Chapter 3

My thoughts pulled loose from the memory. Someone was calling to me from a little way off.

"Miss Henson."

Layla waved me over, elegant as if she were summoning a waiter.

I didn't move. It didn't seem to bother her. She went on.

"I hear you hold your liquor well, Miss Henson. Come pour me a glass."

The whole table went quiet, waiting, I supposed, to see how I'd make a fool of myself.

When I still hadn't moved, Layla tilted her head, the smile unchanged.

"What, you won't?"

I glanced at Neal beside her, his face cold and blank, then smiled and stood, picked up the decanter, and walked over to her.

I'd started out as a club hostess anyway. If they wanted a show, if they wanted a laugh, then fine, they'd get one.

"Congratulations on your engagement, Miss Whitney."

I bent slightly to pour into her glass. The wine had barely covered the bottom when her wrist jerked up.

Before I could react, most of the wine in the decanter splashed across Layla.

"You—"

She shot to her feet, staring down at her ruined dress, her eyes reddening in an instant.

She played it well. Well enough that even I almost believed my hand had slipped.

"You're a waiter and you can't even manage something this simple?"

Her voice carried just the right measure of hurt and outrage. A few men in security uniforms strode over. She pointed at me and turned her face away, refusing to look at me anymore.

"Miss Henson, this way, please."

I set down the decanter, turned, and walked out.

The whispers followed me.

"That's the real lady putting her in her place. Everyone in the room can see it."

"So what? At our level, what man doesn't keep one or two on the side? But the wife is the wife. No one gets over that."

"Still, Mr. Gilbert. Keep her if he wants, but bringing her to the engagement party? That's a slap in Layla's face."

"Men. Play all they want. Once they're bored, toss her a little money and be done with it."

No one condemned Neal. No one thought he'd done anything wrong.

In their circle, this was nothing out of the ordinary.

The wife handled the pedigree and the appearances, the mistress handled the amusement and the appetite. Clean lines, an unspoken understanding.

I'd just stepped out the hotel doors when my phone buzzed in my pocket. A payment reminder from the hospital.

I hailed a car straight there. Waiting in line at the payment window, the nurse checked the system and looked up, puzzled.

"Ms. Henson, the balance in the patient's account was withdrawn in full the day before yesterday. The withdrawal was made by a family member, Duke Henson."

Hearing that name, my heart dropped.

I walked out of the payment hall, leaned against the corridor wall, and dialed Duke.

"Dad, you took all the money for Grandma's hospital care?"

"Yeah, took it. Something wrong? If not, I'm hanging up. Don't bother me while I'm at the table."

"That was Grandma's money to save her life!"

My voice climbed before I could stop it.

"Transfer it back right now. Grandma, she—"

Duke spat on the other end and cut me off, impatient.

"How old is your grandmother? Treat her all you want, she'll end up the same either way."

"When people get old, they're supposed to die. All that money you're pouring into a hospital, you'd do better showing your mom and me some respect."

I clenched my teeth, my voice shaking as I spoke.

"But I've already given you millions. Isn't that enough?"

"Not enough!"

My mother, Amber Swanson, snatched the phone and screamed.

"Georgia, I'm telling you, if you dare talk back again, tomorrow we move the old woman back home and let her fend for herself!"

I was a child raised by my grandmother.

And now everyone was using her to threaten me.

Neal used her to force me into being his mistress. My parents used her to squeeze more money out of me.

Everyone knew she was the most important person in my life, so everyone made her their bargaining chip.

And that old woman lying in the hospital bed knew none of it.