Chapter 3

The edges of my vision blurred.

I stumbled toward the backofhouse staff lounge, my high heels rubbing raw my swollen, aching ankles.

I locked myself inside the room and pulled out my phone with trembling fingers.

I messaged Beckett’s psychotherapist right away.

When I read the reply, I could barely breathe.

The therapist had left the country one week earlier for a monthlong international medical conference.

Worse still: official records proved that for an entire twelve months, Beckett had never shown up for a single scheduled psychotherapy appointment.

I sank onto the floor, hollow and numb, my thoughts swirling chaotically.

If he wanted to be with Jessa, he could simply have asked for a divorce.

Why had he dragged me through one whole year of hardship and poverty? Why had he forced me to give up my grandmother’s irreplaceable heirloom? Why had he fabricated this whole illusion of mental breakdown to trap me inside this farce?

I dialled Beckett’s cellphone. Without hesitation, he sent my call straight to voicemail.

Seconds later, a flood of text messages popped up one after another in our chat window.

“Sorry, honey. Therapy is so expensive, and I didn’t want to waste time. I couldn’t take your call. I will ring you as soon as this event is over.”

“Also, you mentioned wanting beef before. I passed the supermarket, and they have twelvepercentoff beef tonight.”

My fingers shook so badly I could hardly hold my phone.

Eventually I forced myself to stand and walk back out onto the main auctionhouse floor to finish my duties.

Before I reached my station, Supervisor Greg spotted me.

He stormed over in a rage, shouting loudly enough for nearby guests and junior staff to turn their heads.

“Where on earth have you been? If you cannot do your job during working hours, you might as well resign. Nobody is forcing you to work here!”

He shoved my shoulder hard.

My highheeled shoes slipped on the polished marble floor. I fell backward, my back slamming solidly against a broad, firm chest.

A low, faintly amused chuckle sounded directly above my head:

“Miss, how much longer do you plan to lean against my chest?”

I jerked backward at once, my head spinning, overwhelmed with embarrassment. “II am terribly sorry.”

The anger vanished instantly from the manager’s face. Having recognised the man I had bumped into, he turned fawning.

It was Kael Rainer.

A reclusive privateequity billionaire with immense wealth, a regular name across national financial headlines, the very man who had won the necklace from the toptier private VIP box this evening.

“Mr. Rainer, welcome back to the city!” Greg babbled nervously. “Has this hostess hurt you in any way?”

Kael Rainer still wore a faint, pleasant smile, yet his eyes had turned sharp.

“She would never have crashed into me if you had not pushed her.”

Greg realised he could not afford to offend this powerful man and gave an awkward laugh.

Seeing him, a reckless thought stirred within me.

If I obtained Kael Rainer’s private contact information, perhaps in some distant future I might stand a chance of trying to buy back my grandmother’s heirloom.

Reason told me I did not have the financial means to bid for the jewellery. Still, a desperate, faint spark of hope flickered inside my heart.

Steeling my nerve and ignoring the mocking laughter of people around me, I turned toward Kael.

“Mr. Rainer, might I be so bold as to ask for your contact information?”

Several hostesses standing nearby snickered and threw mocking glances in my direction. Some onlooking guests muttered sarcastic remarks.

“Look at her, trying to latch onto Mr. Kael now.”

“A billionaire like him would never spare a second for a woman in her position.”

Their jeering stung deep inside me.

Kael studied my face quietly for a long moment.

Then he pulled his personal business card out of his wallet and held it out to rest in my palm.

“Take it. Reach out whenever you are ready.”