A few guests stood.
Then more followed.
Within seconds, nearly the entire ballroom was on its feet.
Bianca slowly lowered her hand.
Adrian dropped his champagne glass.
It struck the floor and shattered.
I walked past Bianca without touching her.
She moved aside automatically.
For the first time that evening, she understood that she was not standing in front of a discarded wife.
She was standing in front of the woman whose property she had entered, whose jewelry she was wearing, and whose company had paid for every flower, bottle of champagne, and crystal chandelier in the room.
Adrian hurried toward me.
“Evelyn.”
I continued walking.
“Darling, please. I can explain.”
I stopped.
He looked relieved.
He believed I was finally willing to listen.
I raised one finger to my lips.
“Shh.”
His mouth closed.
Then I turned away from him and walked toward the stage.
My name is Evelyn Sterling.
I was forty-eight years old.
For twenty-three years, I stood beside Adrian while he built a public image as one of the most powerful financial executives in the country.