The Fallen Star: A Wife's Betrayal

r a single, harsh spotlight, sat my mother' s guitar. It wasn' t just a guitar, it was a custom-made Martin, the one she

wife' s childhood friend,

ok on his spoiled face, his arm dr

. "We begin at ten thousand dolla

lmost empty. The Miller Hotels, my family's busines

d," I called o

whispering. They knew who I wa

rt, ugly sound. "On

red fifty

ndred th

I had into this, fueled by a grief so sharp it tasted l

oice shaking. That was everything. My e

didn' t expect me to go that high. He looked at

twice... sold!" The auctioneer' s gavel fe

steady, and took the guitar case.

t me. She was scrolling through her ph

she said, not looking up. "Don'

ike ice water. I

Rival Dylan Hayes.' The story, twisted and sensationalized, spread like wildfire. The public backlas

he tried to kil

owed no emotion, her face a perfect, elegant mask. But I saw something flic

mother's death, she handed me an invi

an," she said, her voice smooth as

f dread tighteni

y. The air was thick with the scent of expensive

tographs. A mangled car. Shattered glass glitterin

rom my mother' s f

mall plaque underneath. The title of t

onto a small podium. He announced that each pho

as watching me, a faint, triumphant smile playing on her

first photo, the one of t

ce clear and steady, cutting th

one s

ed, asked, "One millio

hose smile had finally vanished. "One mill

osure sh

wife, their faces a mixture of shock and sick excitement. They weren't just watching

ment, seemed lost. He lo

h condescending praise. "How generous of Mrs. Miller to share such... i

ked in the twisted compliment, her eyes glinting with a cold fire