From Abandoned Puppet to the Tycoon's Contract Wife

Johan let out a breathless laugh. He rolled over and pinned Lacey to the mattress. "Stop being paranoid, baby," Johan said. "It is just us." Inside the closet, Gabrielle lowered her phone slightly. Her chest heaved with silent, shallow breaths. The air in the small space was suffocating. Lacey traced her finger down Johan's chest. "Seriously though, what do you even see in Gabrielle? She looks like a librarian. She is so boring and stiff." The words sliced through the dark closet and hit Gabrielle straight in the chest. She had dressed like that for him. She had made herself invisible for him. Johan scoffed. The sound was thick with disdain. "You don't get it," Johan said. "I keep her around because she is safe. She handles all my crap, she organizes my life, and she's obsessed with me. She never causes drama." He paused, shifting his weight on the bed. "Plus, she's so plain," Johan continued. "I can take her anywhere and she never steals the spotlight. I need an assistant who worships me, not a queen who expects me to bow." The last shred of Gabrielle's breaking heart turned to ash. The pain vanished, replaced by a freezing, hollow void in her stomach. She was not a partner to him. She was an appliance. A safe, ugly appliance. Her phone screen suddenly lit up the dark closet. The phone began to vibrate violently in her hand. It was the unknown number. The paparazzi was not giving up. Instead of a call, a rapid succession of text messages flooded her screen, each one accompanied by a harsh, buzzing vibration against her palm. Gabrielle panicked. She jammed her thumb against the volume down button, desperately trying to kill the haptic feedback, but her hands were shaking too badly. The screen illuminated her pale face as she read the incoming texts. Ms. Webb, have you thought about my offer? Half a million for the pictures of your boyfriend and Lacey Morrow making out in the hotel garage. Before she could even process the words, another message popped up. Come on. I have a video too. It gets really good. The sudden, consecutive vibrations rattled against the wooden shelf of the closet, a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet room. On the bed, Johan stopped moving. He sat up. "What was that noise?" Johan asked. Gabrielle's blood turned to ice. She clutched the phone to her chest, smothering the device with her own body. Lacey pulled Johan back down by his shoulders. "It's probably just the ice maker in the fridge. Ignore it." Gabrielle typed a message with lightning speed. Send me the files. Now. Three seconds later, a high-definition video and four photos loaded onto her screen. The images were undeniable. Gabrielle stared at the screen. She looked at the digital proof of his betrayal, and then she looked through the crack in the door at the physical proof happening on her bed. She typed one final message to the paparazzi. I am not paying you a dime. But if you leak these, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every media outlet in New York. Try me. The three typing dots appeared on the screen, and then vanished. The paparazzi went silent. Gabrielle deleted the text thread. She stopped the voice recording. She did not need it anymore. She looked down at the black lace lingerie. It felt ridiculous now. She wiped the wet streaks from her face with the back of her hand. Her hands were no longer shaking. She took a deep breath. The vanilla scent in the room no longer made her sick. It just made her angry. She reached out and grabbed the handle of the closet door. She shoved the door open. The hinges let out a loud, sharp squeal that cut through the heavy breathing in the room. Johan and Lacey froze. They snapped their heads toward the closet. Gabrielle stepped out of the shadows. The moonlight caught the edge of her bare shoulders and the cold, dead look in her eyes.