“My Husband Brought His Mistress to the Annual Gala and Said I Didn’t Belong There—Minutes Later, I Revealed a $2.5 Billion Family Secret That Silenced the Room”
PART 1
“That dress will only embarrass me,” I heard my husband say from the second floor, while I stood in front of the mirror with freezing hands.
Spencer Conway had just stepped out of his black SUV at our wealthy estate in Shaker Heights, impeccably dressed in his gray suit, as if he were about to receive an award and not break my heart for the last time. Mrs. Gladys, the housekeeper, carefully asked him if I should get out. He didn’t even glance up at my window.
“No need. I’ll go with Paisley tonight,” Spencer replied coldly.
I gripped the curtain tightly until my nails dug into my palm. I was wearing the only formal dress I still owned, a navy blue one I had bought before marrying Spencer. The cuffs were already worn.
In three years, I never asked him for money, never used my last name, and never boasted about who my father was. I thought humility would make him love me. I thought if I made myself small, he would see me as more approachable. How foolish I was.
Then I heard heels clicking on the marble floor. Paisley Daley appeared on my husband’s arm, wearing a champagne-colored dress and a diamond necklace that sparkled mockingly. She clung to him with a cloying smile.
“Do I look pretty, Spencer?” Paisley asked, looking up at him.
He looked at her like he had never looked at me before. “You look perfect,” he said softly.
I went downstairs slowly. When Spencer saw me, he frowned as if I were a stain on his carpet. Paisley looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on the worn sleeves of my dress.
“Oh, so you’re the wife,” Paisley said, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Now I understand why he never takes you anywhere.”
Spencer didn’t correct her. His silence was worse than a slap.
“The Apex Group’s annual event is too important,” Paisley continued, tossing her hair. “Businesspeople, politicians, foreign partners, real people attend. You’d be better off staying home, Phoebe. Looking like that, you might ruin his evening.”
I looked at my husband, waiting for a word, just one, but he only offered her his arm. “Let’s go. We’re running late,” Spencer said.
I saw them leave together. The engine disappeared into the night, and Mrs. Gladys approached with red eyes.
“Ma’am, shall I prepare something for you?” Mrs. Gladys asked gently.
“I’m not hungry,” I whispered.
I went up to my room, closed the door, and looked toward Euclid Avenue, where dinner was being held that night on the top floor of a luxury hotel. My cell phone vibrated, and it was a message from Paisley. I didn’t know how she had gotten my number.
It was a photo taken from the back seat of the truck. She was smiling and making a peace sign, while Spencer’s profile was visible in the reflection of the window. Below she wrote: “Tonight I’ll make him completely mine. Just you wait.”
I placed my cell phone on the table. I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and took out an old red velvet box. Inside was a SIM card I hadn’t used in three years. I inserted it into the phone, and there was only one contact in the address book.
It was Dad.
My finger trembled on the screen before I pressed the dial tone. It rang once, twice, three times.
“Phoebe?” answered a deep, aged, incredulous voice.
My heart broke at the sound. “Dad, I want to go home,” I said.
On the other end there was a long silence. Then, Raymond Harrell, the man most feared by half of the country’s business community, spoke with a broken voice.
“My girl, I’m coming for you,” Raymond said.
And then I understood that that night was not going to end with tears, but with a truth so great that no one in that room could bear to look at it. I couldn’t believe what was about to happen.
PART 2
When I hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the velvet box as if it were all that remained of the woman I once was. Three years ago, I left my father’s house in a storm, convinced that Spencer’s love was worth more than any name.
