His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 07

His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 07

The auctioneer’s gavel fell with a crisp, final bang.

“Sold!”

Thirty-two million dollars. An absurd, outrageous number for an emerald necklace that wasn’t even particularly rare. The entire hall fell into a strange silence, followed by sparse, polite applause filled with scrutiny.

I saw several foundation trustees looking livid. Mr. Harrison even turned his head away, unable to watch.

Griffin, like a gladiator who had just won a bloody duel, had a wild, exhausted light in his eyes. He ignored the complicated gazes and walked straight to Daphne, fastening the necklace around her neck himself, like a warlord offering up the spoils of war.

Daphne lifted her chin, accepting the coronation, then planted a triumphant kiss on his cheek. Beneath the crystal chandeliers, the two of them embraced as if the rest of the world were merely a backdrop to their love story.

I stood at the edge of the crowd and watched my husband, a man usually so proper in his speech and actions, now looking like an out-of-control boy desperate to prove himself. It was the first time I had seen him so spirited, so sharp.

All for another woman.

And it would be the last.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even feel pain anymore. Only a bone-deep numbness and, beneath it, relief. Amid the applause, I quietly raised my phone and recorded the scene: the glittering necklace, Daphne’s victorious smile, Griffin’s satisfied profile, and the awkward expressions of the people around them.

Then I saved it.

After that, I silently turned and left amid the rising tide of discussion.

This time, I was leaving for good.

* * *

At dawn, Griffin still hadn’t come home. There was only a brief iMessage from him: “The legal paperwork after the auction is complicated. I have to fly to Geneva. I’ll be back in about a week.”

A perfect, impeccable excuse.

A few minutes later, Daphne’s Instagram updated. It was a photo on a private jet. She wore the emerald necklace and held a glass of champagne, with the blue line of a Caribbean flight route in the background. She had even thoughtfully tagged Griffin in the photo. The caption read: “Some people promise you the world. He just took me away from it. Thank you, G.”

I calmly looked at the dazzling photo, then replied to Griffin’s text with one word: “OK.”

Then I opened my MacBook.

I didn’t browse heartbreak quotes or search “how to get over a breakup.” I opened Zillow, set the location to Portland, Maine, and filtered for houses with coastal views. Then, in another window, I typed: “Boston to Maine interstate moving company premium custom service.”

The call connected quickly.

“Yes, I’d like to inquire about the cost of moving out of Beacon Hill,” I said softly into the phone. “There isn’t much, but some artwork and books need to be handled with extreme care…”

“Amelia? Who are you talking to?”

Griffin’s voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. I jumped, turning to see he had come back at some point. He was taking off a trench coat that smelled of travel.

I quickly avoided his questioning gaze. “I’ll call you back,” I said into the phone before hanging up.

“Nothing. Just helping a friend from the foundation look into movers,” I answered, my expression smooth. “She’s moving to the West Coast.”

Griffin nodded, not asking any further. There was a trace of fatigue and appeasement on his face. He took a beautifully wrapped blue gift box from his suitcase.

“You said you didn’t like jewelry, so I picked something else for you in St. Barts.” He handed me the box. “See if you like it.”

I opened it. It was a custom perfume bottle engraved with my name. I sprayed it once, sniffed it symbolically, and set it down.

“I like it. Thank you.”

My flat reaction seemed to surprise him. He stepped forward and gently hugged me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, a probing note in his tone.

“What’s been going on with you lately? I was in Geneva for so long, and you didn’t ask a single question. Are you not feeling well, or just in a bad mood?”

I hadn’t expected him to notice whether I’d texted him while he and Daphne were basking in the Caribbean sun. But on second thought, maybe he was just used to it. Used to my daily check-ins, my meticulous concern for his schedule. Anyone would notice if a tool that provided stable emotional validation suddenly stopped working.

“I’m just a little tired,” I said faintly.

Seeing that I was unwilling to talk, Griffin assumed I was still upset about the auction. He turned me around to face him, bringing with him a scent of sea salt, rum, and another woman’s perfume. He tried to kiss me.

Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I did something I’d never done before. I turned my head to the side and pressed a hand against his chest with quiet but firm resistance.

“Don’t.” I stepped back, putting distance between us, my face showing the right amount of exhaustion and fragility. “My migraine is acting up.”

After that, I didn’t look at him again. I walked straight into the bathroom and shut the door.

Griffin stood frozen, staring at my decisive back and the closed door, his brows tightly furrowed.

He only found it strange. Lately, I always seemed to be “not feeling well.”