The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius

Ellyn walked back into the ballroom. It felt like walking into a lion's den without a whip.

She found her place card at the long banquet table. It was at the far end, near the kitchen doors. Hardy's seat at the head of the table was empty.

She sat down. Directly across from her sat Dian Burnett, Hardy's mother.

Dian took a sip of her wine, her eyes cold over the rim of the glass.

"Where is my son?" Dian asked.

"He had business to attend to," Ellyn said, unfolding her napkin.

"Business named Izabella, I assume," Dian said loudly. The guests nearby fell silent. "Thank God. Someone needs to bring some pedigree back to this family. Some fabrics are just... polyester. No matter how much you tailor them."

Ellyn gripped her silverware. The metal dug into her palms.

"I hope the Pennington bankruptcy proceedings are going well," Dian continued, slicing her steak aggressively. "It must be hard, knowing your father is spending your allowance on horse races."

Laughter rippled down the table.

Ellyn stood up. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Leaving so soon?" Dian smiled. "Don't let the door hit you."

Ellyn walked out. She didn't run, but it was close. She pushed through the French doors onto the terrace, gasping for air. The night was humid, the sky threatening rain.

She walked to the far end of the garden, into the shadows of the hedges. She needed to hide.

Voices drifted from the other side of the greenery. A group of debutantes, smoking.

"Did you see Hardy leave? He practically ran to the valet."

"Izabella is winning. I heard he's buying back the penthouse for her."

"Ellyn is a joke. A placeholder. Everyone knows she trapped him with that pregnancy scare three years ago."

Ellyn wrapped her arms around herself. A joke. That's all she was.

She turned to go back inside and collided with a body.

Sloane blocked her path.

"Eavesdropping?" Sloane smirked. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"Get out of my way, Sloane."

"Hardy doesn't love you," Sloane hissed, stepping closer. "He defended you earlier to save face. But tonight? He's with her. He's probably buying her diamonds right now."

"At least I have the ring," Ellyn said, her voice shaking. "You're just a spectator."

Sloane raised a hand to shove her.

Ellyn sidestepped. Sloane stumbled, her high heel sinking into the soft earth of the flowerbed. She flailed, grabbing a rosebush. Thorns tore at her expensive dress.

Ellyn didn't stop. She walked deeper into the terrace, toward the stone balustrade overlooking the city.

She needed silence.

But she didn't get it.

From the dark corner of the terrace, a familiar voice drifted on the wind. Low. Baritone.

Hardy.