Part 2Trading A Diamond For Tap Water

Everett’s efficiency had always been his greatest weapon.

By that afternoon, my secondary credit cards were declined. My phone lit up with a notification: Primary account reported lost. Linked cards frozen.

The System went quiet for a moment. [Good grief. Does he actually think he’s been ‘supporting’ you all this time?]

I shrugged, leaning back against the leather seat of my private car. "Probably. Confidence is a hell of a drug for men like him."

For twenty-five years, my life had been a dream. Wealth, pedigree, and a permanent seat at the center of the city’s social elite. It wasn't until five years ago that I realized I was the "Beloved Wife" in a commercial romance novel. My life was supposed to be a series of effortless wins, culminating in a life with a billionaire who worshipped the ground I walked on.

Out of all the men who chased me, I picked Everett.

Because of that choice, the System rewarded him. His business ventures turned to gold. He became the titan he is today. And while I used his cards out of convenience, he seemed to have forgotten that the Stanford name was old money when his family was still struggling to pay rent.

When I got home, my housekeeper, Maria, hurried over. "Ma’am, I’ve prepared the braised sea bass you like for dinner."

I looked at the table. Two place settings. Perfectly aligned.

No matter how busy Everett was, he always made it home for dinner. One year, during a massive blizzard that shut down the city, he had walked ten blocks in the freezing cold just because he promised we’d eat together.

He had walked in shivering, soaked to the bone, but grinning as he pulled a perfectly intact box of macarons from his coat. "You mentioned you wanted these yesterday," he’d said, his eyes bright with a boyish adoration.

How could that man be the same person who looked at me today and said he was "tired"?

My phone buzzed. Megan had posted on a private social media account. A photo of her and Everett at a greasy, late-night diner, eating cheap noodles.

I felt a pang of sardonic amusement. Everett’s stomach was delicate; I spent thousands on specialized chefs and herbal tonics to keep his ulcers at bay. I had those meals hand-delivered to his office every day.

I closed the app. "From now on, Maria, just one place setting."

Maria blinked, confused, but nodded. If he wanted to trade a Michelin-starred life for a bowl of greasy noodles, he was welcome to it.

New York high society is a small pond. Word of our split traveled like wildfire.

Rumor had it he took Megan to a high-level corporate gala. My phone was blowing up with texts from friends who were there.

[Is he insane? He actually brought THAT girl? People are laughing behind their champagne glasses.]

[Chessy, darling, you should have dumped that social climber years ago. I know three Ivy League models who would kill to take you out for a drink tonight.]

I leaned back on a plush velvet sofa at a private lounge, nursing a martini and scrolling through the messages. I was feeling the hum of the alcohol when I nudged the man sitting next to me with the heel of my Louboutin.

"I don't want to walk to the car," I murmured, my eyes half-closed. "Carry me."

He turned to look at me, his voice a deep, resonant hum. "Francesca, you’re drunk. And I’m not Everett."

I looked up into the dark, piercing eyes of Jasper Ternence.

I looked into the eyes of Jasper Huxley. He had been one of the "candidates" for my husband five years ago. Now, he was the most powerful venture capitalist on the East Coast.

I leaned in, my breath ghosting over his ear. "Are you going to carry me, or aren't you?"

His posture went rigid. Then, slowly, he stood up and offered me his back.

I looked at the moonlight reflecting off the glass of the lounge and smiled. Why did Everett ever think I’d struggle without him?

The System giggled in my head. [Host, let me know if you want to swap leads. The reclamation of Everett’s aura is already at 10%. Tomorrow, I have a little surprise for him.]