MELANIA'S POV:

I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands clenched in my lap, watching Brady stand in front of the mirror. His focus is entirely on the tie he knots, as if I'm invisible. It's been almost twenty-four hours since we arrived at the hotel, and he hasn't said a word to me. I know today is important to him, career-wise, but how can he forget what it means to us?

The silence crushes me, and I keep watching the way he struggles with the tie-so focused on something so trivial while everything between us slips through his fingers. After a few more long moments, I force myself to stand, breathing through the panic in my chest.

"Let me help you," I say softly, stepping closer.

Brady pauses, his hands dropping away from the tie. He doesn't meet my eyes-he focuses on his reflection in the mirror. I take the tie from him, my fingers trembling as I tuck it into the loop he's made.

"There," I say, trying to muster a smile. He offers me a forced smile in return, which makes my heart sink. "Do you know what today is, love?" I ask quietly as I adjust the tie and rest my hands on his shoulders, praying he'll remember.

For a moment, his brows crease, and I think maybe he'll remember.

But then, with a casual shrug, he says, "It's the day I close the biggest deal of my career. The deal that'll get me the promotion I deserve." My throat tightens, but I manage to smile through the sting. I slide my arms around his neck, pressing my body into his, filling the cold distance between us.

"You should think harder, love," I whisper. I feel him stiffen beneath my touch. Without warning, he pulls away from me, his face contorting in disgust.

"I don't have time for your games, Melania," he snaps in an irritated voice. "If you want to tag along tonight, meet me downstairs in ten minutes. And stay quiet. I don't need you embarrassing me!" He is practically yelling at this point.

Without looking back, he walks out, slamming the door with a deafening bang. The world blurs, tears gathering in my eyes as I sink onto the stool in front of the vanity. The woman staring back at me feels so foreign now. This isn't the woman I gave Brady. This is the woman he molded-no, broke. She was whole before him, but now she's just a shadow of herself.

One year. That's how long I've been married to him. He's no longer the Brady I met in college, the one who wouldn't leave me alone, the one who made me feel seen. Now, I'm just a shadow in my home. He's made it clear I'm not meant to know anything about his business. My only purpose is to be beautiful and silent, to bear his children. But I haven't conceived. No matter how many nights I've endured his advances, my body refuses to give him the child he demands. And he never lets me forget it. Worthless. That's what he calls me.

When I suggest seeing a doctor together, his answer is cold and dismissive.

"I don't need a hospital tarnishing my image," he says. "Once they see me in there, the tabloids will say I'm impotent." And so I remain, stuck in this silent, suffocating role-needing him to love me, needing him to see me, but knowing I'm nothing more than a decoration to him now. Just his mute, beautiful, and hidden wife. He never takes me to any of his events, but today I insist because of our anniversary, which I thought we would celebrate together with his 'big' achievement. "You can't cry, Melania," I say to myself as I wipe the tears staining my eyes.

**

The car ride suffocates me. I sit silently in the back seat, while Brady scrolls through his phone in the front. Not a word passes between us, and soon we arrive at the venue. Brady steps out first, buttoning his blazer. I follow him, and he marches forward like he didn't come to the event with me.

As we enter the sky-tall building, his lips curve into a smile, and I spot a woman standing near the entrance. I freeze as I recognize her.

"You look beautiful," the words I crave leave Brady's mouth, but they are not for me. Before me, he takes Portia's hands, planting a kiss on the back of her palms.

Portia is everything Brady has ever wanted in a woman. She is his high school sweetheart, recently divorced, and glowing as though heartbreak made her stronger. He loved her so much, but she got married right after high school. Her family is influential, so they tied her to a bigger family, the Sinclair's.

Brady says he is over her, but his actions say otherwise. Portia smiles at me, and I can tell it isn't genuine.

"You must be Melania. I've heard a lot about you," she extends her perfectly manicured hand, which I take briefly. In that moment, she sees a familiar face, and she leaves while I face my husband with my chest tightening.

"What is she doing here?" I ask, and I continue before he can speak, "I thought you said tonight is for important dignitaries?"

"It is," Brady replies immediately. "Portia is in town, and I thought she might help with her influence," he says, then I open my mouth to speak, but he glares at me. "Behave," he hisses under his breath.

Portia shows up at once, and he anchors his hand with hers, pulling her away while I trail behind them like I have no direction in life. As we walk into the room full of important dignitaries, Brady introduces me as a distant relative while he parades Portia around, proud to have an Ashford, and a former Sinclair.

Soon I am left alone in the middle of nowhere. I walk away with the sting of humiliation burning my face as Portia shoots me a poisonous smile. A server passes by with a tray of champagne, and I take one from him, downing the entire contents before grabbing another and turning to a corner in the room. Suddenly, I see Portia cat walking toward me with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"You really do not belong here, do you?" Portia mocks as she sips from her glass. "Brady doesn't love you, and he never has," she adds, her words driving through my chest like a knife. My hands tighten around the stem of the glass, and I glance at her, trying hard not to cry.

"Please leave him alone. I'll pay you whatever you want," I whisper, my voice breaking. Portia lets out a mocking laugh. "Pay me?" she repeats.

"Darling, my family's wealth makes Brady look like spare change. This isn't about money. It's about him. He belongs to me, and you..." She gives me a pitying look. "You're just in the way."

"Baby, except you are a Montclair or Chestwick, you have no right to talk to me about money." She is right, the Montclairs and Chestwick's are the richest in America. I am a Chestwick, but that is a secret I have kept from Brady, and that is what made me fall in love with him. He didn't want my family's money, it was just me.

"Brady doesn't love you, Portia, and he is using your family's influence to get what he wants," I say to her, and she scoffs.

"Didn't seem so when he snuck into my hotel room last night. Besides, I can prove it to you now. Look, he's coming," she says, and I spot Brady, whose smile changes to a frown as he sees me.

When he gets close to us, Portia puts out her leg a bit on the left, causing a lady making a call inattentive to trip, pouring her drink on her. My brows crease as I see Brady rushing to her, but to my utter surprise, he pushes me to the side, causing me to collide with a table of desserts, which sends chocolate mousse and raspberry coulis flying, splattering my dress and face. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, and the paparazzi do not pass up a chance to whip out their cameras for the front cover.

"Are you hurt? Did it get on you?" Brady asks, cupping Portia's face.

"I'm fine," Portia says in a low tone while I remain on the floor, frozen in humiliation. I search his face for the slightest sign of care, but he doesn't look at me.

"Someone clean this up," Brady barks to no one in particular, his hand resting protectively on Portia's back. "And get her out of here before she causes more trouble." He gestures vaguely toward me.

The words hit me like a blow as my chest tightens, and tears crawl down my face as I stand to save the little dignity I have left. I run away with the blinding light of the paparazzi chasing me as I realize my husband loves another woman...