Shirley chatted on like that for a while. Thankfully, it wasn't too much longer before other people started to arrive. Slowly but surely, a steady stream of company employees and charity guests started to fill up the event center. Soon, she had her hands too full meeting and greeting people as the "CEO's wife" to bother paying attention to me. As were most of the other attendees as well.

Phil was still too busy following Vince around like a little puppy dog to bother with me, and the few other office wives I did know there were with their husbands, trying to make a good impression on the potential new clients. Meaning I had some time to be alone with my thoughts. Although, whether that was a curse or a blessing I couldn't be sure.

My mind just kept circling back to Mason and the hairclip. How in the world could he have possibly gotten his hands on something this expensive? I mean, I knew our neighborhood wasn't cheap, but it's not exactly like people were lighting their cigarettes with hundred-dollar bills either. Mason especially.

I know he joked around about being the "V.P." of his father's company and all that, but if I remembered correctly, he said that they did something with moving and warehouses. Not exactly a bad job, but it certainly didn't sound like the kind of thing where he had that much extra cash to burn. How could he have possibly afforded something like this? He didn't steal it or something did he?

I shook off the thought exactly two seconds after having it. No. I was sure that wasn't it. Hell, I'd probably believe it was a gift from Santa Claus before I ever seriously considered that he might have taken it. However, both of those clearly not being the case, what was the most likely explanation for why he had it?

I thought again about what he told me about his job. They had warehouses, right? And warehouses are used to store things, right? So, I guess it wasn't too much of a stretch to guess that this Violetta company might have stored some of their products or supplies there.

In that case, the most logical answer would be that somebody from the company had given him the hairclip. After all, it's not like things like that were too uncommon in business environments. "Gifts," even really expensive ones, were often passed around between companies and bigwigs as a sort of thank you for "favors." Usually, something like giving them a good discount or screwing over a competitor in some way or another.

Mason didn't really strike me as the type to do either of those things, but the specifics of why he got it weren't the point. The real question was "how." And the more I thought about it, the more that "gift from a supplier" idea seemed like a credible answer.

That thought helped to calm me down a little, but it still didn't help to resolve the other question I still had unanswered:

Why did he give it to me?

However he got his hands on it, there was no denying that it was a very expensive "gift." Not exactly the kind of thing you give to the married housewife next door after a little strip show.

Honestly, even cheap jewelry seemed a little much for something like that. So, why in the world was he dropping something worth fifty-thousand dollars in my mailbox the next day? Did he just not realize the value of it? Or was he hoping that I would notice the value and give him appropriate "compensation" as a result? I mean, I was sleeping with him now.

Again, I shook off the idea almost instantly. No. Mason wasn't the kind of guy to do something like that. I'd met guys like that before. The kind who assumed that spending money on you somehow made them more entitled to you. God, if I'd only realized Phil was that kind of guy sooner...

I sighed and shook my head as if to clear away that thought. Oh, well. That was over now. No point in dwelling on the "what ifs" of a mistake long since passed. The point was, Mason wasn't that kind of guy. His reason for giving it to me was probably the exact same reason I thought of earlier today: he just wanted to. A simple explanation, perhaps a little unsatisfying in its conclusion, but one that fit him really well.

A conclusion I came to not a moment too soon either. I'd barely even blinked when Phil suddenly appeared out of the sea of people and made a beeline for me.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

The smile was still plastered on his face, but his voice was clearly annoyed. I doubled down by putting on a fake smile of my own and speaking to him in the sweetest voice possible.

"Guess you didn't look very hard. I've been here for a while. Did you need something, Dear?"

The slight way his eye twitched as I said the word "Dear" told me that I had effectively annoyed him. But Phil was no ametur. It would take a lot more than some snappy comment to make him break character in a crowd like this.

"The dinner's starting soon. And since it seems like you've been doing absolutely zero networking out here, I thought it might be good to get to our table so we could at least talk to somebody tonight."

I shrugged as I headed in the direction of our table. "Hey, I'm just the pretty thing you brought to show off for the evening. If you wanted networking then maybe you should have come up from Vince's ass long enough to do some of your own."

That made him turn red. "Don't-"

"Smiles, Dear," I chirped, cutting him off. "After all, we want to be on our best behavior tonight, don't we?"

Of all the buttons I could press on Phil, this was one of my favorites. To take the same condescending words he'd used on me and flip them around on him. To take that over-inflated ego of his and let some of the air out of it while I reminded him that he really was no better than me. Maybe even worse. After all, I never had to be reminded around people.

The smile did, in fact, return to his face, but the anger brewing behind them certainly didn't match. Good. Let him be pissed for the evening. Less headache for me to reject him later.

However, "later" was still quite a ways away. I still had to make it through the dinner. And the company I would be forced to keep during it.

I managed to catch a glance of the name cards at our table when I made the rounds with Shirley earlier. Unsurprisingly, many began with the word "Doctor." A nice little reward for all the brown-nosing Phil had done over the years, I'm sure.

