When My Husband Chose His Real Wife

I took one step toward my sister.

The girl in cheap gold jewelry did not back away. She didn't look scared at all. Instead, a mean smile spread across her face. She set her champagne flute down on a glass pedestal with a sharp click.

"You must be Vienna," she said. Her voice was shrill and grating. "The big boss lady. The fake wife."

I didn't answer her. I kept my eyes on Briella. "Bri, can you stand?"

Before Briella could whisper back, Kyla lunged at me.

She moved fast. Her fingers hooked into my hair, yanking my head back hard. Pain flared across my scalp. The sudden jerk knocked my black leather handbag from my shoulder. It hit the marble floor with a heavy thud.

I didn't scream. I pulled back with all my weight, breaking her grip. Strands of my hair came out between her fingers.

Kyla laughed. She looked down at my designer bag. Then, with slow, exaggerated care, she raised her right foot. She wore red stilettos with scuffed soles. She brought her sharp heel down right on the center of the leather.

She twisted her foot. The metal tip ground deep into the calfskin, ripping the grain with a sickening crunch.

"Look at you," Kyla sneered. She turned to the rest of the store, raising her voice so every single client and seamstress could hear. "Look at your precious designer! She’s nothing but a fraud! A cheap homewrecker! You’ve been sleeping in another woman’s bed for years, Vienna! You’re just Noel’s pathetic little side piece!"

Two high-society clients by the dressing rooms gasped. One pulled out her phone.

Kyla loved the audience. Her chest puffed up. She pointed a finger in my face. "I am Noel Sanchez’s legal wife! Noel gave me everything. This boutique? His money bought it! You stole my life, you thief!"

My heart was beating in my ears, but my hands were steady. I felt a cold, quiet stillness take over my body. It was the same icy focus I got when a runway show was falling apart and I had sixty seconds to fix a ruined hemline.

I didn't yell. I didn't hit her.

I stood straight. I reached up and smoothed my hair back into place. I pulled the lapels of my tailored blazer flat.

Then I reached into my pocket, took out my phone, and tapped three numbers.

I put the phone to my ear.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"My name is Vienna Edwards," I said. My voice was smooth and clear. It sounded like I was ordering a roll of French silk. "I am the owner of the Edwards Bridal Atelier on Fifth Avenue. I have an active trespasser who has physically assaulted my sister and myself, and is destroying property. Send officers immediately."

I gave the address and hung up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maggie Hicks move.

The moment she heard me say *police*, her face paled. She quickly took two steps away from Kyla. She bent down, grabbed a fallen tulle skirt from the floor, and began smoothing out the fabric. She was trying to look busy. She was trying to look neutral, like an innocent store manager caught in the middle.

I didn't say a single word to her. I just looked at her.

Maggie glanced up, met my eyes for a fraction of a second, and immediately dropped her gaze to the floor. Her hands were shaking against the white tulle. I catalogued every tiny twitch of her face. I catalogued the guilt.

*Five years,* I thought. *I gave you five years.*

I walked past Kyla, knelt beside Briella, and gently wiped the blood from her lip with a clean silk handkerchief.

"I'm okay, Vivi," Briella whispered, her voice trembling. "She's crazy. She's completely crazy."

"I know," I said softly. "Don't talk. Just breathe."

Three minutes later, red and blue lights flashed across the high boutique windows.

The front doors swung open. Two uniformed NYPD officers walked in, their hands resting near their belts. "Everyone stay where you are. Who called?"

"I did," I said, standing up.

Before I could say another word, a loud, choking sob cut through the room.

It was Kyla.

The vicious sneer was gone. The loud, arrogant swagger was gone. In a split second, she looked small, terrified, and fragile. Tears streamed down her cheeks, ruining her heavy mascara. She clutched her own arms and stumbled toward the officers.

"Help me, please!" she cried, her voice cracking with pure misery. "Officers, thank God you’re here! They attacked me!"

The older officer frowned. "Ma'am, calm down. Step back."

"I was just doing my job!" Kyla sobbed, pressing a shaking hand to her chest. "They jumped me! Briella refused to pay, and then Vienna came in like a madwoman. They both cornered me! I only fought back to save my life! Look at my arms, I'm bruised all over!"

She held out her bare wrists, shaking dramatically. She looked like a battered victim. Anyone who hadn't seen the last ten minutes would have believed every single word.

"I want to press charges," Kyla wheezed, wiping her nose. "I want to file a counter-complaint right now. She’s trying to ruin my life because she wants my husband!"

The younger officer pulled out a notepad. "Whose husband?"

"Noel Sanchez!" Kyla shouted through her tears. "I am Noel Sanchez's legal wife!"

The older officer sighed. He looked between Kyla, then at Briella’s bloody face, and finally at me. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Alright," he said firmly. "We're going to sort this out at the precinct. But first, since you're both claiming ownership and domestic ties to this man, we need identification. Both of you. Do you have proof of your marriage certificates?"