Chapter 13 - The Meeting of Wives
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The trap was fully set, but before the trap could spring, I needed to look the other woman in the eye. I needed to understand the illusion Richard had built for her.
Evelyn Hayes managed an exclusive boutique art gallery in Chelsea. That afternoon, I walked through the glass doors of the gallery, wearing a pair of designer sunglasses and a camel trench coat, carrying myself with the air of a wealthy, bored collector.
The gallery was quiet, filled with modern, abstract pieces. Evelyn was standing near the back, adjusting the lighting on a sculpture. She was just as beautiful in person as she was in the lobby—elegant, poised, and radiating a quiet confidence.
“Welcome,” Evelyn said, turning around with a warm, professional smile. “Can I help you find something specific today?”
“I’m just browsing,” I replied, keeping my voice light. “I’m looking for a piece for my husband’s new office. He’s incredibly particular.”
“Husbands usually are,” Evelyn laughed softly, walking over to join me. “My fiancé is the same way. He insists on absolute perfection in everything.”
“Your fiancé?” I asked, feigning polite interest. “Congratulations. Are you getting married soon?”
Evelyn’s smile widened, a genuine, joyful expression that sent a sickening jolt through my stomach. She wasn't a cynical homewrecker. She was a woman who completely believed the lie she was living.
“Next month, actually,” Evelyn confided, her eyes sparkling. “We’re flying to Paris for a small, private ceremony. He’s been planning it for months. It’s a bit of a whirlwind, but we’ve been together for nearly ten years, so it’s about time.”
Ten years.
My heart hammered a violent rhythm against my ribs. Richard and I had been married for six. He had been with Evelyn for four years before he even met me. I wasn't the primary wife. I was the cover story he had manufactured to please Arthur and the conservative board of directors while he kept his true family hidden in the suburbs.
“Paris sounds wonderful,” I managed to say, my throat tight. “He must be a very devoted man.”
“He is,” Evelyn smiled, looking at the massive diamond on her left hand. “He works incredibly hard for us. Sometimes he has to travel for weeks at a time, but he always makes it home.”
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I looked at the woman my husband truly loved. I didn't feel hatred for her. I felt a profound, chilling pity.
“I hope you have a beautiful wedding, Evelyn,” I said softly, turning toward the door. “But be careful. Sometimes the things that look perfect are just painted over.”
