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Chapter Seven: The Glamour and the Gossip
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2026-01-25 23:03:54The invitation for Yunshan’s annual charity ball arrived in a cream envelope sealed with gold wax, the Hargrove family crest pressed into it like a brand. The event was the highlight of the season. politicians rubbing shoulders with old-money heirs, businessmen sealing deals over champagne, socialites posing for Weibo flashes. Every year, the Hargroves hosted the most coveted table, a silent declaration of their untouchable status.
This year, Rosa had outdone herself. She’d spent weeks coordinating dresses, seating charts, and photo opportunities. The house buzzed with her orders, flowers delivered by the dozen, caterers tasting menus in the kitchen, stylists trailing through the halls with garment bags. I watched it all from the edges, invisible as always. The morning of the ball, Alex walked into my room without knocking. I was at the vanity, brushing my hair in slow, mechanical strokes, still in my silk robe. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized. “You’re not coming,” he said, voice flat as slate. My hand stilled on the brush. “Excuse me?” “The ball. You stay here.” He didn’t look at me directly, his reflection in the mirror adjusted his cufflinks with precise flicks. “People will ask questions. I don’t want to answer them.” I set the brush down, turning slowly. “I’m your wife.” “In name only.” He met my eyes then, cold and unyielding. “You’re a liability, Elena. One wrong word, and the whispers start. I won’t have it.” “So I’m a prisoner now?” My voice stayed even, but inside something cracked. He stepped closer, looming. “You’re forbidden from leaving the gate. Mrs. Thorne has orders to lock it if you try. Don’t test me.” The room felt smaller, the air thicker. I searched his face for anything, regret, hesitation, even anger that might mean he cared. “Why do you hate me this much?” I asked quietly. He paused at the door. “Because you remind me of everything I lost. And you’re still here.” He left. The door clicked shut like a verdict. I stood at the window and watched them go. Alex in his tailored black tuxedo, shoulders straight, jaw set. Rosa in emerald silk that caught the sunlight like broken glass. Lucas, still on crutches but dressed sharp, laughing at something Rosa said. Cousins, aunts, uncles, extended family piling into the fleet of black cars, voices bright with excitement. They drove away in a convoy, leaving dust. The house felt hollow without them. Mrs. Thorne brought tea, set it on the table without a word. I didn’t drink it. That night, I scrolled through Weibo on my phone, the glow lighting my face in the dark bedroom. Photos flooded in real time. Alex smiling beside a famous painter, arm around the man’s shoulder like old friends. Rosa laughing with a cluster of socialites, diamonds flashing at her throat. Lucas posing with a group of young heirs, crutches artfully hidden behind him. Group shots of the entire Hargrove clan, grandparents, siblings, cousins, all beaming under the chandeliers. Not one included me. The comments rolled in like a tide. “Who’s the mystery wife everyone keeps mentioning? Never seen her at events.” “Alex Hargrove married? Where’s the girl? Invisible bride alert.” “New money drama? Or did he buy her and stash her away like a dirty secret?” I closed the app, chest tight. But the notifications kept coming, tags, mentions, screenshots. I reopened it. A gossip blogger had cornered Rosa at the ball. The video played automatically. The woman thrust a mic forward. “Mrs. Hargrove, where’s your new daughter-in-law? Elena, right? Everyone’s dying to meet her.” Rosa smiled, perfect and practiced. “Elena? Oh, darling, she’s out of the country right now. Family emergency. She’s heartbroken she couldn’t make it. We’re all missing her terribly.” The lie was smooth, effortless. The blogger nodded sympathetically. “Of course. Sending her our best.” The clip ended. Comments exploded beneath it. “Family emergency? Sounds like code for ‘we’re hiding her.’” “Out of the country already? Girl just got married and she’s gone? Sketchy.” “Maybe she’s the one who cheated. Heard rumors.” By morning, the lie had metastasized. Headlines screamed across Weibo, Douyin, every platform “Elena Hargrove Cheats on Billionaire Husband with Secondary School Lover. Sources Say She’s Out of the Country in Shame!” Photos surfaced, blurry, obviously edited. A woman who looked vaguely like me in a café with a man, laughing. Hotel receipts dated weeks after our wedding. A grainy, pixelated shot of two bodies in a bed, faces obscured but hair color matching mine. None of it was real. I had never left the house. Never touched another man. But truth didn’t matter. The narrative did. The internet tore me apart. “Ungrateful gold-digger. Married for money and still cheating.” “She sold herself to pay family debts and still couldn’t stay faithful.” “Alex deserves better. What a kind husband to forgive her.” “Poor guy. Imagine marrying that.” I sat on the floor of my bedroom, back against the bed, phone in both hands. Tears streamed silently as I scrolled. Every swipe was a fresh wound. Hashtags trended: #ElenaCheats #HargroveScandal #InvisibleBride. Memes appeared, my wedding photo photoshopped with devil horns, captions like “Bought but never loyal.” Hours passed in a blur of notifications. Alex came home late, past midnight. The door opened quietly. He stood in the threshold, still in his tuxedo jacket, tie loosened. He saw me on the floor, phone glowing, face wet. “You saw.” I looked up, voice hoarse. “Everyone saw.” He stepped inside, closed the door. “It was easier this way.” “Easier?” I stood slowly, legs unsteady. “You let them call me a whore. You let your mother lie to the world.” He shrugged, almost casual. “Rosa handled it. The story protects the family. Protects the business.” “Protects you,” I corrected. “Not me.” He crossed his arms. “You think I wanted this? The questions? I told you, you’re a liability.” I took a step toward him. “I’m your wife. Not a secret to be buried.” “In name only.” His voice hardened. “You signed the papers. You knew what this was.” “I knew you hated me,” I said. “I didn’t know you’d let the world destroy me to keep your image clean.” He laughed. “The world was going to destroy one of us. Better you than me.” I slapped him. The sound cracked through the room. His head snapped to the side. For a second, shock flashed across his face, real, unguarded. Then rage flooded in. He caught my wrist before I could strike again, grip bruising. “Don’t.” I yanked free, breathing hard. “You’re a monster.” “And you’re nothing,” he said, voice low and lethal. “A thing I bought. A thing I own. Don’t forget that.” He turned and walked out. The door closed softly behind him. I collapsed back to the floor, sobs tearing out of me. The phone kept buzzing. More notifications. I curled into myself, arms wrapped tight around my knees. The glamour of Yunshan’s elite world had never included me. 
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