The Oakhaven Club gala had been scheduled for weeks. Kasie had stared at the invitation for a long time before adding it to the calendar. Another command performance. Another evening of playing the beautiful accessory.
She chose the navy-blue gown Margo had once called "appropriate" and the diamond earrings Harris had given her after his first suspicious late night. She put them on like armor. Every piece of jewelry was a receipt for a lie.
By the time Harris came home to change, she was waiting by the door, serene and polished. He had no idea she'd spent the previous night photographing her jewelry for a consignment dealer. He had no idea his mother had signed away ten billion dollars to keep his secrets buried. He kissed her cheek, told her she looked beautiful, and she smiled and said thank you. The lie tasted like champagne before she'd taken a sip.
The Oakhaven Club hummed with hushed wealth and crystal glasses. Kasie kept her hand on Harris's arm, her expression a flawless mask of wifely devotion. She was an accessory tonight, and she played her part with four years of practice.
Harris's friends drifted over—slick, back-slapping men in bespoke suits. Their greetings were polite but dismissive, eyes glinting with private amusement. She could feel their judgment. They saw her as Harris had trained them to see her: the pretty, unremarkable girl who had married up. They didn't know she was worth ten billion dollars more than every man in this room.
"You wait here, honey," Harris said, parking her at a secluded table. "I need to talk to important partners."
She watched him melt into the crowd. The charming, powerful heir. She sipped her champagne, a silent statue in the corner.
After a while, she passed a semi-private alcove on her way to the restroom. Familiar laughter. Her own name.
"Harris, your wife is looking pretty tame tonight. You finally got her trained?"
Another voice chimed in. "She's just a decorative piece. What is she without the Byrd name? She couldn't afford rent without you."
Kasie froze. She waited for Harris to defend her.
Instead, he laughed. A smug, self-satisfied sound. "Women. They throw their little tantrums. She'll get over it. She's not going anywhere. She can't."
The blood rushed to Kasie's head. This was the moment. Leighton's voice echoed in her mind: You need a public scene. Something undeniable. With witnesses. Angry men make mistakes. Angry men leave evidence.
She lifted a Cosmopolitan from a passing waiter's tray. The liquid was a shocking, vibrant red.
She walked into the alcove. The laughter died.
Kasie smiled sweetly and raised her glass to Todd. "You're right. Without the Byrd family, I am nothing."
Then she turned to her husband, eyes cold. "So this is a toast. To my husband's generosity."
She flicked her wrist.
The cocktail arced through the air and splashed across Harris's white tuxedo. Red liquid dripped down his chin, staining his shirt like blood.
Dead silence. Drip, drip, drip.
Harris's shock morphed into pure rage. He shot to his feet, grabbed her arm with brutal force. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me? You and your friends did this."
He dragged her through the main room. Heads turned. Whispers erupted. The perfect couple was imploding for all of New York society to witness.
He threw her into the car and slammed the door.
Kasie leaned against the cool glass, watching the city lights blur. Her arm throbbed where he'd gripped her. Bruises were already forming.
A cold satisfaction settled in her chest. Every witness was evidence. Every bruise was ammunition. He had shown his true face in public—exactly as she'd planned.
The plan was working perfectly.
