Chapter 137 - 0137: Getting What He Always Wanted

Chapter 137: Chapter 0137: Getting What He Always Wanted

Elena’s Point Of View

The following week arrived with a physical weight I could feel deep in my bones, a suffocating pressure that settled over my chest the moment I woke each morning.

Every sunrise felt less like a new day and more like a grim warning that something was shifting, tightening around me, slowly strangling whatever air I had left.

I would catch myself standing in doorways, forgetting why I’d walked into a room, my mind endlessly circling the same wreckage. Sleep offered no refuge either; I would lie awake in the dark, replaying every cruel word Graham had ever spoken, every lie dressed up as affection, until exhaustion dragged me under only to spit me back out a few hours later, hollow and raw.

Even my own bed had become a battlefield, the empty space beside me a constant reminder of everything I’d once believed and everything that had turned out to be a lie.

The Elites’ Gala.

A night of glittering masks and sharper tongues. Power dressed in heavy satin, lies wrapped in practiced, dazzling smiles. Everyone who mattered in this godforsaken city would be there, and I had no choice but to attend.

My lawyer had chosen this specific event for a reason. Too many eyes, too many high-profile guests, too much chaos... the absolute perfect place for a discreet exchange of the financial documents I needed to secure my escape.

And with Graham’s security detail shadowing my every move like vultures circling a dying thing, it was the only window of opportunity I had left. The thought alone made my palms damp with nerves, though I refused to let it show.

I had rehearsed the exchange a dozen times in my head, every possible complication, every way it could unravel, until the plan felt less like a lifeline and more like a blade balanced on its edge.

Still, I hated every single second of the preparation for it.

Standing before the full-length mirror in my dressing room, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me through the glass. My reflection was all sleek confidence, sharp lines, and cold, untouchable allure....a masterfully crafted armor hiding the trembling, hollow exhaustion I felt on the inside.

I studied her the way I might study a stranger, searching for some flicker of the girl I used to be before Graham had slowly, deliberately erased her. I wondered, not for the first time, when exactly I had stopped recognizing my own face, when the softness had hardened into something so brittle it might shatter with the wrong touch.

The midnight-blue gown Lexy had picked out for me glided over my skin like liquid sin. The high slit climbed daringly up my thigh, bold, deliberate, and unforgiving. The dark fabric shimmered under the soft vanity lights, whispering dangerous secrets between heartbreak and quiet defiance.

My dark hair fell in soft, loose waves over my bare shoulders, and a heavy silver choker rested snugly against my collarbone, looking less like fine jewelry and more like a gilded collar disguised as elegance.

I fastened it with steady hands, though my heart hammered beneath my ribs like something desperate to escape. For a moment, I let my fingers linger against the cold metal, imagining it was Graham’s grip I was loosening instead.

The faint, sweet scent of jasmine hung around me... feminine, sharp, dangerous, and unforgettable. I took my lipstick and painted my lips a deep, blood-red wine, staring into the dark eyes of the woman I’d been forced to become just to survive my own life.

There was a strange comfort in the ritual, in becoming someone hard enough that nothing could touch her. I told myself that armor, however heavy, was better than the alternative: standing bare and breakable in front of people who would delight in watching me crumble.

"Mrs. Sinclair," I murmured softly to the glass, bitter irony curling at the edge of my voice until it sounded raspy. "Queen of empty houses and tragic fa?ades."

The cool night air bit sharply at my exposed skin the moment I stepped through the front entrance. Graham already stood by the rear door of his car, that sleek, obsidian beast of a Maybach, his usual suffocating arrogance wrapped around him like a ten-thousand-dollar coat. His cold, mocking smirk appeared long before his voice did.

"Look at you," he said, his dark eyes raking down my body with slow, possessive evaluation. "Radiant, Elena. Absolutely beautiful. Shall we go?"

I followed his smug gaze past his broad shoulders toward the open passenger door of the Maybach. The interior light was on, casting a soft, warm glow over the backseat, and sitting right there, lounging against the rich leather as though she owned the vehicle, was her.

Lilian.

Her soft, blonde curls were styled into flawless, cascading ringlets, her lips painted a glossy, wet crimson. She wore a dark red velvet dress, but what made my breath catch in my throat was the heavy, deliberate way both of her hands cradled her rounded belly, resting there like an absolute, undeniable claim.

Something inside me cracked further, though I refused to let it reach my face. My mind flashed, unbidden, to every ultrasound photo I’d never gotten to take, every nursery I’d never gotten to paint, and the unfairness of it all threatened to buckle my knees right there on the driveway.

My jaw tightened until my teeth ground together. My stomach turned sickeningly.

"Not a chance in hell," I said finally, brushing right past Graham before he could touch my arm.

"Elena, don’t start this nonsense out here on the driveway," Graham snapped, his voice dropping into that quiet, controlling tone he used whenever I dared to defy him. "Get in the car. We have an appearance to maintain."

I turned, giving him a look so freezing it made him pause mid-step. "Enjoy the romantic ride, Graham," I said, my voice dripping with icy contempt. "Take good care of your precious passenger. I’ll see you at the venue in my own car."

"Elena..."

The violent slam of my car door drowned out whatever pathetic lie was about to slip past his lips next. I sat in the back seat of my own car, hands trembling in my lap, and forced myself to breathe until the shaking stopped. Only then did I let a single tear escape, swiftly wiped away before it could ruin the mask I’d spent an hour perfecting.

