I looked at the two of them—this disgusting pair—and felt nothing but nausea rising in my throat.
"Do whatever you want, Maxwell. You'd better pray your precious little sister-in-law lives long enough to make it to the gala."
I turned on my heel, walked out of the villa, and drove my Porsche straight to the office.
The moment I arrived at Fox Group, I called an emergency meeting with both the legal and finance departments.
A full audit. Every project Maxwell had his fingers in, every dollar he'd funneled through the company.
If I was going to cut him off, I was going to cut clean.
Over the next few days, I didn't go back to that revolting house. Not once.
I was busy laying the groundwork, preparing a gift the Henson sisters would remember for the rest of their miserable lives.
K sent me an update.
Antonia's so-called leukemia medical records were forged. Completely fabricated. Her attending physician turned out to be one of Isabel's old admirers, bought off with a staggering sum. And that "voluntary transfer agreement" for the properties—Antonia was already in a rush to cash out. She'd secretly contacted an underground money-laundering ring, planning to mortgage the real estate and move the assets offshore.
All of it happening right under Maxwell's nose, and that fool had no idea.
He was too busy posting melodramatic essays on social media, waxing poetic about the fragility of life and the weight of responsibility.
I scrolled through those nauseating posts and couldn't help but scoff.
Soon. Very soon, the charity gala everyone had been buzzing about would arrive.
Maxwell had gone all out for Antonia's big debut—every socialite, every media outlet in Cloudvale had received an invitation. He wanted the whole world to know what a loyal, devoted man Maxwell Gilbert was. And he wanted the whole world to pressure me, his cold-hearted wife, into handing over my bone marrow.
The day before the gala, Maxwell called.
His voice was hard as steel, laced with the tone of a man who expected absolute obedience.
"Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. The Grand Hyatt. You will be there, dressed to the nines."
"If you don't show up, I'm sending Lily to a boarding school in the middle of nowhere."
My grip tightened around the phone. I swallowed the fury clawing up my chest and kept my voice perfectly level. Not a single ripple.
"Of course. I'll be there right on time."
Maxwell seemed caught off guard by how easily I agreed. He let out a cold grunt and hung up.
I stared at the darkened screen, a slow, razor-thin smile curling at the corner of my lips.
"Are you ready for hell, Maxwell Gilbert?"
"I'm not just going to show up. I'm going to make sure none of you can ever show your faces in Cloudvale again."
I dialed K and gave the final set of instructions.
Everything was in place. All I needed now was the right moment.
The Grand Hyatt's ballroom glittered under a cascade of crystal chandeliers.
Maxwell had booked the entire top floor. The venue was dripping in extravagance—towering floral arrangements, champagne towers, the works.
I stepped through the entrance in a fitted wine-red couture gown, my hair swept up, my heels clicking against the marble. Every pair of eyes in the room snapped toward me.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through dry grass.
"That's Mrs. Gilbert. I heard her husband's giving half his fortune to his ex-girlfriend's sister tonight."
"And he's pressuring her to donate bone marrow too. Can you imagine?"
"Right? But she looks like she can hold her own. How does a woman like that end up a doormat at home?"
I ignored every prying glance, every pitying smirk, and walked straight to the head table.
Maxwell stood there in an impeccably tailored suit, all smiles, shaking hands and trading pleasantries with his guests like a man on top of the world.
Antonia sat in a custom wheelchair, draped in a white chiffon dress, styled to look like some fragile angel plucked from a painting. If you overlooked the carefully applied pallor on her face, she really did look heartbreakingly delicate.
The moment Maxwell saw me approaching, a sharp warning flashed through his eyes.
"Good. You know what's good for you. When it's time to go on stage, play along. Don't embarrass me."
I gave him one cold, withering look and said nothing.
