Page 3 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

My pulse pounds harder with every step.

Two years ago, I walked into a gala almost identical to this one. Hours later, I vanished into the Seine.

I still remember the freezing water closing over my head, the darkness.

I push the memory down before it can drag me under with it.

The gilded doors swing open.

Light spills across marble floors and crystal chandeliers. White roses overflow from towering centerpieces. Waiters move silently through the crowd carrying trays of champagne beneath ceilings painted in gold leaf.

Wealth has a very specific smell. Expensive perfume. Fresh flowers. Old money.

Conversations falter the second Hugo and I step inside.

Then the whispers begin.

Some of them say my name out loud.

“Valeria Ivanov.”

Shock spreads through the ballroom in visible waves.

Phones appear almost instantly.

Of course they do.

Nobody stops to think they might be looking at a ghost.

My gaze moves through the crowd automatically, searching for him. Finding him.

Dante stands near the bar with a champagne glass in one hand, speaking to his CFO while Bianca rests elegantly against his side.

He hasn’t seen me yet.

For one fragile second, I almost want to leave before he does.

Then his head lifts.

Our eyes meet across the ballroom.

The champagne flute slips from his hands and shatters on the floor.

Conversation around him dies instantly.

Dante doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

Relief hits his face first.

Raw and devastating enough to nearly destroy me on the spot.

Then disbelief crashes over it.

And finally—

Rage.