The ballroom at the Pierre Hotel was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and hypocrisy.
William stood by the champagne tower, a glass of water in his hand. He felt like a prisoner in his own tuxedo. Seraphina clung to his arm, playing the role of the brave, frail invalid to perfection, soaking up the pitying glances of the elite. Cynthia Sharpe stood nearby, watching them like a hawk, ensuring the performance held.
“Smile, William,” Seraphina whispered through her teeth, waving weakly at a senator. “You’re hurting my arm.”
“I wish I could hurt more than that,” William muttered, staring at the door.
Then, the music stopped.
It wasn’t a gradual fade; the orchestra simply cut out, the conductor’s baton freezing in mid-air. The chatter in the room died instantly.
At the top of the grand staircase, Dominic Valerius appeared. He looked like the devil in a midnight-blue tuxedo. But no one was looking at him.
On his arm was Victoria.
She was a vision in silver. The “Luna” dress caught every photon of light in the room, making her glow with an ethereal, blinding radiance. She held her head high, her expression cool and imperious. She didn’t look at the floor; she looked straight ahead, surveying the room like a queen returning to claim her throne.
William felt the air leave his lungs. He had never seen her like this. For seven years, he had kept her in the shadows, convinced she preferred the dark. Seeing her now, blazing with light, he realized how wrong he had been.
“She has no shame,” Seraphina hissed, her nails digging into William’s bicep. “Look at that dress. It’s obscene.”
William didn’t hear her. He couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. He saw Dominic lean in and whisper something in Victoria’s ear, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back–right above where William knew, with a sickening jolt, his child was growing.
Dominic looked up and locked eyes with William across the crowded room. He smiled–a cold, shark-like grin of absolute victory.
The jealousy didn’t just burn; it incinerated William’s reason. He took a step forward, dragging Seraphina with him, consumed by a single, primal thought: *She is mine.*