Chapter 3 ONE WAY TICKET TO DISASTER.

HAYLEY

I spent two hours polishing off a bottle of Aunt Susan’s best whiskey simply out of spite. And it gave me the courage to drive thirty minutes to the DaSilva Tower at midnight. 

My back is ramrod straight and my will, made of steel, as I walk into the gleaming, luxurious hallway of the DaSilva family company. 

I catch my reflection in mirrored glass of the elevators as I make my way up. 

I’m still wearing the little black dress I picked out for the dinner party. My makeup is smudged, and I’m definitely reeking of expensive alcohol. Not exactly party material, but the rage in my heart is too venomous to take any of that into consideration.

In the past, I always strived to look my best anytime I was out with Edward. I always wanted my husband to be proud of me. 

Oh well, to hell with all of that. 

There are two guards stationed at the double doors that lead to the private ball room, each looking like a tall and short version of Thor. 

The moment they spot me, their eyes widen with panic. The tall guard immediately moves to block the door;

“Mrs. DaSilva, the boss never said you were coming. If you’d just hold on for a moment, I will inform him of your presence…”

I flash a glare so lethal, he’s forced to take a step back; “That will not be necessary, John.”

I don’t have to say it twice. They step aside, gesturing for me to pass.

Two years ago, I paid Edward a surprise visit at work and one of his guards stopped me from accessing his office. 

Safe to say Edward fired him the second he found out. In all my subsequent visits to the DaSilva Tower, no one has dared to stand in my way.

I walk into the ballroom, knees a bit wobbly, but with my head held high. 

Pausing at the back, I duck behind one of the heavy draperies and take in the luxurious decor.

One thing is certain. Victoria really went all out for this party. 

The guests are all shiny, dripping in twinkling diamonds and expensive designer clothing. A six feet tall chandelier hangs from the ceiling, giving the atmosphere a soft, classy glow. 

And the birthday cake stationed in front of the hall is huge enough to feed the entirety of Manhattan, plus a small army.

But the main thing that catches my attention is the couple currently standing on the elevated stage, arms entwined.

The woman is decked up in a shimmering gold dress, complete with a crown that I’m certain is made from real diamonds. And the man? Easily the most gorgeous human being I have ever seen, with an aura magnetic enough to pull me in without uttering a single word.

Except they’re not a couple.

Those two people are Edward DaSilva and Victoria Stone, my husband and his childhood best friend.

Edward starts speaking and the room falls silent, the audience hanging on to his every word like he was sent by God himself. 

I’m not surprised. Edward is a powerhouse.

He single-handedly took DaSilva Automobiles from an almost bankrupt company to one of the most powerful conglomerates in the world before he even turned thirty.

I fell head over heels in love with him from afar. I still remember how my knees turned to goo the first time he actually looked at me.

Today, I don’t recognize the man who dominates that stage, holding onto another woman like she’s priceless art.

“Victoria and I go way back,” he begins, “We’ve been friends for over twenty years, a testament to the powerful bond we share…”

Powerful bond? I resort to pressing the heel of my palm against my chest to restrain the scream that fights to claw its way up my throat.

For the next two minutes, Edward goes on to sing Victoria’s praises while she blushes and preens beside him. 

He makes a long ass list of all the contributions she has made to DaSilva Automobile, and all the ways she has taught him to be a better businessman and human being. 

I search my tired brain, trying to recall the last time he paid me the tiniest compliment. Angry tears prick my eyes when I come up empty.

When the Emcee finally reclaims the microphone, my blood is back to boiling at a very dangerous degree.

“While Mr. DaSilva and Ms. Stone return to their seats, does anyone else have something to say about the birthday girl?”

I shouldn’t.

I already confirmed with my own eyes that Edward was here. 

I should just turn around, walk away and lick my wounds in private. 

But there’s a raging demon inside of me that is desperate to hurt them as much as they’ve hurt me.

Before I can heed the rational part of my brain that screams that this is a one-way ticket to disaster, I find myself strutting towards the stage, a cold smile plastered on my face.

“Over here, Mr. Emcee. I have wonderful things to say about the gorgeous birthday girl…!”