The Waldorf ballroom glitters with New York's elite, all dressed in their finest for the children's hospital charity auction. Diamonds and designer gowns, tuxedos and champagne, the air thick with perfume and privilege.

Ethan and I arrive fashionably late, his hand resting possessively at the small of my back as we make our entrance. I'm wearing a black Dior gown that manages to be both elegant and daring, with a high neckline in front but a dramatically low back. Vivienne's diamond necklace gleams at my throat, complemented by diamond studs in my ears and, of course, my wedding and engagement rings.


"You look breathtaking," Ethan murmurs as we pause at the top of the grand staircase, his eyes traveling appreciatively over me. "Every man in this room will envy me tonight."

"That's the idea, isn't it?" I reply with a small smile. "The perfect power couple."

"Among other things," he agrees, his hand sliding slightly lower on my back, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine.


This physical awareness between us is becoming harder to ignore—the chemistry that flares whenever we touch, the way my body responds to his proximity despite all my mental warnings against it. A complication I didn't anticipate when I agreed to this arrangement.

We make our way through the crowd to the Knight family table, where Vivienne is already holding court, resplendent in midnight blue Valentino and what appears to be the entire Knight family diamond collection.


"Ethan, Olivia, there you are," she greets us, rising to kiss our cheeks. "I was beginning to think you'd changed your minds."

"Traffic," Ethan explains smoothly, though the real reason for our tardiness was Leo's reluctance to let us leave. Despite Mrs. Chen's best efforts to distract him, he'd clung to my leg, suddenly fearful of being left behind. It had taken nearly thirty minutes of reassurance and promises before he finally let go.

"Well, you're here now," Vivienne says, gesturing to the remaining seats at the table. "Jonathan should be arriving shortly. He had a board meeting that ran late."

Ethan's father—the one family member I haven't yet met. From Ethan's rare comments about him, I gather their relationship is strained at best. Another complication in our already complex family dynamic.

As we take our seats, I scan the room, cataloging familiar faces. The mayor and his wife near the stage. Several prominent business leaders clustered around the bar. And there—at a table near the center of the room—the Morgan family.

My father, Diana, and Cassandra, joined by Nathaniel and Maxwell Pierce. The sight of them together, laughing and drinking champagne without a care in the world, sends a surge of cold rage through me. They destroyed my life, murdered my mother, and now sit here among New York's elite as if they deserve their place.

Soon, I promise myself. Soon they'll pay for everything they've done.

"Olivia?" Ethan's voice breaks through my thoughts. "My mother asked if you'd like to view the auction items before dinner."

I blink, forcing my attention back to the present. "Of course. I'd be delighted."

Vivienne leads us through the ballroom to a separate area where the auction items are displayed—artwork, luxury vacations, jewelry, and various experiences donated by the wealthy patrons of the hospital.

"I've donated a weekend at our Hamptons estate," Vivienne explains as we browse. "And Ethan has offered a private dinner with himself and the winner to discuss investment opportunities—always a popular item among the aspiring entrepreneurs."

"Very generous," I observe, genuinely impressed by the Knight family's philanthropy. It's not just for show—Vivienne clearly cares deeply about the hospital's mission.

"And what will you be bidding on, Olivia?" she asks, her eyes sharp with interest. "Everyone will be curious about the new Mrs. Knight's tastes."

I scan the display, looking for something suitable, when my eye catches on a particular item—a Fabergé egg, exquisitely crafted in blue enamel and gold, nestled in a velvet-lined case.

"That's beautiful," I say, moving closer to examine it.

"Ah, the Fabergé," Vivienne nods approvingly. "Donated by the Russian Ballet Company. It's expected to be one of the highest-priced items tonight."

"Then that's what I'll bid on," I decide, drawn to the egg's craftsmanship and history. My mother had loved Fabergé pieces—she'd owned a small collection before her death, all of which disappeared after I was forced from my home.

"Excellent choice," Vivienne approves. "Though you may have competition. I believe Cassandra Morgan has her eye on it as well."

The coincidence is too perfect. Of course Cassandra would want the same item—she's spent her life coveting what's mine, taking what doesn't belong to her. But not this time.

"May the best bidder win," I say with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

As we return to our table, I notice Cassandra watching us, her expression calculating. She leans over to whisper something to Diana, both their gazes fixed on me.

"Ignore them," Ethan advises quietly, noticing the direction of my attention. "The Morgans thrive on creating drama."

If only he knew the half of it.

Dinner is served—an elaborate five-course affair befitting the ticket price—followed by speeches from the hospital director and various benefactors. Finally, the auction begins, with a professional auctioneer taking the stage to coax ever-higher bids from the wealthy audience.

The Fabergé egg is saved for last, the crown jewel of the evening's offerings. When it's finally presented, a hush falls over the room as the auctioneer describes its provenance and significance.

"We'll start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars," he announces. "Do I hear fifty thousand?"

Several hands go up immediately, including mine. The bidding moves quickly—sixty thousand, seventy, eighty—with bidders dropping out as the price climbs.

By one hundred thousand, only three bidders remain: myself, Cassandra, and an older gentleman I don't recognize.

"One hundred twenty thousand," Cassandra calls out, her voice carrying across the ballroom.

"One hundred fifty thousand," I counter immediately.

The older gentleman shakes his head, withdrawing from the competition. Now it's just Cassandra and me, locked in a battle that's about far more than a decorative egg.

"One hundred seventy-five thousand," Cassandra bids, her eyes challenging me across the room.

"Two hundred thousand," I respond without hesitation.

A murmur runs through the crowd. The bidding has far exceeded the egg's estimated value, but neither of us shows any sign of backing down.

"Two hundred twenty-five thousand," Cassandra calls, a slight edge of desperation entering her voice.

"Two hundred fifty thousand," I counter calmly.

Cassandra confers briefly with Diana, who nods encouragingly. "Three hundred thousand," she announces, looking triumphant.

I pause, as if considering whether to continue, then slowly raise my paddle. "Three hundred fifty thousand."

The room is silent now, all eyes on our bidding war. Cassandra's face flushes with anger and determination. "Four hundred thousand," she declares.

"Five hundred thousand," I respond immediately, my voice carrying clearly through the hushed ballroom.

Gasps and whispers ripple through the crowd. Half a million dollars for a decorative egg—far beyond its actual worth, even accounting for its historical significance.

Cassandra looks to Diana again, who shakes her head slightly. Defeated, Cassandra lowers her paddle.

"Five hundred thousand going once," the auctioneer calls, barely containing his excitement at the unprecedented bid. "Going twice... Sold to Mrs. Ethan Knight for five hundred thousand dollars!"

Applause erupts around the room as I rise to acknowledge the win. Ethan stands beside me, his hand at my waist, playing the role of proud husband perfectly.

"That was quite a statement," he murmurs in my ear. "Though I'm not sure we needed another Fabergé egg in the penthouse."

"It's for a good cause," I reply, my eyes finding Cassandra across the room. She's watching me with undisguised hatred, her perfect features twisted in a scowl.

Good. Let her feel a fraction of the helplessness, the loss I felt when she took everything from me.