He Chose His Secret Wife Over Me

Elfrieda Stewart POV The Tate Family Gala was less a celebration and more an exercise in gluttony. Crystal chandeliers the size of compact cars loomed overhead, casting prismatic light onto men who had blood under their fingernails and wore tuxedos that cost more than my father’s entire house. I stood by the buffet table, feeling exposed in the red silk dress Jaxon had selected for me. He was across the room, laughing. His arm was draped casually over the back of a chair, fingers brushing the shoulder of the blonde woman seated there. Janice. She was here. She sipped her wine, looking at me over the rim of the glass with a smirk that communicated she knew everything. Jaxon had introduced her as a “consultant” for the family’s legitimate real estate holdings. But looking at them now, I knew the truth. She was his wife. I watched the magnetic pull between them, a gravity he couldn’t control as his body leaned instinctively toward hers. Then, he checked his watch. It was time for the performance. The “Denzel Protocol” required a public display of affection at every major family event, a ritual to sell the lie. Jaxon strode toward me. The room quieted down, the murmur of conversation dying out. The Boss, an old man with eyes like shark glass, watched silently from the head table. Jaxon took my hand. He led me to the center of the dance floor, positioning us perfectly under the lights. “Elfrieda,” he announced, his voice booming with practiced sincerity. “You are the light of my life. My brother asked me to protect you, but I found myself loving you.” He dropped to one knee. He pulled out a velvet box. A diamond ring glittered under the chandelier. It was huge. It was vulgar. “Will you marry me?” he asked. The crowd applauded on cue. Janice was clapping too, her eyes dead and cold. I looked down at Jaxon. I saw the bead of sweat on his upper lip. I saw the terror. He wasn’t proposing to me. He was proposing to the Boss, proving he was a good soldier, a loyal brother. I opened my mouth to speak, to play my part. A groan from above stopped me. It was a sound like a bone snapping, loud and sharp, echoing through the ballroom. I looked up. The massive crystal chandelier directly above us groaned again. It detached from the ceiling. Gravity took over. Time seemed to warp, slowing down into a nightmare crawl. I saw the shadow of the crystal monster plummeting toward us. Jaxon saw it too. He lunged. But he didn’t lunge for me. He threw himself to the left, tackling Janice, who was standing five feet away and completely out of the impact zone. He covered her body with his own, shielding her. I stood alone in the center of the target. The chandelier crashed. The sound was deafening, a symphony of shattering glass and twisting metal that vibrated in my teeth. The force of the impact knocked me backward. Pain exploded in my arm and shoulder, white-hot and blinding. Dust filled the air, choking the light. Silence followed, heavy and thick. Then the screaming started. I lay on the floor, dazed, the world spinning. Warm liquid soaked the red silk of my dress, turning it a deeper, darker shade. I looked at my arm. A shard of crystal the size of a butcher knife was embedded in my forearm. Blood pooled rapidly on the expensive Persian rug. “Jaxon?” I croaked. I forced my eyes open. Jaxon was scrambling up, frantically checking Janice for scratches. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?” he was yelling, his hands roaming over her face, desperate. Janice didn’t have a scratch on her. She looked at me, then pointed. Jaxon turned. He saw me lying in a pool of my own blood. He didn’t run to me. He looked annoyed. He glanced at the Boss, then back at me with a sneer. “Jesus, Elfrieda,” he snapped, his voice carrying across the silent room. “Stop bleeding on the carpet. You’re making a scene.” The words hit me harder than the glass. He wasn’t worried. He was inconvenienced. A shadow fell over me. My brother, Jameel, slid across the floor on his knees, crashing to a halt beside me. His face was a mask of pure terror. “El!” he screamed. He ripped off his tuxedo jacket and pressed it against my arm, trying to staunch the flow. “I’ve got you,” he choked out. “I’ve got you.” He looked up at Jaxon. The look on Jameel’s face promised murder. Jaxon took a step back, realizing his mistake too late. “I... I was just making sure the guest was safe,” Jaxon stammered, the confidence draining from him. I looked at the ring box lying open amidst the shattered glass. The diamond was fake. I could see the lack of fire in the stone, the dullness of a prop. Even the ring was a lie. “Get her to the car!” Jameel barked at two other soldiers. He lifted me up. The pain was blinding, threatening to pull me under, but my mind was crystal clear. I looked at Jaxon one last time. He was still holding Janice’s hand. I closed my eyes. The naive girl who played the violin and believed in fairy tales died on that rug.