CHAPTER 1

-AVERY-

I SAT WITH my hands nestled in my laps, and my eyes flickering nervously at the ticking clock hanging above my head on the wall as I waited.

"Congratulations, Mrs Vale," a voice roused me from my reverie.

I looked up at the chubby, smiling face of one of my guests.

"Thank you, Charles," I said, nodding gratefully.

"When are you going to cut the cake?" He asked. "Or are you still waiting for Dante?"

I nodded again. "He will be here any second now," I said in a voice that I hoped was stronger than I felt.

Charles had an unbelieving look on his face, but he nodded and walked away. I looked around the room at the guests, wealthy people who had come to join me in celebrating my 3rd wedding anniversary.

I have been married to Dante Vale, the millionaire conglomerate, for 3 years. 3 long, hard years of barely any emotional support while I gave him my all. I had literally put my life on pause to help him build and be the perfect trophy wife.

I took out my phone and looked at the message I had sent him an hour ago. It was still unread. There was no way in hell that Dante forgot about today. I tried calling him again, but his phone was switched off.

Should I be worried? I asked myself.

I wondered what would happen when the guest grew tired of waiting. I could sense the impatience brimming in the air and feel the furtive glances that were thrown my way once in a while, especially from the women. The men seemed pretty relaxed, sipping champagne and talking amongst themselves.

"Are you alright, dear?" One of the wives asked as she came up to me.

"Yes," I stood up.

"It just looks like... You know..." She flashed me a fake smile, extending a skeletal hand to touch my shoulder. "The party should be rounding up by now." She said in a conspiratorial whisper. "No one likes a boring party here."

Even though I had been in the upper echelon of the city for the past 3 years, the women still treated me like the new girl, offering bad advice and gossips I didn't need.

I needed some fresh air, so I walked to the balcony. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath.

What could have happened?

Dante was never loving or emotionally present, but he always kept a good social appearance by smiling appropriately to the cameras and putting a dutiful hand across my waist when people were watching.

This wedding anniversary was also supposed to be an event for the new company he was launching and seeking investors. He would never blow it off if something had not happened. I was starting to get worried.

I called his phone again, but it went straight to voicemail.

I heard the elevator open and in hurried back into the hall in anticipation. It was not Dante, but it was something that caught my attention, as well as the attention of everyone. It was a waiter carrying a tray covered with a gold bowl.

The waiter looked across the room and came straight to me. He bowed and said, "From your husband, ma'am." My brows furrowed slightly as he placed it on the table and took away the cover to reveal a small envelope on the plate.

I picked up the envelope and opened it. Maybe it is an apology and explanation for why he is absent, I thought to myself as I took out the letter within. Oh, how wrong I was.

What I saw knocked the breath from my lungs and turned my legs into jelly. It was a letter for a divorce.

I sat down heavily on the chair closest to me. Tears threatened to pour from my eyes, but not now. Not in front of all these people watching me intently. I noted from long necks of the women, trying to see what the paper was about.

"The party is over," I said quietly. They must not have heard me because no one moved. "The party is over. Everyone should leave." Now they moved, in shock and slight anger as they all shuffled out of the grand hall.

In a few minutes, I was all alone. The loud silence of the house was deafening. I looked at the gigantic cake that stood alone a few feet away from me.

Tears streamed down my face as I looked at the paper again. The divorce letter had been all printed out and stamped by his lawyer. All that it needed for me was my signature to finalize it and walk away with over 100 million dollars.

3 years of my life, bought for. Suddenly, a wave of anger washed over me, and I shredded the paper in my hands and stuffed it in my bag. I whipped out my phone, but I didn't call Dante. The coward didn't have the guts to serve the papers himself. I called one of his personal assistants, a young man fresh from Harvard.

"Hello, Paul," I said. "I know it's late, I need your help. I know my husband got into the state today. Where did you make reservations for him?"

I quickly wrote down the name of the 5-star hotel and grabbed my bag.

If he was too scared to come to me, I was going to him. I angrily wiped the tears that streamed down my cheeks as I got into my Ferrari and screeched out of my garage.