Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 08

Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 08

Three days later-the fall auction gala in Arcwood.

The biggest social event of October.

Half the old-money families in the city would be there.

Even if you weren’t buying anything, you showed up.

It was the circle’s annual check-in.

If you came, it meant you were still at the table.

I hadn’t planned to bring anything into that room, but Valerie made that decision for me.

Two hours before the gala, Linda called.

“Sloane… Valerie says she wants to attend the auction tonight too.”

I was getting dressed, holding an earring. My hand paused for half a second.

“Tell her not to come.”

“I-I can’t stop her… she says she used to be Mrs. Shaw-”

“She never was.”

I put the earring on.

“She didn’t even finish the wedding. I’m the one whose name is on the marriage certificate.”

Silence on the other end.

“Mom, listen carefully,” I said, looking at myself in the mirror. Black velvet gown, clean neckline, ten years of composure carved into my features. “Everyone in that room knows me. If she shows up, the only person she embarrasses is herself.”

“You really can’t stop her?”

“I…”

“Then don’t.”

Lhung up.

The woman in the mirror curved her lips slightly.

Not a smile.

More like a move already placed on the board.

At 7:30 p.m., Adrian’s car stopped in front of Zenith Art Center.

He wore a deep navy suit tonight, with a dark wine tie that caught a faint sheen under the lights.

I picked it for him.

He walked around to my side, opened the door and held out his hand.

I took it and stepped out.

The October night wind slipped down my collar, but his palm was warm.

“Valerie will be here,” I said quietly on the steps.

“I know.”

“How?”

“Your mom called you,” he said. “Your expression changed.”

“What expression?”

He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth shifting slightly, but didn’t answer.

We stepped onto the red carpet.

Two lines of staff stood by the entrance. The hostess greeted us with a professional smile and a slight bow.

“Mr. Shaw. Mrs. Shaw. This way, please.”

The hall was ablaze with light.

Crystal chandeliers shattered gold across the floor. The air carried a mix of wine, cigars, and

perfume.

Victor Hudson, the second son of the Hudson family, walked over with a glass in hand.

“Hey, Sloane! Long time no see! You still holding that piece for me, right? I’ve been thinking about

it for three months-”

“Still have it. I’ll have someone send it over.’

“Nice! That’s what I like to hear!”

Miranda Parker, one of the wealthy ladies, grabbed my hand, lowering her voice.

“Is that European porcelain deal settled yet? I heard someone bid eight figures…”

“Not yet. No rush.”

“You’re really patient.”

This was my ground.

Everyone who came up to greet me carried just the right amount of warmth-and just the right amount of respect.

No one called me “Mrs. Shaw” because of Adrian.

They knew I was Sloane.

I authenticated that batch of antique vases for the Hudson family.

I connected the Parker family with European collectors.

Last year’s most talked-about auction-a Monet oil painting that sold for 120 million.

The bidder on the phone, code name “Aurora,” was me.

Valerie didn’t know any of this.

Neither did the Mercers.

To them, I was still just someone serving coffee in the Shaw family.