The world went foggy around me. My body was numb. I couldn't move, I couldn't even think. All I could do was stare blankly ahead as those bright blue letters towered above me, mocking me.

I barely even noticed the way my body swayed. Or the slight tingling of pain as a hand gripped tighter and tighter around my arm. But I did notice the ringing. Constant and high-pitched like a mosquito trapped inside my brain. A ringing that only seemed to get louder the longer I looked at those words.

"Mags, Mags, Mags!" Phil hissed into my ear, his voice finally breaking through the fog.

"Huh?" I mumbled, the ringing slowly fading back into the distant corners of my mind.

"Get your shit together," he whispered angrily, the fake smile plastered twice as thick on his face to fool anyone who might be looking. "It's dinner. Alright? One fucking dinner. So, for the love of God, take whatever the fuck is going on in that brain of yours and shove it somewhere else for the evening. And do it fast. Someone's coming."

Although I was conscious enough now to notice the sound of footsteps approaching us, those bright, bold letters still captured my attention. At least, until I heard a familiar voice.

"Ah, Henderson! How did I know I'd find you two here before anyone else?" A gruff voice chuckled.

Well, that certainly helped to snap me out of the funk I was in. Immediately, I had to shift all of my focus from the sign to not visibly grimacing. A feat difficult for Maggie, but easy enough for Mrs. Henderson. I forced the smile to my lips as I turned to greet the all too familiar face there.

"Vince Carter, is that you?" I asked playfully. "Why, I barely recognized you. Have you lost weight?"

Vince immediately stood up straight and puffed out his chest with pride, patting his, completely unchanged, round stomach. "Ah! And here I thought no one would notice. Leave it to ol' eagle-eyes Maggie to appreciate a man's hard work."

"What can I say? With a guy like mine, hard work is all you see," I teased, clinging to Phil's arm. "If anything, I should thank you for letting me keep him tonight."

Vince smiled and gave a slight nod as if approving the affectionate show. Of course, he would though. After all, that's the kind of show that we'd always put on around him. The kind of show he expected. The classic "sweet couple," still very much in love with each other, but smart enough to know where the PDA should start and end. A lucky break on my part, since it meant I never had to give Phil more than a quick peck on the lips at these things.

"Everything going alright with the setup, Sir? I can hop in if you need an extra pair of hands," Phil offered.

"Hmm. I dunno. Not sure I want this lovely lady of yours scowling at me all evening cuz' I stole you away," he said, pretending to think about it.

I repressed an eye roll and channeled it into a bigger smile. "Tell you what, Vince, point me toward Shirley and I'll let you borrow him for a bit."

"Now, there's an idea," he laughed. "I need somebody to keep her from scowling at me too. Think you can handle the job, Mags?"

"Yes, Sir," I said, giving a small, playful salute.

He laughed again as he threw his arm over Phil's shoulder, leading him away. "Henderson, I tell ya, you got one of the good ones. They just don't make women like that anymore. You know, back when I was your age..."

Fortunately, they walked out of earshot before I was forced to listen to one of Vince's classic "back in my day" rants. Unfortunately, it seems I'd also signed myself up for wife-sitting duties in the process.

I let out a small sigh as I quickly scanned the event center. Of course, it didn't take too long to find her. With a shade of pink like that, I think I could've seen her from Mars. I took a deep breath as I headed towards what I was sure would be my job for the evening.

Vince and Shirley Carter. The CEO of the company and his wife. Almost from day one of our marriage, Phil made sure I knew exactly how much of a priority it was to get into their good graces.

After all, even back then Phil already had his eyes on the prize. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life as just another cog in the corporate machine. Oh no. He was going straight to the top. The company was his to have, and he was going to make damn sure that it stayed that way. Which, of course, couldn't be done without some good, old-fashioned brown-noseing.

Luckily for him, Vince and Sherly were just as susceptible to his fake charm as every other upper-middle-class suburban couple he'd ever met. A compliment here, some faked admiration there, sprinkle in some dinner parties with his pretty little housewife, and bam! Phil had them wrapped around his finger.