That being the case, it was probably safe to assume that the names next to those "doctors" were spouses or their dates for the evening. Which meant that I'd, of course, be left to charm and entertain these "better halves" while Phil was busy cozying up to their "richer halves." I just hoped a couple of them would be at least halfway interesting so this evening wouldn't feel like such a chore.

Unfortunately, that was too much to hope for in a place like this. My companions for the evening were exactly what I expected them to be. Mostly doctors' wives, although the ages did vary a bit. The obligatory husband who had to keep reminding people that his wife was actually the doctor and not him. And one "barely legal" girl whose presence would likely be the main topic of gossip amongst the other housewives this evening.

Honestly, I felt kind of bad for her. To her credit, she played her role as a "date" very well. She forced the smile that was expected of her and did her best to talk and get along with everyone, but it was clear that she was an outsider there. The other wives barely spoke to her and even when they did, they didn't bother disguising the reluctance in their voice to do so.

She was the outcast. Tolerated with fake smiles and condescending voices. And the way the light dimmed in her eyes a little bit each time this happened made it more than clear that she was aware of this fact too.

I remembered that feeling well. Being the outsider. After all, I didn't come from a good family and money the way a lot of people in this sphere did. I was always a working-class girl from a blue-collar family. And that fact was more than apparent the first few times I was expected to attend parties like these.

To this day, I still remember the sneers and snickers they would give behind my back. How they would point and whisper to each other as I passed by. And, of course, I remembered Phil.

How embarrassed he was whenever these things happened. The way his face would redden before he politely excused himself and shuffled away in humiliation. The horrible silence that surrounded us in the car on the way home. It always made me feel like such a terrible wife. Like I needed to work ten times harder to prove to him that he didn't make a mistake by choosing me. That I was worthy of being his wife and I did belong in this world of his. It made me want to show him that I was willing to put in the work. That I was willing to do, say, and be anything he needed me to be in order to prove that I was the one for him. To prove that I loved him.

Of course, I realized now how utterly stupid and unhealthy that mindset was, but at the time I didn't know any better. I was still young. Probably only a few years older than the poor girl across from me now. I was naive, stupid, desperate. Desperate to be a somebody. Desperate to be with somebody. Desperate to belong.

But I never did. In the end, I never got any of those things I was so desperate to get. Not really anyway. I just hoped that poor girl would be smarter than I was and head for the hills while she still had a chance.

"I have to say, Mr. Henderson, you certainly seem to have done your homework. I can't remember the last time I met any person this knowledgeable about cancer research. At least, not outside the medical industry. Do you, perhaps, have a relative who's been affected?"

Like an arrow in the darkness, the question shot out of nowhere and pierced me directly through my heart. My head snapped up in an instant to look at Phil.

No. He wouldn't. He couldn't. I knew Phil was scum, but even he wouldn't stoop this low. Right?

However, as his cheesy smile slipped into its more sympathetic form, I felt my heart sink all the way down to the pit of my stomach. He lowered his eyes to the table in mock solace and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ah, I suppose it's obvious to a professional like you, isn't it?" He said, playing to the doctor's ego. "Actually... yes. I do. My wife's brother has Leukemia..."

"Oh, Dear," the doctor's wife commented shaking her head.

Phil nodded. "He's had it since he was young, and naturally, it's only gotten worse over time. Poor thing, he's barely twenty. We have him put up at Wilson Medical Facility just outside of town, but even then, there's only so much they can do..."

The doctor opened his mouth to say something in response, but he was interrupted by the sudden, loud scraping of a chair being violently pushed back from the table. My chair. To my great surprise.

My body moved on its own. I hadn't even realized I'd stood up until the table went quiet and everyone turned to look at me. But I was barely looking at them. My eyes were still locked right on Phil. His face was pale with fear. Probably terrified about what I might do next.

Good. He should be. How dare he. How dare he. It was a rule. It was my one rule...

The room felt like it was spinning. Again, that same high-pitched ringing filled my head until I couldn't even think. A blessing in disguise, perhaps, since Mrs. Henderson was my autopilot.

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

The words were in my voice, but I barely even realized I'd spoken them. Instead, I snatched up my clutch and immediately headed in the direction of the bathroom.

My hands were shaking, my body was numb. And thank God it was. Because if I could feel anything at all, it would be blinding, murderous rage.

One rule. I had one rule for Phil. And as long as he followed it. I always let him have his way.

In private, I was his worst nightmare. Difficult, hard-headed, combative. A "raging bitch" as he sometimes called me. And I wore that title like a badge of honor. In private. But in public, I was always his perfect little housewife. Always.

I dressed and conducted myself in the exact way that he requested. I smiled, I laughed, I entertained the wives, and charmed the husbands. I opened my mouth and spoke the exact words he wanted me to. His real-life, walking, talking little ventriloquist doll. And I played that role perfectly.

As long as he followed the rule. One rule. The only real rule I had ever given him in my marriage:

My brother was never to be his stepping stone.

And he had broken that rule tonight.