Chapter 2 - The St. Jude’s GalaThe annual St. Jude’s Hospital Foundation Gala was the social event of the season. The grand ballroom of the plaza was a sea of tailored tuxedos and glittering diamonds. Marcus was in his element, shaking hands, flashing his trademark smile, and securing millions in phantom capital just by existing in the room. I stood by his side for two hours, my back aching, my swollen belly heavy against the silk of my custom maternity gown.
Isabella was there, of course. She wore a skin-tight, blood-red dress that looked painted on, her chin lifted, her dark eyes glittering with the terrifying, absolute confidence of a woman who believed she had already won the war. Every time Marcus turned his back, she shot me a look of pure, unadulterated venom.
By 10:00 PM, the noise, the flashing cameras, and the sheer weight of Marcus’s indifference became too much. I whispered to him that I needed to lie down. He barely looked at me, simply nodding and gesturing for his assistant to give me the keycard to the VIP suite we had rented upstairs. He didn't offer to walk me to the elevator. He didn't ask if the baby was okay. He just turned back to a group of hedge fund managers. I walked to the elevators alone, desperate for the quiet sanctuary of the suite.
