Ethan went pale.
I ended the call.
For three seconds, no one moved.
Then Madeline burst out laughing.
“Oh my God,” she said, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “She’s lost her mind.”
The room laughed with her, because rich people love cruelty when it wears diamonds.
Ethan stepped toward me, lowering his voice.
“Chloe, stop. You’re hurt and confused. Let me take you upstairs.”
I stepped back.
“Touch me again and the next call is to the police.”
His face hardened.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
I looked around the mansion — the chandelier, the grand staircase, the imported rugs, the oil paintings, the wine cellar visible through glass doors.
Then I smiled.
“That’s funny,” I said. “Because I paid for all of it.”
And that was the first time Ethan Hamilton looked truly afraid.
PART 2 — The Poor Wife Was the Creditor
“You built your castle with my money, and tonight I’m taking the keys back.”
The silence after I said that was different.
Not awkward.
Hungry.
The guests leaned in. Businessmen stopped pretending not to listen. Wives with diamond bracelets froze with their glasses halfway to their mouths. Even the caterers paused near the kitchen doors.
Madeline recovered first.
