At the annual party, my husband showed up with his mistress on his arm and whispered, “My wife doesn’t belong here.” I walked in minutes later wearing a ruby ​​necklace, with a missed call from my father and a $2.5 billion family secret that was going to change the faces of all the guests.

PART 1

“That dress is only going to embarrass me,” I heard my husband say from the second floor, as I stood before the mirror with hands gone cold.

Spencer Conway had just stepped out of his black SUV at our estate in Shaker Heights, perfectly dressed in a gray suit, as though he were heading to an awards ceremony rather than preparing to break my heart one final time.

Mrs. Gladys, the housekeeper, quietly asked whether I would be joining him. He never once looked toward my window.

“No need. I’ll go with Paisley tonight,” Spencer replied coldly.

I tightened my grip on the curtain until my nails pressed into my palm. I was wearing the only formal dress I had left, a navy blue one I had bought before marrying Spencer. The cuffs had begun to fray.

In three years, I never asked him for money, never used my last name, and never boasted about who my father was.

I believed modesty would make him love me. I believed that if I made myself smaller, he would find me easier to love. I had been terribly wrong.

A moment later, heels clicked sharply across the marble floor. Paisley Daley came into view on my husband’s arm, wearing a champagne-colored dress and a diamond necklace that caught the light with every step. She held tightly to his arm with a sugary smile.

“Do I look pretty, Spencer?” Paisley asked, looking up at him.

He looked at her in a way he had never looked at me. “You look perfect,” he said softly.

I descended the stairs slowly. When Spencer saw me, he frowned as though I were an ugly mark on something he owned. Paisley looked me up and down, her eyes pausing on the worn sleeves of my dress.