Chapter 3 - The Platinum Pocket Watch
The platinum felt heavy and freezing against my skin.
I traced my thumb over the intricate engraving on the cover—the crest of my father’s original steel company. My father had died right before I met Dominic. I was young, grieving, and completely unmoored. Dominic had been the charming associate at my father’s law firm who stepped in to help me manage the estate.
He had taken this watch to be cleaned before our wedding. Then, he claimed the jeweler had been robbed. I had cried for a week over the loss of the only physical piece of my father I had left.
"Where did you get this?" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly as I looked up at Richard.
Richard Mercer’s eyes were kind, but they held a dangerous edge. "I bought it at a private auction in Geneva seven years ago, Evelyn. Your husband didn't lose it. He sold it to cover a margin call on his first major hedge fund."
The breath left my lungs.
Dominic hadn't just lied. He had stripped my father’s legacy for parts to build his own empire, and he had let me weep over it while he cashed the check.
The coldness that had been building inside me finally solidified into pure, unbreakable ice.
"Evelyn."
The sharp, furious hiss came from over my right shoulder.
I turned slowly. Dominic was standing three feet away. He had left Vanessa by the senators, unable to control his panic. His face was flushed, and the vein in his neck was throbbing against his collar.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dominic demanded, keeping his voice just low enough to avoid a scene, though several pairs of eyes were tracking our every move. "I told you to pack your things. You're making a fool of yourself."
I didn't shrink back. For the first time in our eight-year relationship, I didn't try to soothe his anger.
I held up the platinum pocket watch, letting it dangle by its heavy chain.
Dominic’s eyes locked onto the metal, and his mouth fell open slightly. The anger evaporated, instantly replaced by raw, visceral dread.
"Geneva, Dominic?" I asked smoothly, my voice carrying the casual elegance of a woman discussing the weather. "You told me the jeweler on Michigan Avenue was robbed. You even showed me a police report."
"Evelyn, put that away," he hissed, glancing nervously at Richard Mercer, who was standing quietly just a step behind me, observing Dominic like a scientist watching an insect on a pin.
"Mr. Vale," Richard said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly polite. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I usually don't do business with men who pawn stolen family heirlooms to make their first million."
Dominic actually took a physical step backward. "Mr. Mercer. Sir. There is a misunderstanding here. My wife is not well. We are going through a difficult transition."
"We aren't going through anything," I corrected him. I took a step forward, closing the distance between us. "You are going through a divorce. I am simply taking out the trash."
Before Dominic could respond, the sharp click of stiletto heels echoed on the marble.
Vanessa Quinn inserted herself between us. She hooked her arm through Dominic’s, plastering a wide, patronizing smile on her face. She looked at me with the pitying arrogance of a woman who thought she had already won the war.
"Evelyn, really," Vanessa said, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Causing a scene at Meridian? Dominic told me you were struggling with the separation, but crashing a private gala in a rented dress? It’s embarrassing for you."
Richard Mercer let out a soft, dry chuckle.
"Rented?" Richard mused, glancing at my midnight-blue silk. "Ms. Quinn, is it? That dress was custom-made for Evelyn by the House of Savoy in Milan. It costs more than Dominic’s entire public relations department, which I believe you run."
Vanessa’s smile froze. Her eyes darted from Richard to me, suddenly realizing that the dynamic of power in this circle was not what Dominic had promised her.
She defensively crossed her arms, trying to maintain her haughty posture. As she did, the sleeve of her crimson gown slid up her left arm.
The ballroom lights caught the blinding flash of diamonds on her wrist.
My heart completely stopped.
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I stared at the heavy, intricate vintage diamond tennis bracelet resting against her skin. It featured an alternating pattern of brilliant-cut diamonds and square sapphires, set in tarnished platinum.
"Where did you get that bracelet, Vanessa?" I asked, my voice suddenly dropping into a dangerous whisper.
