Eve stared at herself in the mirror, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she adjusted the diamond necklace that hung elegantly around her neck. Her reflection seemed like a stranger. She looked perfect, as always poised, composed, the epitome of what society expected from Mrs. Nathan Hathorne. But inside, she was crumbling.
The last few weeks had been hell. After her miscarriage, she had been recovering slowly at home, secluded in the massive, empty house, while Nathan continued to live his life outside of it. He rarely came home before midnight, and even when he did, their conversations were clipped and distant.
Three years of marriage, and yet every day felt like an act—a carefully curated facade for the world to see.
Tonight was no different.
The charity event was one of those appearances they had to make together, smiling for the cameras, pretending that their marriage was as perfect as everyone imagined.
Eve hated these events. They required her to be someone she wasn't, someone who wasn't drowning in sorrow and pain. But what choice did she have? She had perfected the act long ago.
Her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Nathan.
"I am waiting outside."
No pleasantries. No warmth. Just a cold, emotionless message. The same way it had been for years.
Eve gathered her clutch and took one last look at herself in the mirror.
She had chosen a stunning, form-fitting emerald green gown that hugged her curves perfectly. The neckline dipped just enough to be elegant, framed by delicate lace that accentuated her collarbone. She had styled her brown hair in soft waves that cascaded down her shoulders, and her makeup —a touch of smoky eyes and a bold red lip.
Eve looked stunning, but she felt hollow. With a sigh, she left the bedroom and made her way downstairs.
As expected, Nathan was sitting in the car outside, the engine idling. She could see him through the tinted windows, his silhouette rigid and expressionless.
He didn't step out to greet her as he once might have, didn't offer to open the door. Instead, he just waited.
Eve took a deep breath, opened the car door herself, and slid into the passenger seat.
Nathan barely glanced at her as she settled in. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. "You're late," he said flatly, starting the car without waiting for her response.
"I'm sorry," Eve replied softly, though she wasn't sure why she bothered to apologize. He wouldn't care. He never did.
The drive was silent, filled with a thick tension that neither of them acknowledged. Eve stared out of the window, watching the city lights blur past them.
This was their life now—silent, distant, a loveless marriage built on pretenses. It had been this way for so long that she no longer remembered what it felt like to have a real conversation with him, to laugh with him, to feel loved by him. Was this how her life would always be? Eve wondered.
They arrived at the charity event, a grand venue teeming with people, cameras, and flashing lights.
As soon as the car pulled up to the entrance, the paparazzi descended like vultures, eager to capture the perfect image of the Hathorne couple. Eve could see the flashing lights even before she stepped out of the car, and she braced herself, putting on the mask she had worn for so long.
Nathan stepped out first, adjusting his tuxedo jacket with practiced ease, his tall figure commanding attention. He moved to the passenger side, and opened the door for her. Eve took his hand, and he helped her out with an effortless grace.
"Smile," he murmured as they walked toward the entrance, his voice low and somewhat distant. Eve nodded, tugging her arm around his as they presented themselves to the waiting media.
The paparazzi were relentless, their cameras clicking furiously as they posed together on the red carpet.
Eve smiled, the perfect smile she had rehearsed countless times, while Nathan stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her lower back for show.
The perfect couple, they would say. The power couple of the decade.
Inside, Eve was numb.
"Mr. Hathorne, Mrs. Hathorne, over here!" they called, their microphones and cameras shoved in their faces.
Nathan answered with his usual polished tone, offering vague, rehearsed lines about the charity, their support for the cause, and how proud they were to be there. Eve nodded along, smiling where appropriate, offering brief comments that matched the façade they had created.
Inside, the atmosphere of the grand charity event was a whirlwind of laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses. It was extravagant—crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room with a soft, golden light. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any familiar faces while also trying to shake off the unease that had settled in her chest.
"We'll stay for another hour, then leave," Nathan said, not bothering to look at her.
"Of course!" Eve replied nonchalantly.
The organizer of the event, Leonard Hargrove, approached them with the enthusiasm of a man who knew how to work a crowd. His hand extended in greeting, "Mr. and Mrs. Hathorne, thank you so much for being here tonight."
Nathan returned the gesture with his practiced smile, his arm brushing against Eve's ever so slightly. "It's our pleasure. We're always happy to support such a noble cause."
Leonard, sensing the opportunity for further networking, gestured toward the crowd. "Nathan, there are a few people I'd love for you to meet. Would you mind joining me for a moment?" He ran a hand down his tie, eyes crinkling with amusement.
Without hesitation, he nodded, giving Eve a brief glance. "I'll be back in a bit," he whispered before allowing Leonard to lead him away, leaving her alone.
Her heels clicking on the marble floor, she waded through the floating silver trays carrying champagne flutes that glinted beneath romantic lights.
The soft hum of conversations surrounded her, but it did nothing to fill her numbness inside. She had grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ballroom creaked open, and her gaze drifted that's when she saw him.
Vincent Marotti.
Her glass halted at her lips.
His towering figure was wrapped in a tailored black suit that clung to his broad shoulders. Dark, dangerous, and undeniably sinful, it was as though the very air around him shifted when he entered, as though the light dimmed and shadows crept in.
Sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and eyes so dark they seemed to pull you into an abyss.
His tousled black hair gave him a wild, untamed look, and there was a slight stubble on his chin. He was handsome, yes, but there was something more—a kind of sinister beauty that made it impossible to look away.
A blonde woman hung off his arm, her feisty, almost predatory energy clashing with the ominous energy that surrounded Vincent. She was striking, with hair like spun gold. Her sharp smile suggested that she was used to getting what she wanted, and tonight, she seemed to have Vincent's attention—at least on the surface.
But it wasn't her who sent a shiver down Eve's spine.
It was him.