From Ruined Wife To Tycoon's Obsession

Everly Weber stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the edge of the Waldorf Astoria ballroom, her fingers smoothing the heavy silk of her conservative champagne gown.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Her hands were shaking. She forced her fingers to interlock, pressing her knuckles together until the joints turned white, desperately trying to mask the exhaustion of spending the last three sleepless nights coordinating the banquet's endless details while constantly agonizing over the phone about her sick daughter, Aria.

Everly turned away from the glass. She forced her spine straight and walked down the thick, carpeted corridor toward the brilliant lights of the main hall.

The string quartet was playing a soft classical piece. Her eyes scanned the sea of New York's elite, instantly locking onto the man sitting in a wheelchair at the center of the room. Her grandfather, Arthur Weber.

The tight knot in her chest loosened slightly. She walked quickly to his side, bending down to tuck the edges of the cashmere blanket firmly around his frail knees.

Arthur patted the back of her hand. His skin felt like dry parchment. He looked around the crowded room, his voice weak.

"Where is Carson?" he asked.

Everly's stomach dropped. A cold sweat pricked the back of her neck, but she immediately pulled a flawless, practiced smile onto her face.

"He's stuck in a cross-border video conference with Silicon Valley," she lied, her voice steady. "It's an emergency for the IPO. He'll be here soon."

Arthur sighed, his chest rising with effort. He opened his mouth to speak, but a heavy thud echoed through the room.

The massive mahogany double doors of the ballroom had been shoved open.

The string quartet stopped abruptly. The screech of a cello bow scraping across strings filled the silence. The low hum of conversation from the socialites and tycoons died instantly. Everyone turned toward the entrance.

Everly followed their gaze. Her pupils dilated. The air trapped itself in her throat, refusing to move.

Giana Rowland stood in the doorway. She was wearing a skin-tight, deep crimson maternity gown that left nothing to the imagination. She balanced on stiletto heels, her chin tilted up in pure arrogance.

Giana deliberately placed her right hand over her visibly swollen belly. Her eyes cut through the crowd, landing directly on Everly.

A collective, muffled gasp rippled through the room. The wealthy women in the crowd immediately leaned into each other, whispering and pointing manicured fingers at Everly.

Everly's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke. She instinctively took a step forward, using her own body as a physical shield to block her grandfather's view.

Giana ignored the hotel security guards rushing toward her. She swayed her hips, walking directly toward the main table as if she owned the entire building.

Arthur shifted in his wheelchair. He tried to lean around Everly to see what the commotion was about.

Everly slammed her hands down on his shoulders, her voice trembling violently.

"Don't look,