Chapter 4 - The Price of Arrogance
We reached the front of the room.
My father was greeted by the CEO of the Apex Group, a man who practically bowed at our feet.
“Mr. Harrell, Miss Harrell. It is the honor of a lifetime,” the man said, sweating profusely.
“Save the pleasantries, Marcus,” my father said smoothly. “My daughter and I are just here to observe. Please, carry on.”
But no one could carry on.
The entire gala had turned its attention to us.
Every powerful person in the room was trying to figure out how to approach the Harrell heiress.
Across the room, Spencer was hyperventilating.
I could see him in my peripheral vision, arguing in hushed, panicked tones with Paisley.
“That’s your wife?!” Paisley hissed, her face flushed with humiliation. “You told me she was a nobody! A housewife!”
“She is!” Spencer snapped, though his voice trembled. “She doesn't have a dime! This has to be a mistake. She must be... she must be an escort he hired, or a lookalike!”
But even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie.
The way I held myself. The undeniable resemblance to Raymond Harrell. The fact that the most powerful men in the city were currently waiting in line just to shake my hand.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Desperation overrode his common sense.
Spencer broke away from Paisley and aggressively pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the glares of the VIPs he shoved aside.
He stopped a few feet away from me, blocked instantly by two massive bodyguards.
“Phoebe!” he called out, his voice cracking.
The chatter around us died down.
My father turned slowly, fixing Spencer with a glare that could freeze hell.
I placed a gentle hand on my father's arm, silently telling him I had this.
I turned around to face my husband.
“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice cool, polite, and completely devoid of affection. “Do I know you?”
Spencer swallowed hard, sweating through his expensive gray suit.
“Phoebe, it’s me. Spencer. What... what is the meaning of this? Why are you here? Why are you with him?”
I tilted my head, looking him up and down with genuine pity.
“I'm afraid you must have the wrong person. The woman you're looking for was left at home tonight. She was told her dress was too old, and that she would only embarrass you in front of 'real people'.”
A collective gasp echoed through the surrounding crowd.
Billionaires and socialites thrive on gossip, and this was the juiciest scandal of the decade.
Spencer turned bright red.
“Phoebe, stop it,” he whispered frantically. “People are staring. Come here, let's talk about this privately.”
He reached out to grab my arm.
Before his fingers could even brush my skin, one of the bodyguards grabbed his wrist and twisted it sharply.
Spencer yelped in pain, dropping to his knees on the marble floor.
“Do not touch her,” the guard growled.
Paisley had rushed over, horrified. She tried to pull Spencer up, but he was too heavy, paralyzed by fear and confusion.
I looked down at them both.
They looked exactly like what they were.
May you like
Small. Pathetic. Fake.
“I think you should leave, Mr. Conway,” I said, my voice echoing loudly in the silent room. “After all, you wouldn't want me to ruin your evening.”
