Chapter 8 - The Society GalaSix months later, the annual Manhattan Charity Gala was the event of the season. It was the same event where Caldwell had humiliated me a year prior.
This time, I arrived not as a forgotten wife, but as the reigning queen of New York business. I stepped out of my Maybach wearing a breathtaking, custom emerald gown. Julian Sterling offered me his arm, and together, we walked the red carpet to a frenzy of flashing cameras.
Inside, the room parted for us. Billionaires, politicians, and celebrities clamored for my attention.
Near the back by the restrooms, working as a junior event coordinator for a meager hourly wage, was Sloan. She was carrying a tray of empty champagne flutes, looking exhausted and worn down. She watched me walk past, her face burning with shame, and quickly turned her head to hide.
But the real spectacle was outside.
As Julian and I were leaving the event, a valet was arguing with a disheveled man trying to sneak past the security ropes. It was Caldwell. He was wearing an ill-fitting, cheap suit, holding a crumpled envelope.
"Phina! Saraphina!" he shouted, breaking through the line. Security instantly tackled him to the pavement.
"Let him speak," I commanded softly. The guards backed off, keeping a firm grip on his arms.
Caldwell looked up at me from the pavement. He looked ten years older. "Please," he sobbed. "I can't get a job. I'm blacklisted everywhere. My mom is working at a grocery store. I'm living in a motel. Just... just give me something. A middle management job. Please. I'm sorry."
Julian stepped slightly in front of me, protective but silent, letting me handle my own battles.
May you like
"You had the world, Caldwell," I looked down at him, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger. No sadness. Just apathy. "And you threw it away for a cheap thrill and a cheaper ego. I don't owe you salvation."
I turned my back on him. "Get him off my property."
Related Stories
