After Her Betrayal, I Won My Freedom

The flashbulbs at the Met Gala after-party were blinding, a relentless stroboscope that turned the ballroom into a disjointed nightmare. I stood at the periphery of the champagne-soaked crowd, nursing a glass of sparkling water I had no intention of drinking. My Givenchy gown, a shimmering column of silver, felt less like couture and more like armor.

"Look at her," a whisper drifted from a cluster of Page Six reporters to my left. "Hanging on for dear life. You’d think she’d have the dignity to leave now that Beau’s stock has tripled without her help."

"She’s a lucky charm that ran out of luck," another sneered. "A clinging gold digger."

I swirled the water, watching the vortex. If only they knew. The irony sat heavy in my gut, cold and metallic. The billions in Beau’s accounts, the sudden skyrocketing of Lewis Enterprises—it wasn’t market fluctuation. It was me. It was the Hall legacy running through my veins, the curse and the gift of the Midas Touch that I had poured into him for seven years. I had made him a king, and he had made me a punchline.

Across the room, the crowd parted. Beau stood near the ice sculpture, his tuxedo straining slightly across his broad shoulders—shoulders I used to massage when he was too broke to afford rent. He wasn't looking for me. His gaze was fixed on the woman laughing beside him: Kallie Taylor.

She was radiant in crimson, a calculated contrast to my ice-blue. But it wasn’t her dress that stopped my breath; it was Beau’s hand. It rested possessively on the small of her back, his thumb tracing the curve of her spine in a rhythm I knew intimately.

I crossed the floor, the polished marble clicking sharply beneath my heels. When I reached them, neither pulled away. Beau merely glanced down, his eyes glazed with the arrogance of a man who believes he is untouchable.

"Beau," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "We need to leave."

He sighed, a sound of exaggerated patience. "Don't start, Selene. I'm networking. Kallie is introducing me to key influencers for the new app launch. Go home if you're tired."

"Networking involves shaking hands, not caressing them," I murmured.

Kallie giggled, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. "Oh, Beau, she’s adorable when she’s jealous. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m just helping him... expand his horizons."

Beau turned his back to me, effectively ending the conversation. "Go home, Selene. You’re killing the vibe."

The humiliation burned, but it was the dismissal that lingered.

The next afternoon, the sun glared off the glass facade of Lewis Enterprises. I walked through the lobby, the security guards nodding with pity in their eyes. I carried a paper bag from the deli Beau used to love before he developed a taste for caviar—a peace offering, or perhaps a test.

The executive floor was silent. His assistant’s desk was empty. I walked down the long corridor toward the penthouse office, the silence pressing against my eardrums. I reached for the heavy oak handle of his office door, intending to knock, but a sound stopped me. A low, guttural moan.

I didn't knock. I shoved the door open.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Manhattan, a kingdom I had bought for him. But Beau wasn't looking at the city. He was leaning back against his mahogany desk, his dress shirt unbuttoned, and Kallie was between his legs, her crimson dress hiked up to her hips.

They didn’t scramble. They didn’t gasp. Beau simply paused, looking over Kallie’s shoulder at me with an expression of mild annoyance, as if I were a maid who had interrupted a conference call. Kallie turned, her lipstick smeared, and smirked.

"You're early," Beau said, his voice void of shame.

The paper bag slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a wet thud. "Seven years," I whispered.

Kallie hopped off the desk, adjusting her dress with languid, feline movements. She walked toward me, her eyes scanning my body until they landed on my left shoulder. The strap of my sundress had slipped, revealing the jagged, puckered ridge of scar tissue—the souvenir from the bullet I took to save Beau during the kidnapping attempt three years ago.

Kallie reached out, her cold finger tracing the raised skin. I flinched, but I didn't retreat.

"God, it really is grotesque, isn't it?" she laughed, the sound brittle and cruel. "Like a roadmap to hell. Does it hurt when you look at it, Beau?"

I looked at him, waiting. Waiting for the man I had bled for to defend me. Waiting for the man whose empire was built on my family's secret capital to remember who saved his life.

Beau buttoned his shirt, not meeting my eyes. "She’s right, Selene. It’s... distracting. I told you to get the plastic surgery. It kills the mood."

The air left the room. The heat in my chest didn't explode; it froze. The love I had held for him, the desperate need to be seen and valued, shattered into dust. It wasn't heartbreak. It was clarity.

I reached for my left hand. The engagement ring, a three-carat solitaire I had paid for myself because his credit was maxed out at the time, felt heavy. I slid it off. The metal was warm, but my skin was cold.

I dropped the ring onto the desk. It spun on the mahogany surface, a dizzying circle of gold, before rattling to a stop between them.

"You're right," I said, my voice unrecognizable—smooth, dark, and dangerous. "It is a distraction. But don't worry, Beau. I'm done fixing things."

I turned and walked out, leaving the ring, the lunch, and the last shred of Xu Xingyuan behind. Selene Hall had just woken up.