Replaced By A Mistress: The Wife's Revenge

Harper POV

The red silk gown was tight enough to cut off my circulation-exactly the way Bennet liked it.

He had chosen it, of course.

"Red is the color of passion," he had murmured as he zipped it up my spine, his knuckles grazing my skin.

"Red is the color of blood," I had thought, staring into the vanity mirror.

We swept into the ballroom of the Crosby-owned hotel for the Anniversary Gala, a space that was dripping with crystals and gold.

Five hundred of New York's elite had gathered to celebrate a marriage that didn't exist outside of photo ops.

Bennet's hand was a steel vise on my lower back, steering me through the crowd.

He paraded me around like a prize pony he was considering putting down.

"Smile, Angel," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "Everyone is watching."

I forced my lips upward.

It felt like chewing on broken glass.

That was when I noticed the waitresses.

They were all wearing elaborate Venetian masquerade masks, obscuring half their faces.

"Why the masks?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice light.

"A theme," Bennet said dismissively, tightening his grip. "So no one outshines you, my dear."

Liar.

It was so he could hide her in plain sight.

I scanned the room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I saw her near the champagne tower.

The platinum blonde hair was unmistakable, even beneath the feathers and lace.

She was watching us.

Her eyes were burning holes into my dress, dissecting me.

She moved with a predatory grace, carrying a tray of crystal flutes.

As she passed a group of older Dons, she stumbled.

It was theatrical.

Fake.

The tray crashed to the floor. Glass shattered, and champagne soaked the polished shoes of a Capo.

The room went silent.

Bennet released me instantly.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. "I need to handle this incompetence."

He marched over to the masked waitress.

He grabbed her upper arm-hard enough to bruise.

"My office," he growled, loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear. "Now."

He dragged her out of the ballroom, playing the part of the perfectionist host.

The guests whispered behind their hands.

I waited ten seconds, then followed.

I knew the layout of this hotel better than anyone. I had designed it, after all.

I slipped into the service corridor.

When I reached the executive meeting room, the door was slightly ajar.

I didn't need to see to know what was happening.

I heard the soft, desperate moans.

I peeked through the crack.

Bennet had her pressed against the mahogany conference table, her legs wrapped around him.

Her mask was off, discarded on the floor.

They were devouring each other.

"You bad girl," Bennet groaned, his voice thick with lust. "You embarrassed me on purpose."

"Punish me," Gianna begged, arching into him.

I turned away.

I didn't feel jealousy.

I felt a cold, heavy disgust.

I returned to the ballroom just as Bennet walked back in, adjusting his tie with practiced ease.

He looked flushed, energized.

He took the stage, commanding the room.

"My friends," he announced, raising a glass. "Tonight, I honor my wife. To celebrate five years, I am gifting her the deed to this very hotel."

Applause erupted, deafening and hollow.

He handed me a leather folder.

It was a prop.

Just like me.

As I stepped down from the stage, Gianna appeared from the shadows near the stairs.

She was still in her waitress uniform, but her mask was gone, her lipstick smeared.

She walked straight at me.

She didn't slow down.

As we crossed paths, she slammed her shoulder into my chest.

"Oops," she sneered, her voice a venomous whisper.

I stumbled back, the heel of my shoe catching on the hem of my gown.

Bennet was there instantly.

But he didn't catch me.

He reached out and steadied Gianna.

"Watch where you are going," he snapped at me.

The shove from his rejection hit harder than the physical blow.

Thrown off balance, I fell backward.

My head cracked against the sharp marble corner of a pillar.

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

Black spots danced in my vision.

The last thing I saw was Bennet holding Gianna's waist, looking down at me with cold annoyance, before the darkness took me.