My Fiancé Bought His Mistress My Wedding Dress

I sat in my apartment with my laptop open and the city dark beyond the windows. The atelier team would still be awake in Milan. Seven-hour time difference. Morning light over the Duomo. Espresso and fabric samples.

I opened the encrypted channel.

**Order SS-2847. Bailey, J. Increase final invoice by forty percent. Add consultation fees. Add rush fees. Extend delivery timeline six weeks. Itemize everything.**

The reply came in two minutes.

**Understood. Adjustments processing now.**

I closed the laptop.

This wasn't revenge. Not yet. Revenge was hot. Impulsive. This was something colder. I was building something. Brick by brick. Foundation first.

I looked at my mother's bracelet on my wrist. Twenty-three pearls. The clasp pressed against my skin.

I didn't feel satisfied.

I didn't feel anything at all.

—

The Sotheby's auction was black tie. Champagne in crystal flutes. Paddle numbers printed on heavy card stock. A Monet going for eight figures to a bidder on the phone.

Christian's hand found my elbow as we entered. "Stay close," he said. "These people can smell uncertainty."

I almost laughed.

Jazlyn was already inside. The red dress tonight was Dior. The necklace at her throat caught every light in the room—a massive emerald surrounded by diamonds, the kind of piece that demanded to be noticed.

She saw us. Smiled. Walked over.

"Christian." She kissed his cheek. Her eyes slid to me. "Sloane. How sweet that you came."

"Wouldn't miss it," I said.

Her hand went to her necklace. The gesture was deliberate. Practiced. "Do you like it? It's been in my family for generations. Royal European provenance. My great-grandmother wore it to her presentation at court."

"It's stunning," Christian said.

Jazlyn leaned closer to me. Her perfume was expensive. Overpowering. "And what a darling little bracelet you're wearing." Her voice dropped half an octave on the word *little*. "So vintage. So... sentimental."

She made *sentimental* sound like a disease.

I looked down at my mother's pearls. "It was my mother's."

"How precious." Jazlyn's smile widened. "It's so important to hold onto family pieces. Even the simple ones."

Christian reached over. His fingers closed around my wrist. Not gently.

"Let me see," he said.

He unfastened the clasp. Took the bracelet. Held it up between us like evidence.

"Cheap costume jewelry," he said to Jazlyn. His tone was light. Dismissive. "Probably worth less than the clasp on your necklace."

He tossed it back to me.

I caught it. Both hands. My fingers closed around the pearls and I felt something in my chest crack open. Not break. Crack. Like ice over deep water.

I looked at Christian.

Really looked.

The boy who carried me down a mountain was gone. The man who stayed seventy-two hours in a hospital chair was gone. What stood in front of me was someone I'd never met. Someone who'd been there all along, maybe, underneath. Waiting.

I fastened the bracelet back on my wrist. The clasp caught on the second try. My hands were shaking but my face was calm.

"Excuse me," I said.

I walked to the restroom. Locked the door. Stood in front of the mirror.

The bracelet gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Twenty-three pearls. My mother had worn this the day she taught me to play Chopin. The day she told me that love was supposed to make you bigger, not smaller.

I pulled out my phone.

The gemologist's report was already in my encrypted files. I'd requested it two days ago. Standard due diligence. I did that now. Due diligence on everything.

**Bailey emerald necklace: Lab-grown synthetic stone. Estimated retail value: $200. Setting: Gold-plated brass.**

I read it twice.

Then I forwarded it to a separate folder labeled *Saturday*.

I put my phone away. Washed my hands. Reapplied my lipstick.

When I walked back into the auction hall, Christian and Jazlyn were seated together in the third row. His arm draped across the back of her chair. Her head tilted toward his.

I took a seat six rows back.

The auctioneer announced the next lot. A Rothko. Starting bid two million.

I raised my paddle.

Christian turned around. Surprised. I never bid at these things. Never spent money where people could see.

I kept my paddle up.

The price climbed. Three million. Four. Five.

I didn't blink.

At seven million, the other bidders dropped out.

"Sold," the auctioneer said. "Paddle two-seventeen."

I lowered my paddle.

Christian was staring. So was Jazlyn.

I smiled at them.

Small. Polite.

And I thought about Saturday.