Chapter 3

The charity auction at the Plaza was in full swing when I walked in . The room went silent for a moment. Not because I looked beautiful—I looked skeletal.

But I'd done my makeup flawlessly and wore my grandmother's ruby necklace. I smiled like I didn't have a care in the world.

Valerie's eyes widened when she saw me. Kelvin frowned.

Perfect. Step one of revenge: make them uncomfortable.

"Eileen!" Some socialite whose name I couldn't remember air-kissed my cheeks. "You look... different."

"New diet," I said brightly. "Very effective."

She laughed nervously and moved away. Everyone was staring. Good. I wanted them to stare.

The auction started twenty minutes later. I'd been waiting for this moment all week, ever since Ryan had sent me the file on Valerie. My brother worked in private investigation, and he was very, very good at his job.

"Next item," the auctioneer announced, "an original oil painting by our very own Miss Valerie Brook, inspired by her time studying art in Paris. We'll start the bidding at fifty thousand."

Valerie stood up, smoothing down her white gown. She looked radiant, pure, innocent. Everyone applauded.

I raised my paddle. "One million dollars."

The room exploded. People twisted in their seats to stare at me. The auctioneer stammered. "I—I'm sorry, did you say—"

"One million," I repeated clearly. "But I have a condition."

Kelvin was on his feet. "Eileen, what are you doing?"

I ignored him and looked directly at Valerie. "I want you to prove you painted it. Right here, right now."

Valerie's smile froze. "I don't need to prove anything—"

"Ryan," I called out. My brother stood up from where he'd been sitting in the back. He walked to the front carrying a laptop.

"What is this?" Valerie's voice rose. She looked at Kelvin for help, but he was staring at me like I was a stranger.

Ryan connected the laptop to the projector. The first image that appeared was Valerie's painting—the one on the auction block. The second image was identical, except it was signed by a French artist named Claude Bernard and dated two years ago.

"You bought it from a gallery in Montmartre," I said conversationally. "Five thousand euros. The receipt is in the file if anyone wants to see it."

The murmurs started immediately. Valerie's face went white, then red. "This is ridiculous—"

"Oh, but wait," I continued. "There's more."

Ryan clicked to the next slide. It was a photo of Valerie on a yacht, draped over a white-haired man who was definitely not studying art. She was wearing a bikini that cost more than most people's rent.

"That's Laurent Dubois," I explained to the room. "French real estate mogul. Married. Three kids. You were his mistress for two years while you were supposedly getting your master's degree."

The next photo showed Valerie at an exclusive restaurant, kissing a different man. Then another photo. And another.

"So much for studying art," someone whispered.

Valerie grabbed the laptop. "You bitch! You have no right—"

"I have every right." I stood up, and the room swayed a little. I gripped the back of my chair. "You came into my life, took my husband, my home, my dog—"

"Lucky was an accident—"

"YOU KILLED HIM!" The words ripped out of me before I could stop them. "And you're not even sorry. You're just sorry you got caught."

Valerie's eyes filled with tears. She was good at crying on command. "Kelvin, are you going to let her do this to me?"

But Kelvin was staring at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Concern? Fear?

I didn't wait to find out.

I turned and walked out of the ballroom. My head was spinning, and the pain in my stomach was back with a vengeance. I made it to the bathroom before I doubled over, gasping.

When I finally stood up and looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My lipstick was smudged, and I looked like a corpse in designer clothes.

The bathroom door slammed open. Kelvin stood there, furious. "What the hell was that?"

"Justice," I said flatly.

"You humiliated her in front of everyone!"

"She humiliated me first." I turned to face him. "You both did. Every single day for three years."

"Eileen—"

"No." I held up my hand. "You don't get to 'Eileen' me anymore. I'm done being your punching bag. I'm done being your discount Valerie."

His jaw clenched. "You've changed."

"You made me change." I pushed past him, but he grabbed my arm. His hand felt burning hot against my icy skin.

"Let go of me," I said quietly.

"Not until you tell me what's going on. You look—" He paused, really looking at me for what felt like the first time in months. "You look sick."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Look at yourself—"

I yanked my arm away. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again."

That night, I didn't go home. I checked into a hotel and took four painkillers even though I was only supposed to take two. I just wanted to sleep and not feel anything.

But Kelvin did go home.

When I finally came back the next morning, he was there. Sitting on the floor outside my bedroom door, his head in his hands. He looked like he hadn't slept. His eyes were red and swollen.

He stood up when he saw me. "Eileen—"

I walked past him.

"Please." He grabbed my wrist, and I felt something wet fall on my hand. He was crying. Kelvin Lancaster, who never showed emotion, was crying. "I found the report. The cancer—"

"Congratulations," I said dully. "You figured it out."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I stared at him. "Tell you what? That I'm dying? That I need you? Would you have cared?"

"Of course I would have cared!"

I laughed. It sounded bitter even to my own ears. "Really? Like how you cared when Valerie killed Lucky? Like how you cared when you gave away my ranch? Like how you cared every night you spent with her instead of me?"

"That was different—"

"No, Kelvin. It wasn't." I pulled my wrist free. "You only care now because you found out I'm dying. You only care now because you feel guilty."

He dropped to his knees. Actually dropped to his knees in front of me. "I'll take you to the best doctors. We'll try everything. We'll fight this—"

"There's nothing to fight." I felt so tired suddenly. "It's stage four. It's in my liver. Even if I started chemo now, I'd have maybe three more months."

"Then I'll make those three months count." His voice broke. "I'll take care of you. I'll be there for you—"

"I don't want you there."

The words hung in the air between us.

"Eileen—"

"You know what's funny?" I said. "When Lucky died, I said I'd die without him. You told me I was being dramatic. But I wasn't, Kelvin. I was already dying. I just didn't know how to tell you."

He grabbed my legs, pressing his face against my knees. "I'm sorry. God, Eileen, I'm so sorry. For everything. For Valerie, for Lucky, for being blind—"

"Do you know what the problem is with apologies?" I looked down at him. "Some of them come too late."

I stepped over him and walked into my bedroom. I locked the door and slid down to the floor, finally letting the tears come. They hurt more than the cancer. Because even now, even after everything, a stupid part of me still wanted him to save me.

But he couldn't save me. No one could.

The next morning, I texted Ryan: [Start Phase B. Destroy Valerie completely.]

I had four months left. That was plenty of time to watch them burn.