Defying The Odds: His True Wife

The morning sun sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, landing directly on Cassidy's face. She blinked her eyes open. She groaned, her lower back screaming in protest as she tried to sit up. The space beside her was empty and cool to the touch. On the nightstand, a glass of water sat next to a piece of heavy cardstock. Cassidy picked up the note. The handwriting was sharp and aggressive. "I have an early M&A meeting. Left for the office. Eat breakfast." Cassidy stared at the note. A genuine smile broke across her face. The memories of last night's intensity washed away the lingering anxiety from the past few days. She forced herself out of bed, showered, and put on a tailored beige pantsuit. She ordered a car and headed to the art gallery she managed in Chelsea. Sitting in the back of the black SUV, Cassidy pulled out her phone. She opened Instagram to check the gallery's official page. A red notification dot hovered over her personal account's message icon. It was a new friend request. Cassidy tapped it. The profile picture showed a woman in designer sunglasses posing in front of the Eiffel Tower. The name was impossible to miss: Hayden Blevins. The smile vanished from Cassidy's face. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Her heart kicked into a faster rhythm. The attack was coming faster than she thought. Cassidy took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and tapped "Accept." Cristian had given her the ultimate reassurance last night. She refused to show fear to the enemy. She arrived at the gallery and threw herself into preparing the upcoming autumn modern art exhibition. Just before noon, Eleanor, the gallery manager, walked into Cassidy's office. She looked nervous. "Cassidy," Eleanor whispered, leaning over the desk. "There is a woman out there in a full Chanel couture suit. She is demanding to speak to the curator." Cassidy's stomach tightened. She put down the exhibition catalog and stood up. She followed Eleanor out into the main viewing area. Standing in the center of the room was a tall woman in blood-red Louboutin heels. She was facing a large abstract painting. Hearing their footsteps, the woman turned around. She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing a stunning, aggressively beautiful face. It was Hayden Blevins. Cassidy stopped walking for a fraction of a second. She forced her facial muscles to relax into a perfect, professional smile and walked forward. Hayden's eyes scanned Cassidy from head to toe. A brief flash of disdain crossed her features before she plastered on a bright, fake smile. Hayden held out her hand. "Hi, Cassidy. I am Hayden. Cristian's old friend." She emphasized the words "old friend," letting them hang in the air like a threat. Cassidy reached out and shook her hand. Her grip was firm. "Hello, Miss Blevins. Welcome to my gallery." She deliberately used "Miss Blevins." It was polite, cold, and established a massive boundary. Hayden pulled her hand back. She looked around the room with exaggerated interest. "It is a cute little place. Very... quaint. A bit small, though." The insult was clear. She was calling Cassidy's life's work insignificant compared to the George empire. Cassidy did not flinch. "The value of art is not in its size, Miss Blevins. It is in its ability to move people. Much like relationships." Hayden's smile cracked. Her eyes narrowed. She clearly did not expect the quiet trophy wife to fire back. Hayden quickly recovered, tossing her perfect blonde waves over her shoulder. "We should sit down. There is a coffee shop next door. Let's chat." Eleanor looked at Cassidy, her eyes wide with concern. Cassidy gave her a tiny nod to tell her it was fine. "Sure," Cassidy said. She wanted to see exactly what kind of poison this woman was trying to serve.