Chapter 3

The next morning, I woke up to seventeen missed calls from Derek.

I ignored every single one.

But the eighteenth call wasn't from him — it was from his mother, Vivian Mitchell.

Against my better judgment, I picked up.

"Scarlett, what is this nonsense about a divorce?" Vivian's shrill voice pierced through the speaker. "You ungrateful girl. My son gave you a roof over your head, put food on your table, and this is how you repay him?"

I held the phone a few inches from my ear.

"Mrs. Mitchell, your son handed me the papers himself. I simply signed them."

"Because you were supposed to fight for him!" she shrieked. "That's what a good wife does! You think I approved of that Mia girl? She's trash. But at least she knows how to hold onto a man. You just — you just gave up!"

I almost laughed.

"Mrs. Mitchell, I'm not sure what fantasy you've been living in, but your son has been sleeping with my stepsister for at least two years. He never once treated me as his wife. And now you're upset that I didn't beg him to stay?"

Silence.

Then her tone shifted — colder, more calculated.

"Fine. You want to play it that way? Then don't expect a single penny from the divorce. And I'll make sure every influential family in this city knows you were thrown out of the Mitchell household. No one will touch you. You'll be blacklisted from every social circle, every charity board, every—"

"Mrs. Mitchell," I interrupted calmly. "Are you done?"

She sputtered. "Excuse me?"

"Because I have a very busy day ahead of me, and I'd rather not waste any more of it on threats that won't age well."

I hung up.

Within minutes, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

"Scarlett, it's Mia 💕 Just wanted to say no hard feelings! Derek and I are SO excited for the gala tonight. He even bought me a $50,000 dress! Isn't that sweet? Anyway, hope you're doing okay. Must be tough starting over with nothing. Kisses!"

She even attached a selfie — posing in a white designer gown, Derek's arm around her waist, both of them grinning like they'd won the lottery.

I studied the photo for about three seconds.

The dress was a knockoff. A good one, but still a knockoff. The stitching on the bodice was machine-done, and the fabric had that subtle synthetic sheen that real silk never carries.

$50,000? More like $500.

Derek always was cheap when it counted.

I saved the photo, not out of bitterness, but because I knew it would make an excellent "before" picture for what was about to happen tonight.

At 5 PM, my glam team arrived at the estate.

By 7 PM, I stood in front of the full-length mirror.

The red gown hugged every curve like it was painted on. The crystals caught the light with every breath, scattering tiny fires across the walls. My hair was swept up, exposing my neck and the single piece of jewelry I wore — a ruby pendant worth more than Derek's house.

Mrs. Chen stood behind me, dabbing her eyes.

"Ma'am… you look like you're about to burn the whole city down."

I smiled. "Just one building, Mrs. Chen. Just one."

My phone buzzed one final time before I left.

It was Elliot.

"Ma'am, the Mitchells just arrived at the venue. Derek is telling everyone he's about to announce a 'major partnership' with the Laurent Group tonight. He's claiming he has a direct line to the CEO."

I read the message twice, then laughed — a real, genuine laugh.

Oh, Derek.

You have no idea how direct that line is about to get.

I grabbed my clutch, stepped into the Maybach, and headed for the gala.

Tonight, the satisfying satisfying world would finally meet the real Scarlett Laurent.

And the Mitchells?

They'd have front-row seats to their own satisfying humiliation.