I froze. It was so absurd I almost laughed.
Then I thought about how little time I had left, and I swallowed whatever words were forming.
Before the gala, Fiona claimed she didn't have a suitable gown.
She went through my closet and, with surgical precision, picked out the most extravagant birthday gift Blake had ever given me—a one-of-a-kind dress valued at six hundred million dollars, along with the matching jewelry set.
She walked in on Blake's arm. I walked behind her, holding up her train. She became the belle of the ball.
The mockery and whispers followed me like a shadow.
"You have to hand it to Vance—he's got his women trained. His wife carries his mistress's dress, and she doesn't make a peep."
"Wife? Didn't you hear? Vance already got his marriage certificate with the little mistress. Theresa Sullivan is just some used-up rag he strung along for ten years. She's nothing."
"How stupid do you have to be to walk away with nothing after a whole decade? Honestly, living like that—worse than a dog—she might as well be dead."
I fled the ballroom and locked myself in the restroom.
That was where I heard someone ribbing Blake outside.