Chapter 3

Jillian Andrews POV

The pity in the City Hall clerk's eyes was the first sign.

It was a look reserved for tragedies, not administrative errands. I had only gone to retrieve a copy of our marriage license for the visa application needed for my "surprise" trip.

"Mrs. Bradley," the clerk said, her voice dropping an octave as she slid a single sheet of paper across the counter. "I don't know how to tell you this."

I looked down at the document.

Void.

The word seemed to pulse in red ink.

"The officiant wasn't licensed in the state of New York," she explained, her tone apologetic but final. "And the signature... it's not Mr. Bradley's legal hand."

The room tilted on its axis.

I wasn't his wife.

I was his mistress.

No.

I was less than that.

I was a kept woman with no legal claim to him, to his fortune, or to his protection.

If I disappeared tomorrow, no one would look for a missing wife.

They would look for a runaway girlfriend.

It was brilliant.

It was diabolical.

I walked out of City Hall into the blinding sunlight, feeling less like a woman and more like a ghost haunting her own life.

Yet, the show had to go on.

That night was the Foundation Gala.

Alex made me wear the red dress-the very one Charlotte had mocked weeks ago. It felt like a costume, a branding.

We entered the ballroom, and the camera flashes assaulted us, blinding and relentless.

Alex's hand rested on the small of my back, guiding me, possessing me.

"Smile," he whispered against my ear, his breath hot. "You look expensive."

Then, I saw her.

Charlotte.

She was wearing a black gown that clung to her curves like oil.

And around her neck rested the Star of Bradley.

The diamond pendant that had belonged to Alex's grandmother.

The same heirloom he had sworn to me was locked in a vault for safety.

She caught my eye across the crowded room.

Slowly, deliberately, she touched the necklace, smirking.

She was marking her territory.

The auction began, blurring into a parade of excess. Alex sat relaxed beside me, sipping his whiskey as if he owned the world.

The auctioneer presented the final item.

"The Heart of the Ocean," he announced, his voice booming. "A sapphire necklace of unparalleled clarity. Bidding starts at five million."

Alex didn't hesitate. He raised his paddle.

"Twenty million," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

The room gasped collectively.

He turned to me, his smile dazzling and predatory.

"For you, my love," he said, loud enough for the press to capture every syllable.

The crowd erupted in applause.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

Why?

Why buy me a twenty-million-dollar necklace when he wouldn't even legally marry me?

"I need to sign the paperwork," Alex said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "Wait here."

He walked backstage, the picture of a devoted husband.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty. The silence at the table grew deafening.

The Auction Manager approached our table. He no longer looked deferential; he looked nervous.

"Mrs. Bradley," he said.

A title I now knew was a lie.

"Mr. Bradley seems to have... stepped out."

"He went to sign," I corrected automatically.

"No, ma'am," the manager said, his voice dropping. "He left the building. And the payment card on file has been declined."

Ice water flooded my veins, freezing me in place.

He had bid twenty million dollars in my name.

And then he had left.

"We need a deposit," the manager said, his voice hardening into steel. "Or we will have to involve the authorities. Fraud is a serious offense."

People were staring.

Whispering. The applause had turned into judgment.

My trembling fingers fumbled with my phone to check my bank account.

Zero.

He had drained it.

I had nothing.

"I..." I stammered, the room spinning again.

"The earrings," the manager said, his gaze fixing greedily on my lobes. "Those look like adequate collateral until Mr. Bradley returns."

My hand flew to my ears instinctively.

They were my grandmother's.

The only thing I had left of my life before Alex.

Before the darkness took me.

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Not these."

"The police are outside," the manager warned.

I unhooked the diamonds.

My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped them.

I placed them in his outstretched palm.

I sat there, stripped of my jewelry, my dignity, and my husband.

Across the room, Charlotte raised a glass to me.

I didn't look away.

I stared right back at her.

And I added the earrings to the debt they would eventually pay in blood.