Miles away, in a sprawling, sunlit, heavily secured estate tucked away in the lush greenery of the West Hills, my reality was vastly, beautifully different.
I was kneeling on a plush, cream-colored rug in the center of a massive, joyous living room. I was gently adjusting the tiny, sparkling tulle skirt of my two-year-old daughter, Aria.
Aria giggled, a bright, musical sound that filled the entire house, and looked up at me. My breath caught in my throat, just as it did every single day. She had striking, piercing hazel eyes. They were the exact, undeniable, carbon-copy replica of the eyes her father used to look at me with before his heart turned cold. She had his unruly, dark curly hair, and the exact same dimple in her left cheek when she smiled.
“You look like a beautiful princess, my love,” I whispered, leaning forward to kiss her tiny nose.
I stood up, smoothing the front of my own custom-designed, emerald-green silk evening gown.
After Graham left, I hadn’t wallowed in self-pity. I hadn’t hidden from the world. I had taken my half of our liquidated marital assets, combined it with my own substantial savings, and poured every single ounce of my brilliant, unused energy into a singular, massive purpose.
I founded The Aria Trust.
It was a pediatric healthcare foundation designed to fund cutting-edge fertility research and provide massive financial grants to couples struggling to afford IVF treatments. In less than two years, the foundation had exploded, taking the city’s philanthropic scene by storm. I was no longer just the quiet, supportive wife of a marketing executive. I was a prominent, highly respected, incredibly powerful philanthropist. I was a titan in my own right.
Tonight was our inaugural, highly publicized charity gala at the historic Sentinel Hotel.
My phone buzzed on the entryway table. It was a text from my executive assistant.
Sadie, the VIP guest list is fully confirmed and seated. Whitlock Marketing just checked in at Table 4.
Graham’s PR firm had desperately purchased a $20,000 VIP table to the gala, seeking the excellent public relations boost associated with the city’s hottest new charity. Graham and Paige had dressed in their finest clothes and walked the red carpet, entirely, tragically unaware of who the founder and sole director of the charity actually was. My name had been kept strictly off the preliminary marketing materials to build suspense.
I looked at myself in the gilded hallway mirror. My reflection radiated absolute, untouchable, lethal power.
“Excellent,” I whispered to the empty room.
Chapter 4: The Annihilation
The massive, tiered crystal chandeliers in the Grand Ballroom of the Sentinel Hotel slowly dimmed, plunging the five hundred elite guests into a hushed, expectant silence.
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