The True Heiress Leaves The Billionaire

The morning sun sliced through the gaps in the wooden blinds, stabbing directly into Calista's exhausted eyes. She blinked against the harsh light. She reached her hand across the mattress. The sheets were cold and empty. Jett was already gone. Calista sat up, pulling her silk robe tightly around her shivering shoulders. She turned her head and stopped. Sitting perfectly in the center of her nightstand was a massive, bright orange Hermes box. Her heart gave a sudden, painful jolt against her ribs. She reached out and untied the brown ribbon. Her fingers were trembling. She opened the box and peeled back the tissue paper. Inside sat a limited-edition Birkin bag. The leather smelled rich and new. It was a bag that required years on a waitlist. Tied to the handle was a small, thick card. Calista picked it up. The signature at the bottom was a stamped print from Alex Reed, Jett's executive assistant. The message was brief. "Happy Birthday. Attend the gala at the Plaza Hotel tonight." Calista's chest tightened. She stared at the bag. He remembered. He actually remembered her birthday. She convinced herself that having his assistant sign it was just Jett being his usual, emotionally distant self. The gift itself was the olive branch. She buried her face in her hands. A fragile, bitter smile broke across her lips. She stood up and walked straight into the closet. She spent an hour picking out an elegant, deep emerald-green evening gown that perfectly matched the hardware on the new bag. At five in the afternoon, she climbed into the back of the black Cadillac SUV the family had sent. The heavy car rolled over the Queensboro Bridge, the Manhattan skyline looming ahead. The SUV pulled to a smooth stop in front of the red carpet at the Plaza Hotel on 5th Avenue. The doorman opened her door. Calista stepped out, gripping the handles of her new Birkin tightly. She walked through the grand entrance and into the glittering ballroom. The crystal chandeliers overhead threw blinding light across the room. Camera flashes popped like strobe lights from the press pit. Calista stepped further into the room. Instantly, she felt the physical weight of the stares. Women in diamonds and silk turned their heads. Their eyes dragged up and down her body with sharp, undisguised judgment. Calista spotted a senator's wife she had spoken to last month. She forced a polite smile and raised her hand in greeting. The senator's wife looked right at her, turned her back completely, and started talking to a waiter. Calista's hand froze in the air. Her face burned. She quickly lowered her arm and squeezed the handles of her bag until her knuckles turned white. She walked over to the towering champagne pyramid. She picked up a cold flute, using the glass as a shield to hide her awkwardness. Two socialites in sparkling dresses walked up to the marble pillar right behind her. They didn't see her. "Can you believe she's carrying that?" the first woman whispered loudly. "Parading around with a basic corporate gift." "I know," the second woman laughed. "I heard that's the standard model Alex Reed gives out to all the executives' wives this year. The real VIPs get the custom exotics, not the off-the-shelf ones. It's the standard 'keep them quiet' package." Calista's entire body went rigid. The champagne glass tilted in her hand. The cold liquid spilled over the rim, splashing onto her wrist. She looked down at the orange leather bag in her hand. Her stomach dropped so fast she felt physically sick. Bile rose in the back of her throat. It wasn't a gift from her husband. It was an assembly-line handout. The tiny spark of hope she had nurtured all morning was crushed into dust. She couldn't breathe. The air in the ballroom felt thick and suffocating. She needed to leave. She needed to run out the front doors. Just as she turned, the massive double doors of the ballroom were pushed open by two waiters. The loud chatter in the room died instantly. Every single head turned toward the entrance. Calista followed their gaze. The blood drained from her face. Her body turned to ice. Jett Holder was walking into the room. His long strides commanded the entire floor. And wrapped tightly around his arm, smiling brightly for the flashing cameras, was Kassandra Mckee. Kassandra lifted her chin, soaking in the attention like a victorious queen.