The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius

The flashbulbs were blinding. Ellyn stepped onto the red carpet alone, the humidity of the evening making her dress cling uncomfortably to her skin.

"Where's Hardy?" a reporter shouted. "Trouble in paradise?"

Ellyn ignored them, keeping her chin high. She entered the ballroom, the heavy bass of the string quartet vibrating in the floorboards.

Sloane Burnett intercepted her near the champagne tower. Hardy's cousin was wearing a dress that cost more than Ellyn's childhood home.

"Bold choice," Sloane sneered, looking Ellyn up and down. "Wearing last season's cut. Is the allowance running low because your daddy gambled it all away?"

A few women nearby tittered behind their fans.

"It's vintage, Sloane," Ellyn said, her voice steady despite the rapid thudding of her heart. "Class doesn't have an expiration date. Unlike your trust fund, if you keep failing your board reviews."

Sloane's face flushed red. She opened her mouth to retort, but a hush fell over the room. The air shifted, sucked toward the grand entrance.

Hardy walked in.

He looked devastating in a tuxedo, his jawline sharp, his presence commanding. But he wasn't alone.

Tucked into the crook of his arm was a hand gloved in white silk.

Izabella Macdonald floated beside him. She wore white-pure, angelic white-looking for all the world like a bride.

Ellyn felt the blood drain from her face. Her legs went numb.

"Oh, this is delicious," Sloane whispered in her ear. "Look at them. The King and his true Queen. You should probably leave through the kitchen."

Hardy scanned the room. His eyes locked onto Ellyn. His expression was unreadable-a mask of stone. He didn't look guilty. He looked... resolved.

Izabella guided him toward Ellyn. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

"Ellyn!" Izabella beamed, reaching out. She pulled Ellyn into a hug that felt like a constrictor snake wrapping around its prey.

"Ellyn, I am so terribly sorry about this," Izabella whispered, her lips brushing Ellyn's ear, her voice a perfect imitation of remorse. "My ankle is killing me, and he's just being a gentleman. Please don't be upset with him."

Ellyn stiffened. She smelled the perfume on Izabella-Santal 33. The same scent Hardy wore.

Cameras flashed maniacally. The headline was writing itself: The Wife, The Husband, and The Soulmate.

"Hardy," Ellyn said, looking at her husband. "What is this?"

Hardy didn't answer. He looked at Izabella, who was gazing up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"She twisted her ankle outside," Hardy said finally. "I helped her in."

"And the arm?" Ellyn asked.

Sloane laughed loudly. "Face it, honey. You're holding a place card."

Ellyn took a step back. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest. She turned to leave.

Hardy moved.