I Married The Man With My Husband’s Heart

The Plaza glowed like a jewelry box someone had left open in the rain.

I stepped out of the car at eight-fifteen. The doorman held an umbrella over me. Water dripped off its edges in a silver ring. Inside, the lobby smelled like roses and wet wool coats.

I could hear the music before I saw the ballroom. Strings. Debussy. *Clair de Lune.* Jeremiah used to play it on Sunday mornings while he sketched. I let the song pass through me and kept walking.

The Grand Ballroom was full. Five hundred guests, Julian had said. Swarovski chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls. Light bounced off every glass and every diamond. Men in black tuxedos. Women in red, in gold, in emerald silk.

I was the only one in ivory.

It took about four seconds. A woman near the door saw me first. She stopped talking mid-sentence. The man beside her turned. Then the next. The silence moved through the room like a wave going out.

The quartet kept playing. They didn't know yet.

I saw Dane near the champagne tower. Black tux. Hair perfect. Lainey hung on his arm in pale pink, her head tilted toward his shoulder. She was laughing at something. Then she saw me, and the laugh died in her throat.

Dane turned. His face went still.

I didn't stop. I walked straight down the center of the room. My heels clicked on the marble. Click. Click. Click. People stepped back to let me through. I didn't look at any of them.

At the far end, on a low stage, Eleanor Armstrong sat in a high-backed chair. Black Chanel. Three strands of pearls. Her ebony cane rested against her knee, the gold eagle's head shining under the lights. She watched me come the way a hawk watches a field.

I stopped at the foot of the stage.

"Happy birthday, Eleanor."

"You were not on my list," she said. Her voice was slow and dry. "I was told you were unwell."

"You were told a lot of things."

Her eyes narrowed. Just a little.

Dane's voice came from behind me. Sharp. Too loud. "Scarlet. What the hell are you doing?"

I didn't turn around. I climbed the three small steps. The quartet finally faltered. The cello dragged one long note, then stopped.

The microphone stood beside Eleanor's chair. It was meant for the toasts. I took it off the stand.

"Good evening," I said.

My voice filled the room. It was calm. I had practiced calm nine times.

"My name is Scarlet Reyes. For three years, I have been Dane Armstrong's wife. Most of you know that. Some of you have laughed about it." I let my eyes find Braden Cole near the bar. He looked at his shoes. "What you don't know is that I also own fifty-three percent of the voting shares of the Armstrong Group."

A sound went through the crowd. Not a gasp. Something smaller. Like a breath held too long.

Julian appeared at the edge of the stage. He handed me the first navy folder. I gave it to Eleanor. She opened it without a word. Her finger moved down the page.

"The Halverson merger," I said. "The Tokyo expansion. The Brennan proxies. Mine."

"This is insane," Dane said. He was at the bottom of the steps now. His right hand was pressed flat against his chest. "Grandmother, she's lying. She doesn't—"

Eleanor raised one finger. He stopped.

Julian handed me the second folder. I held it up so the room could see it.

"I am also pregnant," I said. "With Dane's child. Independent testing. Ninety-nine point nine percent." I placed it in Eleanor's lap. "Your only great-grandchild."

Somewhere to my left, Lainey made a small noise. Then the tears started. Right on time. Thirty seconds. I didn't stop for them.

I looked down at Dane. Finally.

His face was white. Whiter than the chandeliers. His lips were parted, but nothing came out. His fingers dug into his shirt, right over his heart.

I said the words I had counted.

"Choose, Dane. Lainey, or everything you think is yours. You have until the music stops playing."

Sixteen.

Then I turned to the room. "If he chooses her, I remove him as CEO on Monday. I keep the company. I keep the child. I keep every door he thinks opens for him."

Nobody breathed.

Behind me, Eleanor closed the folders. She set them on the arm of her chair. Then she lifted her cane.

She tapped it once against the marble.

The sound cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot. Every head turned to her. She looked at me for a long moment. Then she nodded. Once. Cold. Final.

She did not look at her grandson at all.

I saw the moment Dane understood. His shoulders dropped half an inch. His eyes went to his grandmother, then to me, then to nothing.

Lainey grabbed his arm. Both hands. Her nails pressed into his sleeve. "Dane," she whispered. "Baby. Tell them. Tell them."

He didn't pull away.

But he didn't speak either.

The quartet lifted their bows. Slowly, the first violin began again. *Clair de Lune.* Soft. Uncertain.

Dane stood frozen in the middle of it. Silent. And the silence said everything.

Lainey felt it too. I watched her face. The pretty tears dried. Her mouth twisted. Her fingers went to the giant diamond on her hand and turned it, turned it, turned it. Her eyes darted around the room. At the women whispering behind their fans. At the men who would not meet her gaze.

For the first time in eight months, Lainey Howard looked afraid.

In my clutch, my phone buzzed against my hip. Once. Twice.

I ignored it. I had waited three years for this moment. Whoever it was could wait one more song.