13. Cassie
— ? —
Cassie
The venue is a historic mansion, all marble columns and crystal chandeliers. Paparazzi line the entrance, cameras flashing as guests arrive in their designer gowns and tailored tuxedos.
Including, I know, Charles.
Elliot offers me his arm as we exit the car. I take it, grateful for the steadiness.
“Smile,” he murmurs. “They’re going to love you.”
The cameras explode as we walk the carpet. I hear my name being shouted, see the confusion on photographers’ faces as they try to figure out who I am and why I’m on Elliot Beaumont’s arm.
Inside, the party is already in full swing. We make our way through the crowd, stopping to greet acquaintances, to make small talk, to play the game. Elliot introduces me to everyone as “Cassandra,” no last name, no context, letting them draw their own conclusions.
The whispers follow us like a tide.
I’m accepting a champagne flute from a passing waiter when I see him.
Charles.
He’s across the room, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. His suit is rumpled, his hair disheveled, his face drawn and pale. He’s talking to a group of men, but his eyes keep scanning the crowd.
Looking for me.
And then he finds me.
Our eyes meet across the room. I watch his face cycle through shock, disbelief, and finally a surge of pure rage as he takes in my dress, my hair, my hand on Elliot’s arm.
He starts moving toward us.
“Incoming,” I murmur.
“I see him.” Elliot’s hand tightens on my waist. “You want to leave?”
“No. I want to watch him make a fool of himself.”
Charles pushes through the crowd, abandoning all pretense of social grace. People are starting to notice. Heads turning, conversations pausing, attention shifting toward the unfolding drama.
“Cassie.” His voice is loud enough to carry. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Hello, Charles.” I keep my voice pleasant. “Lovely party, isn’t it?”
“Don’t give me that crap.” He stops in front of us, close enough that I can smell whiskey on his breath. “You show up here, with him, dressed like... like...”
“Like what?” I tilt my head. “Like a woman who’s moved on?”
“You’re my wife.”
“I’m your soon-to-be ex-wife. There’s a difference.”
“We haven’t even filed yet!”
“Funny thing about that.” I take a sip of champagne. “My lawyer says we should have the papers ready by Monday. Irreconcilable differences. Very straightforward.”
Charles’s face goes red. “You can’t just... you can’t do this. You can’t humiliate me like this, showing up with him, making me look like.”
“Like what?” Elliot’s voice is dangerously calm. “Like a man whose wife left him because he was sleeping with his secretary? That’s not humiliation, Charles. That’s consequences.”
“You stay out of this.” Charles jabs a finger toward Elliot’s chest. “This is between me and my wife.”
“Actually, it’s between you and your lawyers now.” I set down my champagne glass. “And speaking of lawyers, don’t bother trying to hide assets. I had access to all your accounts for five years, remember? I know exactly where everything is.”
The color drains from Charles’s face.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” I smile, and it’s all teeth. “I really, really would.”
“You bitch.” He steps closer, and I see something dangerous flash in his eyes. “You think you can just waltz in here and…”
Elliot moves fast. One second Charles is in my face, the next he’s stumbling backward with Elliot’s hand wrapped around his wrist.
“Touch her,” Elliot says quietly, “and I will destroy you. Not metaphorically. Literally. I will take apart everything you’ve built, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I should.” Elliot releases him with a slight shove. “Go home, Charles. Sleep it off. And pray that Cassie’s lawyer is feeling generous.”
Charles looks between us, his face a mask of impotent rage. He’s used to getting his way, and he has no idea how to handle being denied.
“This isn’t over,” he spits.
“Actually, it is.” I step forward. “We’re done, Charles. We’ve been done for longer than either of us admitted. The only difference now is that I’m not pretending anymore.”
“Cassie.”
He reaches for my arm. I see it coming, see his hand moving toward me, and something in me snaps.
I don’t think, I just act.
My champagne goes right in his face.
The room goes dead silent.
Charles sputters, wine dripping from his chin, his shirt stained, his expression a mixture of shock and humiliation. For a moment, nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Then someone laughs. A woman near the bar, quickly stifled but unmistakable.
And just like that, the spell breaks.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Phones come out. I can already see the social media posts being composed, the gossip being crafted, the story taking shape.
Charles Wallace, doused with champagne by his wife at a charity gala. The man who cheated with his secretary, publicly humiliated by the woman he wronged.
“You’re going to regret that,” Charles hisses, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“No.” I hand my empty glass to a passing waiter. “I really don’t think I will.”
I turn my back on him. Take Elliot’s arm. And walk away without looking back.
But I’m not done yet.
I spot a cluster of women I recognize near the bar. Society wives, charity board members, women who trade in gossip and judgment. They’re watching me with barely concealed fascination.
I change course. Walk directly toward them.
“Cassie?” Elliot’s voice is questioning.
“Trust me.”
The women fall silent as I approach. I recognize Margaret Whitmore, the biggest gossip in three counties, and I paste on my warmest smile.
“Margaret! How lovely to see you.”
“Cassandra.” Margaret’s eyes are calculating. “That was quite a display.”
“Wasn’t it?” I feign embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. But when a man who’s been cheating on you for months tries to grab you in public, well. Sometimes champagne happens.”
The women’s eyes go wide.
“Cheating?” Margaret leans in. “I thought you two were having problems, but I didn’t realize.”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” I keep my voice conversational. “He’s been sleeping with his secretary. Young thing, twenty-two, just started working for him a few months ago. I found them in his office last week.”
Gasps all around.
“That’s...” Margaret seems to be struggling for words. “That’s quite a story.”
“It’s quite a truth.” I glance back at Elliot, who’s watching me with something like admiration. “But I’ve decided not to let it define me. Life’s too short to stay with men who don’t appreciate what they have, don’t you think?”
The women nod, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and barely suppressed glee. They’re going to dine out on this story for months.
“Anyway, lovely to see you all.” I smile brightly. “Do spread the word, won’t you? I’d hate for anyone to hear Charles’s version of events without knowing the full story.”
I turn and walk away, Elliot at my side.
“That was brutal,” he murmurs.
“That was honesty.” I take his hand. “Now let’s get out of here before I lose my nerve.”