My Husband Thinks I Burned Down the Warehouse

The champagne stain on my dress had turned cold, clinging to my skin like a badge of shame. I stood frozen as Harrison's words cut through me, his eyes as hard as the diamonds glittering around us.

"How much did they pay you to embarrass me tonight?"

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the party's din. "I just need a moment to talk."

Valeria's lips curled into a triumphant smile. "Harrison, darling, perhaps we should call security."

Before Harrison could respond, a slurred voice interrupted from behind.

"Well, well! If it isn't the famous Clara Stevens!"

I turned to see Marcus Thorne, one of Harrison's business associates, swaying slightly with a fresh drink in hand. His eyes, glassy from too much alcohol, fixed on me with predatory interest.

"I heard you were back in town," he continued, loud enough to draw more attention. "Come to beg for forgiveness?"

The crowd around us grew, hungry for spectacle. My stomach twisted with pain—not just from the cancer, but from the humiliation.

"I need to speak with Harrison," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Alone."

Marcus laughed, pulling something from his pocket. "First, let's see if you're worth his time."

In his hand gleamed a Patek Philippe watch—platinum, with a face that caught the light like captured starlight.

"Fifty thousand dollars," he announced, holding it up for everyone to see. "My 'finder's fee' to whoever retrieves it."

With theatrical flourish, he tossed the watch into the decorative pool on the rooftop terrace. It sank with a soft splash into the black water.

"Go on," he challenged, gesturing toward the pool. "Prove you're not just here to cause a scene."

The crowd murmured, some laughing, others watching with morbid fascination. I looked at Harrison, searching for any sign of the man who had once loved me enough to make me his wife.

His face remained impassive, eyes cold. "If you need money so badly, Clara, this seems like a small price to pay."

Something broke inside me then—pride, perhaps, or the last shred of hope that he might remember me differently than the monster he believed me to be.

I stepped toward the pool, feeling the November air bite through my damp dress. The water would be freezing, possibly dangerous for someone in my weakened state. But eight thousand dollars for pain medication—it might be worth it.

"Fine," I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

I removed my shoes and eased myself into the water. The cold hit like a thousand knives, stealing my breath. Pain exploded through my abdomen as the shock triggered a spasm of my cancer-ravaged stomach.

I gasped, fighting to stay afloat as I plunged my arm into the murky depths, fingers searching desperately for the watch. The crowd's laughter faded to concerned murmurs as seconds stretched into minutes.

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. Just as my fingers closed around the metal band of the watch, cramping seized my leg. I cried out, the sound swallowed by water as I began to sink.

Then strong arms wrapped around me, hauling me upward. Harrison's face appeared above me, his expression unreadable as he dragged me to the pool's edge.

I collapsed onto the deck, coughing and trembling violently. The watch clattered beside me as I struggled to breathe.

"Always the drama," Harrison muttered, kneeling beside me. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—concern, perhaps even fear.

Then his hand struck my cheek with stunning force.

"You think this is some kind of game?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You think I'll fall for your manipulations again?"

I tasted blood where my lip had split. "Harrison—"

"Four years," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. "Four years I've tried to forget what you did to Lillie. And now you show up here, staging a drowning to make me feel something?"

The crowd had fallen silent, watching our confrontation with horrified fascination.

"Get her out of here," Harrison ordered, standing abruptly. "Before I do something regrettable."

Two security guards stepped forward, but Harrison waved them away. "No. My car."

He grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly to my feet. My dress clung to my shivering body as he dragged me through the stunned crowd toward the exit.

"Harrison," I managed through chattering teeth, "please—you don't understand—"

"Save it," he snapped, shoving me into the waiting limousine.

The door slammed behind us, sealing us in leather-scented darkness. Harrison sat as far from me as possible, already on his phone.

"Richard," he said coldly, "I need to know if we can arrest her for trespassing."

I hugged myself, trying to stop shaking. "I'm sick," I whispered. "I need medication."

He ignored me completely, continuing his call. "Yes, the Wagner Charity Gala. She somehow got past security."

The car pulled away from the curb, carrying me toward a prison of glass and steel where I once had been queen.