Mark scoffed. “You know, I ran into Dave from Sales today. His wife is a lawyer. Partner at her firm. She brings in six figures.” He looked at Elena with a mixture of pity and disdain. “It must be nice to just… exist. To have no real pressure.”
Elena felt the familiar sting. It wasn’t the insult itself—she had thicker skin than that. It was the irony.
Five years ago, Mark had been unemployed, depressed, and borderline suicidal. Elena, already a secret millionaire from her early patents, had fallen in love with his vulnerability. To build him up, she had crafted a narrative: she was a freelance graphic designer struggling to find work, and he was the rising star. She had used her connections to get him an entry-level job at one of her subsidiaries. She had secretly guided his career, feeding him ideas, fixing his mistakes late at night, and ensuring his promotions.
She had dimmed her light so he could shine. And now, blinded by that artificial glare, he couldn’t see her at all.
“I do my best, Mark,” Elena said, her voice tight.
“I know, babe,” Mark said, patting her head condescendingly. “Just… try to look a bit more presentable tomorrow. The promotion party is a big deal. The CEO might be there. I don’t want you looking like… well, like this.”
He gestured at her apron.
Elena smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile that Mark didn’t notice because he was already looking at his phone.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly who I am tomorrow.”
Later that night, as Mark snored beside her, Elena’s phone lit up on the nightstand. It was Mark’s phone, actually. He had forgotten to silence it.
A message from “Jessica – Work”: I can’t wait to be your queen tomorrow night. Your stupid wife won’t suspect a thing. Wear the blue tie I bought you.
Elena stared at the screen. She didn’t cry. She reached under the bed and pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a platinum seal ring with the NovaStream crest.
She whispered to the sleeping man, “You wanted a queen, Mark. Be careful what you wish for.”
Part 2: The Party of Masks
The Grand Ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was bathed in gold and violet light. It was an event fit for royalty, paid for by a “generous anonymous donor” from the corporate office.