Honestly, I kind of felt a bit sorry for Vince. He had his uppity moments, sure, but compared to most of the men I was forced to deal with in these kinds of social circles, he wasn't actually that bad.

Your classic graying, overweight, ten-years-from-retirement bossman. A little longwinded and the occasional problematic comment or joke that no one ever dared to explain to him was problematic, but overall, he struck me as a sweet guy with a generally good heart.

The charity events were his idea originally. And while there was definitely an underlying motivation to reign in new clients, there was no denying that he put a lot of work and money into the events and did a lot of good for people while doing them.

Would he ever be my first choice for who to spend a Saturday evening with? Probably not. But he wasn't a bad choice either.

His wife, however, was another story.

Shirley Carter was, for lack of a better phrase, a character. More specifically, she played the villain. At least, that was the experience I got whenever I was with her.

She was your standard, over-entitled, middle-aged woman. The stereotypical "my husband's success is my success and everybody should bow down to me because of it" type. In all the years I'd known her, I don't think I'd ever once seen her satisfied with something the first time around. I couldn't even count the number of times we'd had a "girl's day" together only for her to end up berating the staff at this store or that restaurant for some insignificant reason or another.

Of course, having been that working-class girl before myself, I was absolutely mortified whenever she did this. But I was trapped. To speak against her would put me on her bad side, and I didn't dare to face the retaliation I might get from Phil if I did anything to ruin our "good relations" with the Carters.

So, all I could do was sit there, humiliated and burning with shame, as she again and again made a spectacle of herself just for the sake of being momentarily special. Not even realizing, of course, that all she was actually doing was becoming the "customer horror story" the workers would laugh about later in the backroom.

Dealing with her was almost as agonizing as dealing with Phil. Almost. Then again, I guess I didn't have to live with Shirley. No, luckily, my interactions with her were fairly limited. Just the occasional day where she had no one better to call up or an event like this where her presence was just as required as mine.

Unfortunately, today just happened to be one of those days. But that was alright. Phil said it best himself. It was one fucking dinner. I just had to get through the next couple of hours until the meal actually started and then I could make some excuse to head home early. The men always stayed later at these parties than their wives did anyway, so it wouldn't be an unusual thing for me to do.

With that small consolation in mind, I forced my biggest, fakest smile as I walked over to her, waving. "Shirley!"

Her face lit up as she saw me. "Maggie Henderson, as I live and breathe. And here I was worried that I'd be stuck by myself in a corner for the next hour or so."

"Well, you know those boys of ours," I said, rolling my eyes. "They just have to work everywhere they go."

"Ugh!" She grunted, rolling her eyes and nodding in agreement. "Ain't that the fucking truth. I swear, Vince promises me a lovely evening out to dinner and drags me to something like this. I mean, I'm glad we're helping people, sure, but would it kill him to take me out somewhere that isn't work-related?"

"You know, Phil and I were just discussing that very thing on the drive here."

"See! He acts as if it's just me being crazy, but you see it too!" She huffed, face turning red.

It didn't last long though. After a second, she let out a small sigh and shook her head, the blood slowly returning to the rest of her body. She smiled at me in a knowing way.

"Oh, well. I guess we can't complain too much. After all, that hard work of theirs is what's making sure we don't have to, right?" She chuckled. "Guess you and I will just have to get all dolled up and take ourselves out for a nice dinner one of these days. On their dime, of course."

"No expenses spared. Am I right, Shir?"

That sent her cackling. It usually did. As unpleasant as I found my interactions with Shirley, I couldn't exactly say she was difficult to deal with. As long as you weren't a service worker, at least.

"Speaking of no expenses spared, what in the hell did Phil do wrong for him to give you that?" She asked.

"Huh? What?" I asked, looking around my body for whatever expensive bit or bobble had somehow grabbed her attention.

"That," she emphasized, pointing at my head.

I reached up, still confused about what she was talking about. However, as my fingers suddenly brushed against cool metal it instantly clicked for me. The hairclip Mason had given me.

Shit. I never even considered the fact that somebody else might point it out tonight.

Why would I though? I mean, it was lovely sure, but it was just a hairclip. It didn't really seem that deserving of any special attention. Especially from Shirley Carter of all people. Honestly, I was kind of surprised that she'd noticed it at all.

