Chapter 4

"Out with the old, in with the new. As long as you aren't angry, that's all that matters."

Alexander smiled, handing the gift box to me, completely ignoring the fact that I was still moving stiffly from my back injury.

"Evelyn, I picked this out personally while I was on my business trip. Open it."

I lifted the lid. Inside lay a hot pink, ruffled dress made of layers of tulle and cheap lace.

It was the kind of thing a twenty-year-old influencer would wear to Coachella. On me, a forty-year-old suburban mother, it would look grotesque.

More importantly, I recognized this dress immediately.

Three days ago, I saw it on Chloe’s Instagram Story. The caption read: "Ordered a size too small. Literally suffocating. Free to a good home if anyone wants it. #FashionFail"

So, his "personally selected gift" was actually just Chloe’s trash, re-gifted to me as a favor.

I didn't call him out. I just said calmly, "This isn't my style. I don't want to wear it."

Alexander’s face darkened, a flash of genuine disappointment crossing his eyes. "Evelyn, look at yourself. You wear these gray sweats every day. You've let yourself go."

He pressed the dress into my hands, his voice softening. "Tonight is important. Please, just try? For me?"

I couldn't fight him on it. I went to change.

In the mirror, the pink fabric strained against my waist. The cut was unforgiving, highlighting every imperfection, making me look like a sausage casing wrapped in cotton candy. It was humiliating.

I walked out of the closet, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Alexander's eyes—gone in a microsecond—replaced immediately by a performance of deep admiration.

"Stunning. Evelyn, looking at you brings me right back to when we first met. My heart is racing."

I watched his hypocritical performance and laughed internally.

The Gala was dazzling, held in the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton.

Alexander walked in with me on his arm, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

He didn't abandon me in a corner like he usually did. Instead, he played the role of the "Devoted Husband" to perfection.

When someone offered him a cigar, he waved it away. "Evelyn hates the smell of smoke. It irritates her throat."

When someone tried to pour him a glass of scotch, he covered his glass. "Not tonight. I'm the designated driver. I want to make sure my wife gets home safely."

At the dinner table, he made a show of cutting my Filet Mignon into bite-sized pieces, placing them gently on my plate. It was a display so tender it made the other women at the table envious.

"Eat up, honey. You've been working too hard lately."

Employees and partners whispered around us. "Mr. Sterling is a saint. Look at how he treats her. Mrs. Sterling is a lucky woman."

Just then, the kids appeared out of nowhere.

Mia pointed at Chloe, who was standing near the bar, and shouted loudly: "Dad! Look! Auntie Chloe looks like a movie star tonight! She’s a million times prettier than Mom in that weird pink monstrosity!"

Leo chimed in, sneering. "Yeah, Mom looks like she's trying too hard. Like a desperate housewife. Auntie actually has class."

The atmosphere at the table froze. It was mortifying.

Alexander immediately stiffened his face.

"Silence." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made Leo and Mia instantly shrink back.

He looked at them with sharp disapproval. "Is this how I raised you? To mock the woman who gave you life?"

He glanced at me, his eyes lingering on my uncomfortable expression, and for a moment, he looked truly apologetic. "Your mother manages our home. She is the reason you have a warm bed and hot food. You will respect her. Apologize. Now."