"Madam, the press is already here."
Maria's voice was low, urgent, threaded with warning. I didn't slow my steps. I adjusted the sleeve of my dress and kept walking, heels steady against the marble floor. Outside, voices blurred into a single restless hum—questions, laughter, camera shutters snapping like insects.
"Let them wait," I said. "They always do."
The charity gala was already alive when I stepped into the hall. Crystal lights spilled gold across silk gowns and polished shoes. Music drifted, soft enough to suggest elegance, loud enough to drown out private thoughts. Faces turned toward me as they always did—admiration, curiosity, calculation. Isabella Morelli. The woman who gave generously. The woman who smiled easily.
I smiled back.
It was the kind of smile that required no explanation. The kind I had perfected over years of disappointments no one was allowed to see.
"Mrs. Morelli," someone called. "A word?"
"In a moment," I replied, placing my hand lightly on another donor's arm. "Enjoy the evening."
I moved through the crowd with practiced grace, my body remembering what my heart resisted. This was familiar ground. Safe ground. Charity did not ask me questions I wasn't ready to answer. It only asked me to give.
And then I saw her.
Linia stood near the far end of the room, partially hidden behind a floral arrangement too large for the space. She wore a simple dress—navy blue, modest, carefully chosen not to compete with anyone else. Her hair was pulled back, her posture straight, her hands folded loosely in front of her.
She did not look lost.
She looked alert.
When her eyes met mine, she smiled.
It was small. Polite. Almost shy.
It slid under my skin like a blade.
I broke eye contact first.
"Madam," Maria murmured beside me, "should she be here?"
"She's helping," I said. "She wanted to observe."
Maria hesitated. "Observe what?"
I didn't answer.
I continued greeting guests, nodding, listening, laughing at the right moments. Yet my awareness kept drifting—tracking where Linia moved, how she angled herself toward conversations, how often her gaze flicked toward the doors.
Waiting for someone.
"Isabella."
Andrea's voice reached me before I could turn. She stepped into my line of sight wearing a champagne-colored dress that caught the light too easily. Confident. Comfortable.
"Didn't expect to see you tonight," she said.
"I host this every year," I replied. "You've attended before."
She smiled, unfazed. "Business has been busy."
So had my marriage. But we didn't say that.
"How is Daniel?" she asked.
The question landed too softly to be innocent.
"He's well," I said. "Occupied."
Andrea studied my face. "I heard he didn't make it tonight."
"He had work," I said.
She nodded. "Always."
A pause stretched between us, taut and deliberate.
"I admire what you do," she added. "Your generosity. Not many women would keep giving when life… withholds."
There it was.
I smiled again. "I give because I choose to. Not because I'm waiting for something in return."
Her gaze sharpened, just a fraction. "Of course."
She excused herself moments later, leaving the faint echo of perfume and implication behind.
I turned away—and found Linia standing closer than before.
"Madam," she said softly. "The auction is about to begin."
"I know."
She hesitated. "Would you like me to handle the guest list updates?"
"No," I said. "Stay with me."
Surprise flickered across her face. Quickly masked.
We stood side by side as the lights dimmed slightly and the host took the stage. Applause followed, polite and restrained. As bids were announced, numbers climbed easily. Money moved like breath in this room—unnoticed, effortless.
Linia leaned in, her voice barely audible. "They're generous tonight."
"They always are," I said.
"Do you ever wonder why?" she asked.
I glanced at her. "Because generosity looks good."
She nodded. "And hides better."
The words settled between us, heavy with implication.
The auction ended on a high note. Applause swelled. Glasses clinked. Conversations resumed.
That was when I felt it.
Not a sound. Not a sight.
A shift.
The way the room adjusted around a presence.
I turned.
Daniel stood near the entrance.
He looked out of place in a way that hurt. His suit was perfect. His posture controlled. But his eyes searched the room too quickly, too sharply, until they found me.
Relief crossed his face.
Then something else.
Behind him, a woman stepped in—tall, dark-haired, visibly pregnant.
The air left my lungs.
The room didn't notice at first. Why would it? To them, this was just another guest. Another secret.
But I noticed.
And Linia noticed too.
Her breath caught beside me. Not in surprise.
In satisfaction.
"Madam," she whispered, "should I—"
"Stay," I said.
Daniel began moving toward me. Conversations slowed as people sensed something unspoken unfolding. His steps faltered when he saw Linia beside me. His eyes flicked between us.
"Isabella," he said when he reached me. "I didn't know you'd—"
"Host my own event?" I asked. "I do that."
His gaze dropped briefly to Linia, then back to me. "We need to talk."
"Do we?" I asked.
The pregnant woman hovered a few steps behind him, uncertainty written across her face. She placed a protective hand over her stomach.
I felt the room leaning in without realizing it.
"Not here," Daniel said.
I smiled. The one that held.
"Here is exactly where things belong," I said.
A murmur rippled through the guests.
Andrea appeared at Daniel's side, her expression tight. "This isn't the time."
"No," I agreed. "It never is."
I turned to the crowd. "Thank you all for coming tonight. Your generosity will change lives."
Applause rose, automatic and confused.
I faced Daniel again. "Who is she?"
He swallowed. "Isabella—"
The woman stepped forward. "My name is Celeste," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "I didn't know he was married when—"
"That's enough," Daniel snapped.
I held up a hand. "No. Let her speak."
Celeste looked at me, eyes glossy. "I didn't mean for this to happen. But it did. And I'm not ashamed."
I nodded slowly. "Neither should you be."
Daniel stared at me. "What are you doing?"
"Listening," I said. "Something you stopped doing."
The silence was unbearable now.
Then Linia spoke.
"Madam," she said gently, "perhaps this isn't the place."
I turned to her.
And that was when I saw it.
The smile.
Not polite. Not shy.
Triumphant.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
A message.
You see now.
Another followed.
The crowd was always part of the plan.
I looked up.
Linia met my gaze.
And nodded.
The room tilted.
I realized then—this wasn't an accident.
This was a performance.
And I was standing at the center of it, applauded, exposed, and utterly surrounded.
The lights dimmed further.
The host cleared his throat, uncertain.
Daniel reached for my arm.
I stepped back.
And the crowd leaned closer.