Chapter 3

The Grand Meridian was a cathedral of crystal and gold, packed with Manhattan's elite — tech moguls, old money heiresses, and the kind of people who donated six figures just to be seen doing it.

I arrived alone. Dominic had sent a car but hadn't ridden with me. He was "handling something with Vivienne," his assistant had said.

I wore the navy Valentino because fighting over a dress wasn't the hill I wanted to die on tonight.

The moment I entered the ballroom, I felt the stares. The article had gone viral. Every person in this room had seen the photos, read the comments, and formed their opinion. I was the contract wife. The placeholder. The woman standing between Dominic Cross and his epic love story.

I grabbed a glass of sparkling water — no champagne, not anymore — and positioned myself near the terrace doors, where the crowd was thinnest.

"Elena." A familiar voice. Dominic's business partner, Richard Hale, appeared at my side. "You look stunning, as always."

"Thank you, Richard."

He leaned closer. "How are you holding up? The press has been—"

"I'm fine."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. Richard was one of the few people who treated me like a person rather than an accessory. His wife, Diane, had become a friend of mine — one of the only genuine ones I'd made in Dominic's world.

A murmur swept through the room, and I turned to see why.

Dominic entered through the main doors, and on his arm was Vivienne.

She wore white — a floor-length gown that clung to her like liquid silk, her dark hair cascading over bare shoulders. She looked ethereal. Angelic. Like a woman returned from the grave, reborn in glory.

And Dominic looked at her the way every woman wants to be looked at. Like she was the only person in the room.

The crowd parted for them. Cameras flashed. People whispered.

I stood by the terrace doors, holding my sparkling water, watching my husband escort another woman into a room full of people who knew I existed and didn't care.

Vivienne spotted me first. She whispered something to Dominic, then glided over, leaving him surrounded by admirers.

"Elena, that dress is gorgeous on you." Her voice was warm, public-friendly. "Dominic has wonderful taste."

"He picked it," I said flatly.

"He always did know how to dress the people around him." She smiled, and it was a perfect smile — the kind that hid knives behind teeth. "I hope you don't mind that I came tonight. Dominic insisted. He wanted to reintroduce me to his circle."

"Why would I mind? You're his guest."

"I'm his wife." The warmth vanished from her voice for exactly one second. Then it returned. "Well, his first wife. But I suppose titles don't matter much when there's a contract involved."

She knew. Of course she knew.

"Vivienne," I said quietly, "I'm not your enemy."

"Oh, I know." She touched my arm gently. "You're not anything, really. You're just… temporary."

She walked away before I could respond, returning to Dominic's side. He put his arm around her immediately, and the cameras captured every second.

I set down my glass and walked toward the terrace.

The night air hit me like cold water. I gripped the railing, breathing hard, willing myself not to fall apart in public. I had survived sixteen months of emotional neglect. I could survive one night.

"You shouldn't be out here alone." Richard appeared beside me.

"I needed air."

"Elena, can I be honest with you?"

I nodded.

"Leave him. Whatever your arrangement is — and yes, I suspect there is one — it's not worth this. You deserve more than being a ghost in your own marriage."

Before I could answer, the terrace door opened behind us.

"Elena." Dominic's voice was cold. "What are you doing out here with Richard?"

"Getting air," I said without turning around.

"Get inside. People are asking about you."

"People are asking about her," I corrected, finally facing him. "No one in that room cares where I am, Dominic. Including you."

His jaw tightened. "Don't make a scene."

"I haven't made a single scene in sixteen months. I think I'm overdue." My voice was steady, but my hands were shaking.

Dominic stepped closer, his voice dropping. "We'll discuss this at home."

"Yes, we will. Because I have something to tell you that can't wait any longer."

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes — not concern, exactly, but attention. Real attention.

"What is it?" he asked.

I opened my mouth.

And then Vivienne screamed from inside the ballroom.

Every head turned. Dominic rushed past me without a second glance, pushing through the crowd to reach her. She had collapsed on the floor, clutching her chest, gasping for air.

"Someone call an ambulance!" Dominic shouted, cradling her in his arms.

The room erupted into chaos.

And I stood on the terrace, alone, my hand on my stomach, my words unspoken.

Again.