He Brought His Mistress, I Brought My Lawyers Chapter 06

He Brought His Mistress, I Brought My Lawyers Chapter 06

The next morning, the doctor was still urging me to stay for observation, but I had already signed my discharge papers.

I refused the butler’s escort and returned to my Boston apartment alone. In the dressing room, the Dior gown for tonight’s charity gala still hung in its place, a deep, starry blue. I changed into it, the long sleeves perfectly covering the IV marks on my wrist. The woman in the mirror was pale, but there was no trace of weakness in her eyes.

Tonight, at the annual charity gala in Newport, there would be a special exhibit: the antique lace wedding veil my mother had left me.

It was the only piece of her I had left in this world.

I had to go.

The gala was held at The Breakers, the Vanderbilt’s Gilded Age mansion. Beneath crystal chandeliers, silk and jewels flashed, glasses clinked, and the most powerful people on the East Coast gathered in one room.

I had barely stepped into the ballroom when a figure I never wanted to see again blocked my path.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were discharged?” Ethan wore a Tom Ford velvet suit, his brows drawn tight, his tone a mixture of fatigue and self-important concern.

Beside him, Sloane clung to his arm. She wore a pitifully pure white gown, looking so fragile and innocent you would never guess she was the one who had cried over the phone last night.

My gaze swept over Ethan’s hypocritical face and landed on Sloane. A cold smile touched my lips.

“Tell you? So you could find another storage room to lock me in?”

Sloane’s shoulders shrank. She pressed closer to Ethan, her voice just loud enough for the three of us to hear. “Ethan, Avery… she’s still angry with me. Everyone is looking. I’m so scared.”

Ethan patted her hand soothingly, then turned a reproachful look on me.

“Avery, Sloane has already apologized for being impulsive. Don’t be so aggressive.”

“Aggressive?” I gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “Compared to being illegally imprisoned and psychologically tortured, a few home truths count as aggressive?”

Ethan’s face darkened. “Do you have any idea what kind of event this is? The reputations of the Caldwell and Ward families are on the line. Can’t you be gracious for the sake of the bigger picture?”

“No.” I cut him off, each word an icicle. “My grace is reserved for people who deserve it.”

With that, I walked around them and headed toward the exhibit hall.

Moving through the crowd, I stopped before a standalone, climate-controlled glass case.

Inside lay my mother’s veil.

It was a nineteenth-century Belgian handmade lace masterpiece, every inch dotted with tiny pearls that glowed softly under the lights. I had imagined, countless times, wearing it as I walked toward Ethan.

Now, that vision was shattered. Only this relic remained, a reminder of how foolish I had been.

I stood there silently, looking at it, until Sloane’s cloying voice sounded behind me.

“Ethan, look. That veil is so beautiful.” She leaned into his arms, greed shining in her eyes. “If I could wear it, it would be like… like getting a mother’s blessing.”

The words were a poisoned thorn in my heart.

I turned sharply and saw Ethan looking at me with a complicated expression. Then he gave Sloane a soothing smile.

“You like it?”

I watched as he walked over to the gala director, a man we both knew. They spoke in low voices. The director looked troubled, but under Ethan’s insistence, he finally nodded.

As the surrounding guests watched in surprise, a staff member opened the glass case.

Ethan personally took out the veil, the one that carried all my beautiful fantasies. Then he turned and gently… placed it on Sloane’s head.

In that moment, the world went silent.

A victor’s smile blossomed on Sloane’s face. Lifting her skirt, she walked toward me, a bride showing off her prize.

She wanted me to see.

To see how easily she had taken everything.

My fiancé. My wedding.

And now, even my mother’s last gift.

She came closer and closer, the smug smile on her face growing clearer. Just as she brushed past me, heading for the towering champagne fountain, the heel of her shoe “accidentally” twisted.

“Ah!”

A deliberately panicked scream.

Sloane lost her balance and fell straight toward the mountain of champagne glasses.

Instinctively, I reached for the veil, but it was too fast.

Rip—

A sharp tearing sound cut through the air.

The fragile antique lace, which had survived for more than a century, was viciously snagged by the metal support at the top of the fountain.

A huge, ugly gash tore through the center of the veil, nearly ripping it in two.

Sloane fell to the floor, “shaken,” while the ruined veil slid from her head and landed on the cold marble, instantly soaked by spilled champagne.

My mind went blank.

Time stopped.

A few seconds later, a scalding, destructive rage exploded from my chest.

I slowly crouched down, ignoring the gasps and commotion around me. My fingertips trembled as they gently touched the irreparable tear and the pearls now yellowed with champagne.

Then I lifted my head and looked at Sloane, who was huddled on the floor, a flash of malicious satisfaction in her eyes.

Every expression vanished from my face.

All that remained was a chilling, gathering storm.