"Oh, this," I said, shrugging casually. "Honestly, I don't even remember. He gave it to me so long ago. I just happened to find it while I was digging through my jewelry box earlier."

It was a vague, but reasonable explanation. After all, Shirley lived in the same kind of trophy-wife atmosphere that I did. Things like this were pretty common. Your husband screws up, buys you something expensive to make up for it, you make up. Rinse repeat. I certainly wouldn't be the only woman at the party tonight with an "I'm sorry" box full of overpriced, shiny things.

Which is why I found it so strange when that explanation, somehow, seemed to upset her.

"Now, don't you go thinking you can pull the wool over my eyes," she scolded, wagging her finger at me. "That isn't just some trinket he picked up at Tiffany's. That's a Violetta!"

"A... Violetta?" I asked, genuinely confused.

You would have thought I'd confessed to murdering her husband the way she gasped at me. All that was missing was a string of pearls for her to clutch at. She looked around as if to make sure no one else had heard the, somehow, appalling thing I'd just said.

"Are you honestly saying you don't know what Violetta is?" She asked, dumbstruck.

No. And I didn't really care. But in the interest of ending this conversation as soon as possible, I thought it best to play along for the time being.

"No," I said nervously, fidgeting with my clutch. "I figured it was just another little 'I'm sorry' gift he'd picked up. Is it really that big of a deal?"

She gave me a gentle, pitying look as if to say "Oh, Honey..." She motioned vaguely for me to come closer before leaning in and lowering her voice as if we were about to exchange highly confidential information.

"Violetta is one of the best, if not the best, jewelry lines in the entire country. Their pieces are the perfect mix between classic beauty and contemporary design. Each one is expertly crafted. Not a single expense spared in the pursuit of their absolute perfection. And, trust me, the price tag shows it." She gestured again towards the clip in my hair. "That so-called 'little gift' of yours probably costs close to fifty-thousand dollars."

If my jaw had dropped any lower, it would have been on the fucking floor. Fifty-thousand dollars? Fifty-thousand dollars? I was literally speechless. I mean, what even could you say to something like that?

"See, now you get it," she said, pointing to my awestruck face. "So, come on, spill. Just how bad did he fuck up to drop that kind of cash on something like that."

Shit. Right. Back to the original problem. Shirley still thought that Phil had given this to me. And now, I needed a damn good explanation to justify it too.

But it was a fine line to walk. If I said something too big or reputation-damaging, Phil would never forgive me and God only knows what he'd do in retaliation. However, if I chose something too small, Shirley would probably pick up on it and get suspicious. And the last thing I needed was her bringing it up around Phil and making him question it too.

I let out a heavy sigh and looked around cautiously before leaning in and murmuring to her, "Okay, okay. You got me. I should have known you of all people would pick up on something like this...

"The truth is... he forgot our anniversary last year."

She gasped aloud. "No!"

"He really didn't mean to," I explained quickly. "They were all working on a huge account at the time and it must have just slipped his mind. I told him that it was okay and I understood, but he felt so guilty when he realized. He went out and bought this for me the very next day.

"Please don't say anything about it, Shirley. I don't want people thinking bad of Phil because he made one little slip-up. After all, with a price tag like this, that has to show you how sorry he felt, right?"

She nodded solemnly. "Okay, I understand. Don't worry. I won't say a thing.

"Still, you're a better woman than I am, Mags. I would have given him hell for it."

I smiled at her teasingly. "Well, I wouldn't say he got away scot-free. Trust me when I say he'll definitely remember the date this year."

She cackled and shook her head before letting out a small sigh. "Well, anyway, enough about those men and their work. You would not believe what happened to me downtown last weekend!"

And with that, she launched into a classic, Shirley rant about something or another. I nodded along as she spoke, but my mind was a million miles away from the conversation.

Fifty-thousand dollars... A scary price tag for most items, but especially for a little hairclip like this.

However, the price tag itself was the least of my concerns right now. Instead, I found my mind occupied by two much more unsettling questions:

How exactly did Mason get his hands on it? And why in the world did he give it to me?