Chapter 19: The 70th Jubilee

Annulment.

The word was a razor blade, clean and sterile. It meant erasing everything. Ten years of marriage. The twins. The life I had built on the foundation of their lies. An annulment meant I was never a wife. I was just an employee who had been fired.

And if I wasn't his wife, I had no claim to the assets. No claim to the house. No protection from the debts.

I backed away from the study door, my heels silent on the plush runner. I needed to move.

The Gala was in full swing by the time I descended the grand staircase. The foyer was filled with the city's elite—bankers, politicians, old money families who had known the Vanes since the concrete was still wet.

I played my part. I smiled. I shook hands. I accepted compliments on the flower arrangements while my mind raced through the contents of the diary tucked in my clutch.

*Eleanor took him.*

I scanned the room for her. She was holding court in the conservatory, surrounded by admirers. She looked regal in silver brocade, her wheelchair a throne.

And then the front doors opened.

A hush fell over the room. It started at the entrance and rippled outward, a wave of silence silencing the string quartet.

Catherine Vane stood in the doorway.

She wasn't wearing the modest, high-necked dress from dinner. She was wearing the emerald silk gown, modified. The neckline plunged. The back was open. It clung to her like a second skin, revealing a body that was thin but undeniably strong.

Her hair was down, a cascade of dark waves. She wore diamonds at her throat—diamonds that looked suspiciously like the "heirlooms" Eleanor claimed were in the vault.

She didn't look fragile. She looked terrifying.

Eleanor’s smile faltered. For the first time, I saw genuine fear crack the porcelain of her composure.

Richard, standing near the bar with a donor, dropped his glass. It shattered, shards of crystal scattering across the marble.

Catherine stepped into the room. She didn't look at the guests. She didn't look at Eleanor.

She walked straight toward Richard, her gaze locked on him with the intensity of a predator.

And in that moment, the resemblance was undeniable. Not just siblings.

Partners.

She stopped in front of him. The silence was absolute.

"Hello, darling," she said, her voice clear and resonant, carrying to every corner of the room. "Did you miss me?"

She reached out and adjusted his tie. It was an intimate, possessive gesture. The same way he had touched her hand at dinner.

The same way he touched me.

Richard stared at her, paralyzed. He looked like a man waking up from a dream to find the nightmare was real.

"Catherine," he whispered, his voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

She smiled, and it wasn't the vacant smile of the invalid. It was sharp. Calculating.

"I'm reclaiming my seat," she said.

She turned then, linking her arm through his. She looked out at the room, at the stunned faces of the board members and the bankers.

And then she looked at me.

Her eyes were cold. Triumphant.

She didn't acknowledge me as a sister-in-law. She didn't acknowledge me as a rival.

She looked at me like I was the help.

"Richard," she said loudly, "isn't it time we made the announcement?"