The Jilted Ex-Wife's Undercover Billionaire Assistant

Genevieve wore a minimalist white silk gown that flowed like water over her skin. Flanked by two massive bodyguards, she cut through the silent crowd with terrifying authority.

Brigette immediately arranged her face into a mask of victimhood. She rushed forward, reaching out to Genevieve. "Genevieve, thank God. Carlee is ruining the entire atmosphere of your-"

Genevieve didn't even blink. She walked straight past Brigette, her shoulder brushing past the girl so fast it created a breeze.

Brigette's hand hung frozen in the empty air. Her face twisted into a mask of utter humiliation. A few people in the crowd let out harsh, audible snorts of laughter.

Genevieve stopped directly in front of Carlee. The icy mask on Genevieve's face melted away, replaced by a massive, genuine smile.

To the absolute shock of every guest in the room, Genevieve threw her arms open and pulled Carlee into a tight, affectionate hug.

Carlee hugged her back, burying her face in Genevieve's shoulder. "You took your time," Carlee whispered. "I was about to get swarmed by flies."

Genevieve pulled back and laughed. She turned to face the crowd and snapped her fingers at the sound technician in the corner. The soft classical music instantly faded to silence.

Genevieve took a microphone from a waiter.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Genevieve's voice boomed through the speakers. "I want to formally introduce someone. Carlee is not just a former member of the Barron family."

Genevieve paused, letting the tension build. "She is the top graduate of Central Saint Martins, and one of the most brilliant jewelry designers I have ever met."

A loud murmur of shock ripped through the crowd. Several heavy-hitting jewelry executives in the room suddenly leaned in, their eyes darting toward Carlee with sharp, calculating interest.

Brigette shook her head violently. "That's impossible!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "She's just a useless trophy wife!"

Genevieve shot Brigette a look so cold it could freeze blood. She gestured to her assistant.

The massive LED screen behind the stage flickered to life. A breathtaking 3D rendering of a diamond necklace appeared. The cut was impossibly complex, the design aggressive yet elegant. The piece was titled Nirvana.

"This is tonight's final auction piece," Genevieve announced. "And it was designed by the woman standing right here. The founder of C.B. Designs, Carlee."

Thunderous applause erupted. The same society women who had been mocking Carlee five minutes ago now surged forward, their faces stretched into desperate, flattering smiles.

Brigette's fingernails dug so hard into her palms they drew blood. She stumbled backward, retreating into the shadows as the crowd ignored her completely.

Carlee took the microphone. Her hand was steady. She thanked Genevieve and formally announced the launch of C.B. Designs in New York.

Within seconds, purchasing directors from three top department stores boxed her in, shoving their business cards into her hands. Carlee handled them with flawless grace.

Up in the VIP box, Braden stared down at his wife. She was glowing, surrounded by people begging for her attention. A fierce, possessive pride clamped down on his chest.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. He typed a rapid message to Denzel: Buy the Nirvana necklace. Whatever it takes.

Downstairs, the auction began. The bidding for Nirvana exploded immediately, the price skyrocketing past the initial estimate in seconds.

Just as two rival executives were locked in a bidding war, the auctioneer pressed a hand to his earpiece. His eyes widened.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer gasped. "We have a telephone bid from a private buyer. Is three times the current asking price."

The room gasped. Carlee froze, her heart beginning to hammer wildly against her ribs, the sound deafening in her own ears. Three times the asking price? Her breath hitched as she stared at the auctioneer. A spark of overwhelming, dizzying shock ignited into a roaring fire of euphoria in her chest. Whoever this mysterious buyer was, they had just handed her the ultimate key to freedom, fully funding her studio for the next two years in a single, god-like stroke. Was it pure admiration for her art, or something deeper? She gripped the edge of the marble bar, her knuckles turning stark white, realizing this sudden windfall was her golden ticket out of the Barron family's shadow forever. The hammer fell with a resounding crack. The gala reached its peak. Carlee had won.

An hour later, the adrenaline crashed. A heavy wave of exhaustion and the buzz of three glasses of champagne hit Carlee's brain. She hugged Genevieve goodbye and slipped out the side door.

The freezing night air hit her bare skin, making her shiver. She walked down the curved driveway toward the valet stand, her ankles throbbing from the stilettos.

The driveway was empty. She rubbed her arms, looking around for a cab.

A low, mechanical growl echoed from the underground garage. A silver Aston Martin rolled up the ramp and stopped exactly two feet in front of her.

The tinted window rolled down.

Braden sat behind the wheel, his dark eyes locking onto hers.