Chapter 3

And yet, he was using my money to throw a party for his friends and promise his life to another woman.

Chloe was so furious she rolled up her sleeves, ready to storm in.

"I am going to rip that bastard and his side-piece apart!"

I grabbed her arm.

Tyler's personal credit cards were completely maxed out. Where did he get the confidence to throw such a lavish party?

I looked down and opened my designer handbag.

Sure enough, the black VIP card for this restaurant was gone.

I looked back up, narrowing my eyes at Tyler under the flower arch.

Ha.

Tucked into the left pocket of his custom suit jacket was a familiar sliver of black and gold.

The host led Chloe and me upstairs to a private booth with a perfect, hidden view of the lobby.

Just as I sat down, a Snapchat notification popped up.

"Stella, this client is being super difficult. I don't think I'll make it back tonight. Go to sleep, don't wait up."

And then, another one.

"I ordered your favorite takeout to the penthouse. Eat it while it's hot. Love you!"

Through the one-way glass of the booth, I watched him.

One hand was typing the message on his phone, while the other was wrapped around Bambi's waist, his fingers tracing her skin.

My stomach churned. I felt like throwing up.

Chloe shoved her phone in front of my face, her eyes burning with rage.

Bambi had just posted on Instagram. It was a photo of her hand with the diamond ring resting against Tyler's cheek.

The caption was incredibly bold:

"An old woman’s money is so easy to spend. But he still loves me the most ~"

"Old woman?"

He was using my money to play the rich gentleman, while his little mistress insulted me.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I pressed the button to page the restaurant manager.

In less than two minutes, a well-dressed, middle-aged man walked in.

"Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you tonight?"

I pulled up my ID and the electronic receipt of my VIP account registration on my phone.

"My name is Stella Vance. I am a Black Card member here. I’ve lost my physical card, and I need to report it stolen and lock the account immediately. Please issue me a new one."

The manager quickly verified my identity on his tablet.

"Of course, Ms. Vance. I will process that right away."

Five minutes later, a brand-new black VIP card was placed in my hand.

Out of professional courtesy, the manager leaned in before leaving.

"Ms. Vance, I should inform you. Our system shows that your old card is currently being used downstairs."

"As of right now, the pending charge is thirty-eight thousand dollars."

He paused, checking my expression.

"Would you like us to call the police, or have security escort them out?"

I picked up my glass of 1982 Château Lafite and swirled the dark red liquid.

"No need for the police."

"From now on, my account only authorizes my signature and this new card."

The manager was a smart man. He understood instantly, bowed politely, and left.

Downstairs, the cheering grew louder.

"Tyler! I heard Vanguard Capital is officially signing the contract with you tomorrow? That's a multi-million dollar investment! You're going to be filthy rich!"

"Yeah! Don't forget about your day-ones when you make it big, Boss!"

Tyler was drunk on the flattery. He stepped onto a chair, raising his voice so the whole restaurant could hear him.