Chapter 2

Christian tossed a silver-embossed invitation onto the white marble vanity. It skidded past Kinsley's glass perfume bottles and came to a stop beside her jewelry tray.

"Wall Street Gala tonight," Christian said, unbuttoning his cuffs with sharp, jerky movements. "Get dressed. The family needs you there. I don't need the press running rumors about Decker Capital's private life."

Kinsley looked at his reflection in the mirror. He stood tall and demanding, used to dictating terms to boardrooms and expecting the same at home.

"I assumed you would take Blair to see the world," she said calmly, slipping the diamond stud from her right ear.

Christian's eyes narrowed, a flash of dark possessiveness crossing his gaze before he masked it with cold authority.

"Blair isn't ready for this level of networking. You are Mrs. Decker. Being seen at my side is your obligation."

The metal stud clinked against the porcelain tray. Kinsley stood up, smoothed down the front of her knit sweater, and met his gaze through the glass, ignoring the heavy, stifling tension radiating from him.

"Fine. I'll go."

Christian looked at her, searching for the defiance he had seen in the study, but found only blank compliance. He gave a short, dissatisfied nod and walked out without another word.

Two hours later, Kinsley stepped out of the front gates of the Long Island estate wearing a minimalist black silk gown. She climbed into the passenger seat of Chloe Hayes's red Porsche.

Standing by the front pillars, Martha, the head housekeeper who had served the family for decades, watched Kinsley leave. Martha gripped her apron, her eyes red. She knew exactly how many nights Kinsley had waited up for Christian, cooking his favorite meals only to throw them away. Seeing Christian casually trample on Kinsley's career for Blair made Martha sick to her stomach, but as a servant, she didn't dare speak out. She could only silently pray Kinsley wouldn't overthink it. She had no idea Kinsley's heart was already dead.

Chloe slammed the pedal down, sending the car roaring toward Manhattan. Her grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled.

"I heard about the fellowship," Chloe spat, glancing at Kinsley's pale profile. "Christian stripped your name off the list? That man is out of his mind. You ghost-directed his sister company's commercial that won three Clios, and he still treats you like an illiterate maid!"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Kinsley said, looking at the city lights reflecting across the East River. "Julian is finalizing the production slate for Crossing River. I'm stepping into the light."

Chloe whistled, a grin finally breaking through her anger.

"Good. Let them choke on it."

The Porsche pulled up to the red carpet at the Park Hyatt. Flashes popped against the glass doors as photographers crowded the entrance. Kinsley stepped out, linked her arm with Chloe's, and walked into the grand ballroom under the glare of crystal chandeliers.

She took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, intending to find a quiet corner, when a ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd near the grand staircase.

Kinsley turned toward the stairs.

Christian was descending the carpeted steps in a bespoke Armani tuxedo. On his arm was Blair, draped in an off-the-shoulder crimson gown that demanded every eye in the room.

Around Blair's neck hung the Decker heirloom—a sixty-carat cushion-cut Ceylon sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds, passed down exclusively to the legitimate wives of the Decker line.

The whispers in the ballroom rose like an incoming tide.

"Isn't that the Decker sapphire?"

"Why is the ward wearing it? Where's his wife?"

"Look, Kinsley is standing right by the bar..."

Chloe gripped Kinsley's forearm so hard her knuckles turned white.

"He told you Blair wasn't ready, and then he brought her wearing your mother-in-law's necklace? I'm going to rip that silk off her neck."

"Stay here," Kinsley said.

Her stomach felt hollow, but her fingers remained perfectly steady against the cold glass of her champagne flute. She did not lower her chin. She did not look away.

Christian's eyes swept the room and locked onto Kinsley standing below. His posture stiffened. The slight, arrogant tilt of his head vanished, replaced by an instinctive, guarded pause. For a fraction of a second, his icy blue eyes darkened, tracing the elegant curve of her neck in the black silk gown, a strange, undeniable pull of attraction warring with his pride.

Blair noticed his stillness. Following his gaze, she gasped softly and clutched Christian's lapel, pressing herself tighter against his arm, deliberately flaunting their closeness.

"Christian... I didn't know Kinsley was here," she whispered, loud enough for nearby socialites to hear. "She's going to think I demanded the necklace. I should take it off."

"Keep it on," Christian muttered, his voice strained as he felt dozens of cameras tracking them. "I authorized it for the foundation's charity theme. She knows her place."

Kinsley did not wait for them to finish their private scene. She walked through the crowd, her heels rhythmic and unhurried. The guests parted instinctively, creating a quiet path directly to the bottom of the staircase.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking up at them.

Christian frowned, his hand tightening around the banister.

"Kinsley, don't make a scene here."

Kinsley tilted her head slightly, lifted her champagne glass toward Blair, and smiled—a flawless, perfectly cold social smile.

"The necklace suits you, Blair," Kinsley said, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet circle of guests. "Counterfeits always need something loud to keep people from looking too closely."

Blair's face drained of color. Her hand flew to her throat, covering the sapphire as tears welled in her eyes.

"Kinsley, how could you say that..."

"Kinsley! That is enough!" Christian snarled under his breath, stepping down a pace to shield Blair.

Kinsley didn't give him a second glance. She turned smoothly toward Chloe, who had caught up behind her.

"The air is stale in here," Kinsley said evenly. "Let's get some fresh air on the terrace."

She walked away, leaving Christian standing on the steps, surrounded by the sharp, mocking glances of Manhattan's elite.