The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Design Comeback

The flashbulbs from the Manhattan press corps exploded like strobe lights against the night sky as Aubrey stepped out of the Rolls-Royce Phantom.

She expertly adjusted the heavy velvet hem of her custom Oscar de la Renta gown and the matching velvet shawl draped loosely over her arms. The fabric dragged across the concrete, a heavy weight that matched the tight knot forming in her stomach.

She turned toward the Vogue photographer. She pulled her lips back, exposing her teeth in the flawless, untouchable smile of an Upper East Side socialite.

She walked up the iconic carpeted steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her chin was high. Her posture was rigid.

Sloane Everett appeared from the sidelines. She slipped a crystal flute of champagne into Aubrey's hand.

"You are the absolute headline tonight," Sloane whispered, her eyes scanning the intricate beading on Aubrey's bodice.

Aubrey took a small sip of the champagne. The liquid burned her throat. Her eyes involuntarily darted toward the grand entrance of the hall.

Sloane noticed the shift in her focus. "Waiting for Dominick's transatlantic call?" she teased, bumping her shoulder against Aubrey's.

At the sound of her husband's name, Aubrey's slender fingers tightened around the stem of the glass. The crystal pressed hard into her skin.

She let out a cold, practiced laugh. "Dominick is still in Singapore dealing with that merger."

It was a lie.

Her mind violently snapped back to three hours ago. She had been sitting in the penthouse getting her hair styled. She was mindlessly tapping through Instagram stories when she clicked on Carter Dalton's profile.

The video showed a private party in the Hamptons. Electronic music blasted through the phone speaker.

At the very edge of the frame, a man's large, distinct hand held a glass of Macallan whiskey.

Wrapped around that wrist was a platinum Patek Philippe grand complication watch.

Aubrey's lungs had stopped working in that makeup chair. It was the anniversary gift she had bought Dominick two years ago, forced by her family to keep up appearances.

There was a microscopic custom scratch on the side of the dial. It was impossible to mistake it for anyone else's.

The timestamp on the story showed it was posted last night, but the caption read, 'Unforgettable Hamptons weekend,' with the location tagged in East Hampton. Yet, three days ago, he had explicitly told her the Singapore negotiations were entering a critical phase.

The humiliation had boiled in her chest. She had gripped a lipstick tube on her vanity so hard the plastic had nearly cracked in her palm.

A sudden, loud commotion at the main entrance yanked her back to the present.

The PR teams aggressively cleared the floor. Every single camera lens pivoted in the exact same direction.

Aubrey's heart skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She turned around.

Dominick Carrillo stood at the entrance. He wore a razor-sharp Tom Ford tuxedo.

His gray-blue eyes swept over the room