At seven o'clock in the evening, the cold winter night swallowed Long Island.
Inside the massive dining hall of the Spencer Estate, the family was gathered for formal dinner.
Cornelius, the ruthless patriarch of the family, sat at the head of the long mahogany table.
He was frowning deeply, listening to his eldest son, Sterling, report on the day's volatile stock fluctuations.
Barnett sat on the right side of the table.
He was carefully slicing a piece of rare steak, placing it onto Joslyn's plate, playing the role of the devoted, perfect husband.
Suddenly, a loud, mechanical grinding noise echoed from outside.
The heavy iron gates of the estate were slowly pulling open.
Three black Rolls-Royce Phantoms glided up the long driveway like ghosts.
The blinding headlights swept violently across the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room.
The conversation at the table died instantly.
Everyone lowered their silver forks and stared out the glass.
Alistair, the butler, rushed into the dining room, his face pale.
"Sir, the second young master has returned... and he brought quite a procession."
Cornelius slammed his linen napkin onto the table.
"That bastard finally decides to show his face? Let's go see what kind of circus he's running."
The entire family pushed their chairs back and moved into the grand foyer.
The moment they stopped, the massive oak front doors were pulled open by two bodyguards.
The first thing the family saw was an army of estate staff.
Over a dozen maids and drivers marched in, carrying mountains of Bergdorf Goodman shopping bags.
They dropped the bags onto the marble floor, practically burying half the foyer in luxury packaging.
Then, Dixon stepped through the doorway.
He walked with a slow, arrogant swagger, a cold, mocking smirk playing on his lips.
And tucked firmly into the crook of his arm was a woman who demanded the air in the room.
Gretchen wore the emerald-green silk gown.
The massive emerald necklace rested against her collarbones, catching the light of the crystal chandelier and throwing blinding green sparks across the walls.
She tilted her chin up.
Her eyes were cold and sharp.
She looked like a conquering queen stepping onto the ashes of her enemies, a complete contrast to the broken, humiliated woman from the morning.
The moment the family recognized her face, a collective, sharp gasp sucked the oxygen out of the room.
The foyer plunged into a deathly silence.
Camilla, Barnett's mother, let out a sharp, strangled gasp, her face completely paling. She pressed a trembling hand over her chest, staring in utter disbelief at the woman she had once treated as a daughter, her mind clearly reeling from the sheer audacity of the display and the inevitable, catastrophic scandal to come.
Cornelius's face turned a dangerous shade of purple.
He slammed the heavy brass tip of his cane into the marble floor.
Barnett's pupils shrank to tiny pinpricks.
He stared at Gretchen's pale hand resting on Dixon's dark suit sleeve.
His chest heaved as his breathing turned ragged and heavy.
Joslyn, standing right behind Barnett, turned the color of a corpse.
She dug her fingernails so deeply into her palms that she almost drew blood, her eyes wide with a sickening, violent jealousy.
"Good evening, everyone."
Dixon's lazy, penetrating voice shattered the silence.
"Dixon! What the hell are you doing bringing this woman back here?!"
Cornelius roared, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Haven't you embarrassed this family enough in the press today?!"
"Embarrassed?"
Dixon let out a low chuckle.
He pulled Gretchen tighter against his side, his hand resting heavily on her hip.
"I think I'm bringing honor to the family name."
He raised his voice, making sure every single syllable hit them like a hammer.
"Grandfather, allow me to formally introduce you."
Dixon looked around the room, his eyes filled with dark amusement.
"This is my legal wife. The new second Mrs. Spencer. Gretchen Spencer."
The title struck the room like a lightning bolt.
Camilla's knees buckled.
Sterling had to grab her waist to keep her from collapsing onto the floor.
Barnett violently shoved Joslyn aside.
He stormed across the foyer and grabbed two fistfuls of Dixon's shirt collar.
"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Barnett screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
Dixon didn't even flinch.
He let Barnett hold him, staring back at his older brother with eyes that looked at garbage.
"What's wrong, brother? Can't bring yourself to say hello to your sister-in-law?"
Gretchen watched Barnett lose his mind.
A twisted, dark thrill of pleasure rushed through her veins.
She slowly reached out her hand.
She gently patted the back of Barnett's white-knuckled fist.
"Let him go, Barnett."
Gretchen's voice was dripping with a sickly sweet, gentle concern.
"If you wrinkle his suit, it will break my heart."
Barnett snatched his hands back as if her skin was made of burning acid.
He stumbled backward, staring at the radiant, terrifying stranger in front of him.
For the first time since he woke up in the hospital, Barnett felt that he had completely lost control of his world.
