andr

everly Hills mansion, watching the makeup artist

hat didn't steal the spotlight. But tonight was different. The red felt like w

, ma'am," the makeup artist said,

on in the mirror showed a woman who looked perfectly put

footsteps echoed

rs, that sound meant my husband was home. It used to bring me a sense of security,

r pushed open. An

perfectly. His hair was styled, and his face carried that trademark

e shift in the room's energy. She bowed her head, slippe

et instantly felt t

me. He placed his large h

skin stung. It took every ounce of my willpower to suppres

rk and approving. He leaned down, his lips brushing t

woody cologne, I caught it. A faint, lingering

's pe

hadn't even bothered to scrub her scent off his sk

tuxedo pocket and pulled

black silk, was a brilliant Cartier diamond panther necklace. The gems c

d at the diamond panther, my

necklace resting on her cheap, fake-tanned collarbone. As a former top-tier jewelry designer, I ha

tepped closer, reaching around my neck. The co

felt like a freezing snake was wrapp

my collarbone as he fastened the clas

with arrogant pride, completely mistaking my physical revulsion for emot

allow breath. I stretched my lips

me out slightly hoarse from the

d. "Anything for you. Happy

like a gift. It looked like a diamond-encrusted dog collar. A leash he bo

The Patek Philippe gleamed under the lights

vening gown. I had designed it myself in secret, a quie

. "Dress looks good. Fits well," he said dismissively, already turning toward the door.

back at me with eyes full of

a smug, secretive smile playing on his lips. "I'

y heart began to pound against my ribs, a chaotic m

ght into his lying, arrogant eye

othly slipped my hand in

urprise is