Trapped in a Gilded Marriage

Joanna's POV

After my seventh "affair," I asked Charles for a divorce.

He slammed his pen down on the desk with a sharp crack.

"Joanna," he leaned back in his chair, watching me like I was putting on a cheap show, "how much this time? The new Cartier collection, or something custom from Van Cleef?"

I watched him flip open his checkbook.

"I said divorce, Charles."

He laughed. The scratching of his pen across paper sounded harsh in the study. He signed his name, tore off the check, and tossed it at my face.

"Five hundred thousand. That should buy you three months of 'heartbreak.'"

The check fluttered to the carpet. I bent down, picked it up, and tore it into pieces right in front of him.

"I'm serious."

Charles finally looked up. Those gray-blue eyes held no warmth at all.

"And then what? Leave me, and how are you going to pay Leo's eighty-thousand-dollar treatment next month?" He stood up, adjusting his cufflinks. "The charity gala starts soon. Go change."

He turned toward the door, tossing over his shoulder, "Five minutes. Don't keep the driver waiting."

An hour later, we sat in the front row of the charity gala.

I held Charles's arm, maintaining a practiced smile.

I was his perfect accessory—quiet, beautiful, and completely soulless.

Until Sienna appeared.

She wore an aggressively red gown, and as the hottest supermodel of the moment, she made no attempt to hide her intentions as she walked straight toward us.

"Charles!" She called his name with intimate familiarity, completely ignoring my presence. "Look, that's the necklace I was telling you about."

In the display case, a pink diamond necklace was up for auction.

Charles's arm slipped from mine as he naturally placed his hand behind Sienna's waist. "Like it?"

"I love it, but..." Sienna shot me a provocative glance. "Would Mrs. Thorne mind?"

I felt the stares around us like needles piercing my skin. The whispers, the mocking looks.

"She doesn't mind." Charles's voice was cold and certain. "Joanna's always been generous."

He raised his paddle.

"Five million dollars."

The entire room erupted.

I stood there feeling my blood turn to ice. Five million dollars. That was two years' worth of Leo's treatments.

He could casually throw away five million to win a smile from his mistress, but at home he'd strangle me over Leo's medication approvals, forcing me to beg and plead.

"Congratulations to Mr. Thorne for winning this treasure for Miss Brooks!" the auctioneer shouted excitedly.

Sienna publicly kissed Charles's cheek, drawing cheers from the crowd.

I watched it all, nausea churning in my stomach.

My phone buzzed. A text from the hospital: Next month's fees: $83,000.

Staring at that message, tears finally spilled down my cheeks.

This was why I couldn't leave.

This was why I had to endure it all.

"Joanna." Charles's voice came from above.

I looked up.

"Sienna and I are going to the private room to discuss some business," he took Sienna's hand. "You stay here and eat something."

He leaned close to my ear, lowering his voice. "Don't wander off. Lots of reporters around."

I stood by the champagne tower for twenty minutes.

The private room door was slightly ajar. Laughter spilled through the gap, mixed with the crisp sound of ice clinking against glass.

I walked over.

"...those dates of hers?" It was Sienna's coy voice.

"I arranged them all." Charles's voice carried the loose quality of intoxication. "Three actors, two gallery assistants, a piano teacher, and a college student. All my people."

Laughter erupted from the room.

"Aren't you worried she might actually fall for one of them?" a male voice asked.

"Joanna?" Charles laughed, the sound cold and cutting. "She's a nun at heart. She needs three days of psychological preparation just to hold hands. I know her too well—moral guilt is her prison. She can't play those games."

The sound of clinking glasses.

"And those pills you've been giving her..."

"Birth control. Every morning in her vitamin pills." Charles's tone was matter-of-fact. "She thinks having a baby will trap me. As if. Having a sick brother is trouble enough—adding a kid to the mix?"

The sound of breaking glass suddenly filled the air. I hadn't dropped anything. Someone in the room had knocked over a glass.

But I felt something shatter inside my chest.

I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door.

The woman in the mirror had red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. I turned on the faucet and buried my entire face in the cold water.

The suffocating feeling washed over me. But the memories from three years ago were crystal clear.

Central Park in autumn, Charles wrapping a scarf around my neck, laughing as he said "you're not wearing enough"; him at Lincoln Center listening to me play cello, then walking backstage afterward with an armful of white irises; him kneeling on one knee at my father's grave, saying "Let me take care of you, Joanna. Let me take care of you for the rest of your life."

Water droplets ran down my chin into my collar.

The sound of the lock turning. I jerked my head up, frantically wiping my face with paper towels.

Sienna walked in. She caressed the five-million-dollar pink diamond necklace around her neck, its brilliance making my eyes ache.

She leaned against the sink counter, leisurely touching up her lipstick. In the mirror, her eyes slanted toward me.

"Been crying?" She capped her lipstick. "I can see why. Hearing your own husband say those things must be pretty humiliating."

I said nothing and turned to leave.

She reached out to block my path.