The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Design Comeback

The lights in the dining hall dimmed as a renowned auctioneer from Sotheby's took the stage to host the charity bidding.

Aubrey looked across the table at Dominick. "I read Bloomberg every morning," she said smoothly, brushing off his question.

Dominick stared at her for a long second. He didn't push it, but his eyes tracked her every movement.

The auctioneer presented the next item. It was a vintage Bvlgari emerald necklace, donated by Veronica.

"Starting bid at one hundred thousand dollars," the auctioneer announced. A few paddles went up in the back.

Veronica turned her head and looked at Dominick. Her eyes were wide, practically begging him to bid.

Aubrey watched them. She picked up her water glass to hide the bitter twist of her lips.

Dominick's face remained completely expressionless. He raised his paddle. "One million."

The entire room went dead silent. Then, a wave of shocked gasps and frantic whispers flooded the hall.

A million dollars for a necklace worth barely three hundred thousand. It was a massive, public declaration of support for the actress.

Portia Vaughn leaned past two chairs just to look at Aubrey. Her eyes were filled with fake pity and real cruelty.

Aubrey's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. She kept the smile glued to her face.

The gavel slammed down. "Sold!" Veronica gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked at Dominick with teary eyes and mouthed a thank you.

Dominick gave a single, curt nod. But his eyes immediately slid diagonally across the table, landing on Aubrey.

Aubrey didn't give him a single second of eye contact. She looked down at her phone, typing a fast reply to Sloane's angry text.

The dinner finally ended. Guests began filtering out toward the valet waiting area.

Aubrey pulled her velvet shawl tightly over her shoulders. She just wanted to call her own driver and escape the suffocating air.

She walked down the side corridor of the museum. A large, solid figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

Dominick stood there. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. He smelled of expensive cologne and raw power.

"Let your driver go," he ordered. His voice left no room for argument. "You're riding back with me."

Aubrey let out a harsh laugh. "Why? Is Veronica's van not big enough to fit your ego?"

Dominick took a step forward. His dress shoes clicked heavily against the marble floor.

"There are paparazzi swarming the exits," he said, looking down at her. His voice was ice. "Do you want tomorrow's New York Post headline to be about the Carrillo marriage collapsing?"

Aubrey ground her teeth together. She knew the rules of her family's trust fund. She couldn't tank his stock prices.

She glared at him, her chest heaving. She stepped around him and walked aggressively toward the exit.

They pushed through the glass doors together. A blinding wall of camera flashes assaulted them instantly.

Dominick's large hand clamped down on her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, playing the role of the fiercely protective husband.

The heat of his palm burned right through the velvet of her dress. Her entire body went rigid.

The bodyguard pulled open the door to the stretch Lincoln. Aubrey practically dove into the backseat to get away from his touch.

Dominick climbed in right behind her. The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the screaming reporters.