*********

The grand ballroom was already a sprawling, overwhelming spectacle by the time my driver pulled up to the red carpet. Golden crystal chandeliers suspended from the high, vaulted ceilings scattered light across the room like shattered diamonds.

A live quartet of violins danced softly through the air, playing a classical melody entirely drowned out by the shallow, rehearsed laughter echoing off the marble walls.

The heavy scent of vintage champagne, thousands of crushed red roses, and suffocating corporate ambition blended into something rich, intoxicating, and completely rotten underneath all that gilded luxury.

I stepped inside, the sharp point of my stiletto heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor. Eyes immediately swiveled toward me. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the nearest clusters of socialites.

They always did. They were waiting to see the tragic wife. They were waiting for the trainwreck. I wondered how many of them had known about Lilian long before I had, how many had smiled at me over dinner tables while harboring that secret like a delicious little stone in their pockets.

I refused to give them the satisfaction of looking back. I held my chin high, my spine straight as an iron rod, pretending my heart wasn’t threatening to shatter with every step.

A passing waiter offered a tray of crystal flutes. I reached out and took a glass of champagne, letting the cold, biting bubbles sting the back of my dry throat as I swallowed. One more mask for the night. One more flawless performance for the wolves.

"Ah, Mrs. Sinclair!" A deep, familiar voice greeted me from the side. It was Mr. Douglas, one of Graham’s chief financial associates, holding a whiskey glass and beaming with polite enthusiasm. "Always absolute perfection. You truly light up every room you walk into."

I forced a smooth, practiced smile onto my lips, the kind that was brilliant on the surface but never reached my dead, exhausted eyes. "Careful, Mr. Douglas. Too much flattery might ruin your reputation as a hard-headed businessman."

He chuckled awkwardly, shifting his weight and nervously adjusting his bowtie. "Ah, well, a man has to try his best to stay on the good side of the Sinclairs, doesn’t he? Your husband’s empire is expanding by the day."

"Then you should speak to him about business, Mr. Douglas, not my appearance," I said lightly, swirling the champagne in my flute. "Money lasts much longer than beauty in this city."

He nodded quickly, clearing his throat to hide his embarrassment. "Right, yes, of course. I quite agree. In fact, regarding the new expansion proposal for the downtown harbor project..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a high, sickeningly sweet voice cut straight through the soft violin music behind us like a razor blade slicing through silk.

"Oh," the voice drawled, dripping with venomous amusement, "you didn’t tell me I’d get to meet the woman who’s only holding the title."

Every single muscle in my body went instantly rigid. The glass in my hand felt heavy, freezing cold against my knuckles.

I didn’t turn around right away. I took another slow, deliberate sip of champagne instead, taking a long second to force my pulse back into a steady, unbothered rhythm before I turned to face her.

Lilian.

She stood just three feet away, draped in a blood-red silk gown that clung to every single curve of her body like paint. The slit on her dress ran dangerously high up her left thigh, an explicit, pathetic attempt to rival mine.

Heavy diamond earrings winked from her ears, and a matching diamond necklace rested against her chest, but none of the expensive ice was half as blinding as the pure, smug malice radiating from her eyes.

And, of course, her hand rested flat, heavy, and deliberate over her swollen stomach.

A cruel, public message meant to ruin me in front of the entire room.

"Lilian," I said finally, my tone as smooth, flat, and unbreakable as polished glass. "What a truly unpleasant surprise."

She curled her painted red lips into a wide, cat-like grin, her dark eyes sparkling with sadistic glee. "Don’t be so icy, Elena. Is that any way to welcome family? I was just giving Mr. Douglas a compliment on your... incredible endurance."

"Endurance?" I tilted my head slightly, holding her gaze without blinking, pretending to ponder the word. "You say that as if I’m running a marathon."

"Oh, but aren’t you, sweetie?" she cooed, taking a slow, swaying step closer, her expensive perfume choking out the scent of the nearby roses. "Day after day, night after night, still desperately pretending to be the dutiful, loving wife while your husband shares his bed, his secret bank accounts, and his nights with someone else entirely?"

Mr. Douglas looked frantically back and forth between the two of us, his face flushing a bright, embarrassed red. "Ladies... ah... if you’ll excuse me, I see an investor I need to speak with..."

He didn’t even wait for a response. He practically sprinted away toward the bar. Smart man.

I turned my full attention back to Lilian, keeping my expression completely devoid of emotion, though inside, something ancient and furious clawed at the walls I’d built. "I didn’t realize tonight’s gala had been downgraded to a venue for cheap gossip. I was under the impression the dress code required actual class, not just an expensive tag."

She let out a soft, tinkling laugh that sounded completely hollow. "Oh, you’re still so bitter and witty! I’ve always admired that about you, Elena. You pretend so well." She gently stroked the slender stem of her champagne flute with her long, manicured nails, leaning in slightly before adding, "Graham told me all about his big investment deal tonight, you know. The international board members. The private contracts. You see, he confides in me about everything now. He doesn’t tell you anything, does he?"

Her emphasis on his name landed heavy, sharp, and lingering, like a blade she twisted just to watch me flinch.

Then, like twisting a rusty knife into an open wound, she smoothed her palm slowly, lovingly over her rounded belly, thrusting her pregnancy into my face.

"I’m getting so close to my delivery date," Lilian whispered, her voice practically dripping with artificial honey. "The doctor says it’s a healthy, strong boy. But then again, you already knew that, didn’t you? You knew he was finally getting what he always wanted."