Chapter 5

Audrey Quinn POV

New York's annual charity gala, a gathering of the elite. Julian Vance, as a rising star in the business world, was naturally among the invited. As Mrs. Vance, I was expected to attend on his arm.

In the car, the atmosphere was icy. Julian kept his head down, replying to messages, a faint smile playing on his lips. I didn't need to guess; it was Chloe.

Upon arriving at the ballroom, Julian perfunctorily offered me his arm as we walked the red carpet, facing the media's flashing lights. As soon as we entered, Julian withdrew his arm.

"Go mingle, I need to see some clients," he said, then walked into the crowd without a backward glance.

I stood alone in a corner, holding a glass of champagne. I was accustomed to the hypocrisy of these events, and to using indifference to mask my inner turmoil.

Half an hour later, a commotion erupted at the ballroom entrance. I turned to look. Chloe had burst in, like a headless chicken, wearing a clearly ill-fitting, cheap evening gown. She seemed to be delivering some documents, but the security guard at the door stopped her, and she looked on the verge of tears.

The surrounding guests cast glances of disdain and amusement.

"Where did this beggar come from? Did she get lost?"

"To wear something like that to an event like this, how embarrassing."

The whispers were just loud enough to reach Chloe's ears. Her face flushed, and she clutched the document bag tightly.

Just then, Julian pushed through the crowd and strode towards her. He pulled Chloe into his embrace, his sharp gaze sweeping over the onlookers, his voice chillingly cold: "She's with me. Any objections?"

The entire room fell silent. Everyone's eyes began to dart between Julian, Chloe, and me in the corner. Their looks held pity, and ridicule.

Julian took off his own suit jacket, draped it over Chloe's trembling shoulders, and whispered comforting words. Then, he took Chloe's hand and, to the bewildered stares of the crowd, walked straight to the center of the ballroom. He had completely forgotten that his legal wife was still standing there.

A socialite walked up to me, covering her mouth with a soft laugh. "Mrs. Vance, it seems your position isn't very stable. Mr. Vance's protective gesture, one might mistake her for his wife."

My knuckles, gripping the stem of my champagne glass, turned white. I watched Julian, who for Chloe, didn't hesitate to offend everyone present, didn't hesitate to trample my dignity as his wife.

Suddenly, I felt utterly indifferent. I couldn't play this charade called marriage anymore.

I set down my glass and turned towards the exit.

Outside, it had started snowing. New York's first snow, biting cold. I walked down the icy street in my thin gown and ten-centimeter heels. Julian didn't follow. He was too busy comforting his startled little rabbit in the warm ballroom.

My ankle was chafed raw, blood seeping out, staining my heel. Yet, I felt no pain, walking step by painful step. Snowflakes landed on my hair and shoulders, melting into cold water.

I remembered the first snow five years ago. Julian had wrapped me in his coat and carried me down an entire street, just because I said my feet hurt. Now, on the same street, in the same snow, the man who once carried me gave all his warmth to someone else.