Chapter 2 - The Uninvited Wife
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The words hung heavy in the air, cold and definitive.
For a long moment, my mind refused to process the sentence. I stood frozen beside the marble island, the aroma of the salmon I had spent three hours preparing suddenly turning stomach-sickeningly sour.
“What?” I managed to squeeze out.
“You heard me,” Weston said softly, taking a step toward me as if managing a hysterically unstable child.
“Weston, I’m your wife,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to keep it steady. “It’s the annual Meridian Gala.”
“And tonight is strictly high-level business,” he replied, adjusting his silk bow tie in the reflection of the glass cabinets.
“I know what tonight is!” I took a step forward. “This is the biggest night of your career! Prescott Urban Development has been chasing the Meridian Heritage Fund for eighteen months. A hundred and twenty million dollars in backing! You’ve talked about nothing else since January!”
I had spent the entire week preparing for this night. I had picked out my jewelry, arranged my schedule, and made sure every detail of his life was seamless so he could focus on his speech.
Before Weston could answer, the sharp, deliberate click of high heels sounded against the hardwood floor of the foyer.
A woman stepped into the frame of the kitchen doorway.
Vanessa Cole. Vice President of Communications at Prescott Urban Development. Thirty-four years old, effortlessly sharp, and wearing a breathtaking floor-length silver gown that clung to her like liquid moonlight. Her dark hair was swept up in an intricate, red-carpet-worthy bun, and expensive diamond drops hung from her ears.
Weston’s posture instantly shifted. The tension in his shoulders vanished, replaced by a soft, attentive posture I hadn't seen directed at me in years.
Vanessa looked at me, her eyes sweeping over my faded apron, simple cream blouse, and dark trousers. Her lips curved into a sympathetic, slightly patronizing smile.
“Oh, Elowen,” Vanessa murmured, her tone dripping with soft pity. “I didn’t realize you’d still be dressed like that. Aren't you done with dinner yet?”
“I was cooking for Weston and his mother,” I said, keeping my posture rigid.
Claudia stepped back into the room, smoothing down her navy lace dress. “Precisely. That is where your talents lie, dear.”
I ignored Claudia and looked straight into my husband’s eyes.
“You’re taking Vanessa instead of me?” I asked point-blank.
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Weston didn't flinch. “Vanessa understands the room, Elowen. She knows the venture capitalists. She knows how to navigate executive politics.”
“And you think I don’t?” I whispered, the sting hitting deeper than any cut from the shattered crystal floor.
