My husband brought his mistress to the gala wearing my ring, my dress, and my place at the head table. When someone called her his wife, he didn’t say a word. So I put on a black suit, called the lawyer, and waited for my son to say, “Dad, you’re paying for everything today.”

PART 1

I woke with a splitting headache, as if someone had punched me straight in the skull. The bedside lamp was still on, bathing my beautiful Beverly Hills bedroom in a sickly yellow light.

It took me a few seconds to understand why my body felt so cold.

The dressing room door stood wide open.

When I looked inside, the racks were completely bare. The champagne-colored dress I’d ordered for the Grand Horizon Group charity gala was gone. So were my diamond earrings, the gold bracelet my grandmother had left me, my wedding ring, and the gold invitation card that bore my name: Vivian Albright.

I tried to sit up immediately, but my body simply wouldn’t obey. My mouth tasted bitter, my legs felt weak, and a strange, heavy pressure lingered behind my eyes.

Mrs. Higgins, the loyal maid who’d worked in my house for over fifteen years, stood by the bedroom door. She held a glass of warm water in her hands, and her fingers were trembling.

“What time is it right now, Mrs. Higgins?” I asked, my voice cracked and distant.

“It’s almost 8 o’clock, ma’am,” she whispered nervously.

The charity gala had officially started at 7:30.

Mrs. Higgins lowered her gaze to the floor, unable to look me in the eye. “Miss Brenda said you were feeling terribly unwell tonight. She asked to go in your place so Mr. Christopher wouldn’t look bad in front of the guests.