“She’s not my wife. She’s the nanny.”
The oxygen seemed to vanish from the room the moment Julian said those words to the CEO of his company. He didn’t use my name or mention that we had been married for seven years, instead erasing my existence as his partner in a single heartbeat.
Earlier that evening, while I was adjusting a white silk gown in our bedroom in Palm Beach, Julian walked in with the arrogant air of a man who believed the world revolved around his success.
“Are you seriously wearing that dress to the gala?” he asked while tightening his gold cufflinks.
“I think it looks elegant and timeless,” I replied while smoothing the fabric over my hips.
“It looks plain, and tonight isn’t just a dinner, Sarah. It’s the Zenith Group annual gala where people who actually matter will be watching us.”
I smiled and chose not to argue because I was used to him treating me like a decorative background piece. He never suspected that the luxury we lived in didn’t come from his salary as a vice president, but rather from my own secret investments.
My grandfather had left me a massive inheritance that I used to quietly acquire struggling businesses like Zenith Group, which I had bailed out through a private fund six months ago. Julian was desperate to impress the interim director, Maxwell Thorne, because he spent every waking hour dreaming of a promotion to the executive board.
