From Ruined Wife To Tycoon's Obsession

Everly Weber stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the edge of the Waldorf Astoria ballroom, her fingers smoothing the heavy silk of her conservative champagne gown. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Her hands were shaking. She forced her fingers to interlock, pressing her knuckles together until the joints turned white, desperately trying to mask the exhaustion of spending the last three sleepless nights coordinating the banquet's endless details while constantly agonizing over the phone about her sick daughter, Aria. Everly turned away from the glass. She forced her spine straight and walked down the thick, carpeted corridor toward the brilliant lights of the main hall. The string quartet was playing a soft classical piece. Her eyes scanned the sea of New York's elite, instantly locking onto the man sitting in a wheelchair at the center of the room. Her grandfather, Arthur Weber. The tight knot in her chest loosened slightly. She walked quickly to his side, bending down to tuck the edges of the cashmere blanket firmly around his frail knees. Arthur patted the back of her hand. His skin felt like dry parchment. He looked around the crowded room, his voice weak. "Where is Carson?" he asked. Everly's stomach dropped. A cold sweat pricked the back of her neck, but she immediately pulled a flawless, practiced smile onto her face. "He's stuck in a cross-border video conference with Silicon Valley," she lied, her voice steady. "It's an emergency for the IPO. He'll be here soon." Arthur sighed, his chest rising with effort. He opened his mouth to speak, but a heavy thud echoed through the room. The massive mahogany double doors of the ballroom had been shoved open. The string quartet stopped abruptly. The screech of a cello bow scraping across strings filled the silence. The low hum of conversation from the socialites and tycoons died instantly. Everyone turned toward the entrance. Everly followed their gaze. Her pupils dilated. The air trapped itself in her throat, refusing to move. Giana Rowland stood in the doorway. She was wearing a skin-tight, deep crimson maternity gown that left nothing to the imagination. She balanced on stiletto heels, her chin tilted up in pure arrogance. Giana deliberately placed her right hand over her visibly swollen belly. Her eyes cut through the crowd, landing directly on Everly. A collective, muffled gasp rippled through the room. The wealthy women in the crowd immediately leaned into each other, whispering and pointing manicured fingers at Everly. Everly's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke. She instinctively took a step forward, using her own body as a physical shield to block her grandfather's view. Giana ignored the hotel security guards rushing toward her. She swayed her hips, walking directly toward the main table as if she owned the entire building. Arthur shifted in his wheelchair. He tried to lean around Everly to see what the commotion was about. Everly slammed her hands down on his shoulders, her voice trembling violently. "Don't look, Grandpa," she pleaded. "It's just someone who walked into the wrong room." Giana stopped less than three feet away. She looked Everly up and down, her eyes lingering on the modest champagne gown. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a beautifully wrapped gift box. She tossed it onto the table. It landed directly on Arthur's empty porcelain dinner plate with a loud clatter. The lid popped off. A pair of tiny, expensive baby shoes tumbled out. A heavy cardstock note fell beside them. The bold, black ink faced the crowd: Congratulations to the eldest grandson of the Moss family. The whispers in the room erupted into loud, vicious murmurs. The gazes of the guests turned into physical blades, slicing into Everly's pride. Everly's eyes burned red. She snatched the box off the table, stepping into Giana's personal space. "Get out," Everly hissed, her voice a low, dangerous vibration. "Get out right now." Giana didn't move. Instead, she raised her voice, making sure the entire room could hear her sweet, high-pitched tone. "Carson specifically asked me to bring this over," Giana said. "He wanted to make sure his family saw his true heart." At the sound of Carson's name, Arthur's face drained of all color. He grabbed his chest, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his suit. His breathing turned into wet, rapid gasps. Everly heard the terrible sound. She whipped her head around and saw Arthur's face contorting in pure agony. Total panic crashed over her. She dropped the box. She fell to her knees beside the wheelchair, ripping open her clutch purse, her hands shaking so badly she spilled her lipstick and keys onto the floor as she searched for his emergency pills. Giana took a step closer. She looked down at Everly, her lips forming silent words. You are going to be thrown out like trash. Everly shoved the pill into Arthur's mouth. She grabbed a water glass from the table and pressed it to his lips, but her hands were trembling so violently that the water splashed down his chin and soaked into the carpet. The hotel manager finally pushed through the crowd, flanked by three massive security guards. They stood there, hesitating, unsure of how to handle the billionaire's mistress. Everly forced herself to stand. Her eyes were bloodshot. She used every ounce of strength in her body to maintain her dignity. "Throw this mentally unstable woman out," Everly ordered the guards, her voice cracking. But before the guards could move, the side door of the ballroom swung open. Carson Moss walked in, his face dark as a thundercloud, his jaw set in a hard line.