was standing in the doorway. He was still wearing his tuxedo from the gala. He looked like the devil in bespoke silk.

His eyes dropped to my hand. He saw the tension in my knuckles.

"What do you have there, Kelsey?"

He took a step forward, closing the distance with the grace of a predator.

"Is that the leverage?" he asked softly. "Or is it the exit strategy?"

He knew. He always knew.

He reached out his hand, palm up. An invitation. A command. "Give it to me."

I stepped back, pressing my spine against the desk.

I thought about his voice in the prep room. Total control.

I looked at the USB drive. It was my freedom. It was my future.

I looked him in the eye.

"No," I said.

I shoved the drive down the front of my dress, pressing it tight against the frantic beat of my heart.

"You'll have to cut it out of me," I whispered.