PART 2: MY CEO HUSBAND TOOK HIS MISTRESS TO THE GALA AND LEFT ME HOME IN MY OLD DRESS

PART 2 — THE NAME SPENCER THOUGHT I HAD LOST

I heard something move in the background, perhaps a chair.

“Daley?”

“You know her?”

“I know her father.”

That surprised me.

“Victor Daley?”

“Yes.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

My father gave a humorless laugh.

“More than Spencer probably understands.”

I closed my eyes.

“Dad, I don’t want revenge.”

“No?”

“I want out.”

That answer came from somewhere deep inside me.

Once spoken, it felt permanent.

“I don’t want to humiliate him. I don’t want a public scene. I just want my life back.”

My father’s voice softened.

“Then that is exactly what you’re going to get.”

A knock sounded downstairs.

I frowned.

“Are you already here?”

“It will take me twenty minutes.”

“Then who—”

“Go downstairs, sweetheart.”

The line disconnected.

I stared at the phone.

Another knock echoed through the mansion.

When I entered the foyer, Mrs. Gladys was already opening the door.

Two men stood outside.

One was in his sixties with silver hair, rimless

glasses, and a black overcoat.

I recognized him immediately.

“Mr. Fletcher?”

He smiled gently.

“Mrs. Conway.”

Arthur Fletcher had been my father’s attorney for as long as I could remember.

Behind him stood a younger woman carrying two leather briefcases.

Mrs. Gladys glanced at me uncertainly.

“Should I let them in, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

Arthur stepped into the foyer and looked around.

His expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

“This is the first time I’ve been inside this house.”

“That makes two of us,” I said.

He studied me.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve lived here three years, Arthur. I’m still not sure I’ve ever been allowed to feel like it belongs to me.”

Something sad passed through his eyes.

The younger woman introduced herself as Clara Mills, a senior associate at Fletcher & Ward.

Arthur gestured toward the sitting room.

“May we?”

Ten minutes later, documents covered the coffee table.

I stared at them.

“I don’t understand.”

Arthur removed his glasses.

“Your father instructed me to preserve certain legal protections after your marriage.”

My stomach tightened.

“What protections?”

“He knew you refused a prenuptial agreement.”

I looked away.

That argument had nearly ended my relationship with my parents before the wedding.

My father had begged me to protect myself.

Spencer called the idea insulting.

He said asking for a prenup meant I didn’t trust him.

I was so desperate to prove my love that I sided with Spencer.

Arthur continued.

“Your father could not force you to sign anything. But he could restructure assets that belonged to the Harrell family.”

He slid a folder toward me.

My eyes moved across the page.

Harrell Family Holdings.

Beneficiary: Phoebe Harrell Conway.

I looked up.

“What is this?”

“Your mother’s inheritance.”

My breath stopped.

“My mother left me money?”

“Not exactly.”

Arthur paused.

“She left you ownership.”

I stared at him.

“How much?”

“Your mother controlled twelve percent of Harrell Industrial before her death, along with property interests, bonds, private equity positions, and several commercial developments.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“I thought everything went to Dad.”

“Your father retained voting control temporarily according to your mother’s estate plan. But ownership transferred to you.”

“How much is it worth?”

Clara answered softly.

“At current valuations, approximately six hundred and eighty million dollars.”

I laughed.

It was involuntary.

Almost hysterical.

Mrs. Gladys, who had been standing discreetly near the doorway, put a hand over her mouth.

“Six hundred…”

I couldn’t finish.

Arthur nodded.

“Your father never told you because your mother left very precise instructions.”

He opened another document.

“She knew how strongly you wanted independence. She instructed him not to disclose the inheritance until you either asked for help or turned thirty-five.”

My thirty-fifth birthday was four months away.

I stared at my mother’s signature.

For three years, I had been afraid to replace an old dress.

I had refused lunch invitations because Spencer told me household spending was “getting excessive.”

I had paid for birthday gifts from the small savings account I had maintained before marriage.

All while I unknowingly owned assets worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Tears filled my eyes.

Not because of the money.

Because suddenly, I could hear my mother’s voice.

You may want to prove you can stand on your own, Phoebe. Just don’t mistake suffering for strength.

She had told me that once.

I had forgotten.

Arthur’s voice brought me back.

“There is something else you need to understand.”

He turned another page around.

The Apex Group.

My husband’s company.

I frowned.

“What about it?”

“Harrell Capital owns twenty-eight percent.”

My entire body went still.

“No.”

“It does.”

“That’s impossible. Spencer founded Apex with investors before we married.”

“Yes. And during the company’s liquidity crisis two years ago, several institutional investors sold their positions.”

I remembered that year.

Spencer had barely come home.

He blamed market conditions.

He became obsessed with financing.

Then suddenly, Apex recovered.

Its valuation doubled.

Business magazines called Spencer a visionary.

Arthur tapped the page.

“Your father’s companies purchased distressed Apex shares through three investment entities.”

“Spencer knows?”

“He knows Harrell Capital is a major shareholder.”

“But he doesn’t know—”

“That Harrell Capital is your family?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone in finance knows Raymond Harrell controls Harrell Capital.”

I stared at him.

“Then Spencer knows my father owns almost a third of his company.”

“Yes.”

Something cold spread through me.

“Why would he treat me like this if he knows?”

Arthur did not answer immediately.

That frightened me more than anything.

“What?”

He sighed.

“Because Spencer believes you are estranged from your father permanently.”

My stomach dropped.

“He told people that?”

“He has implied it.”

“Why?”

Arthur exchanged a glance with Clara.

“Because your marriage has been useful to him.”

I felt sick.

“Useful how?”

Before he could answer, headlights swept across the front windows.

A black Rolls-Royce stopped outside.

My father stepped out.

I had not seen Raymond Harrell in three years.

He seemed older.

His silver hair was thinner.

His shoulders were still broad beneath his dark coat, but there was a weariness around his eyes I had never noticed before.

When Mrs. Gladys opened the door, he stood there looking at me.

Neither of us moved.

Then his face crumpled.

“Phoebe.”

“Dad.”

I crossed the foyer.

He wrapped his arms around me.

I had forgotten what it felt like to be held by someone who expected nothing in return.

For three years, I had been told I was too emotional.

Too sensitive.

Too dramatic.

Too needy.

Now, with my face against my father’s coat, I finally cried.

Not loudly.

Not beautifully.

I cried like someone who had been holding her breath for far too long.

My father stroked my hair.

“I should have come sooner.”

“I told you not to.”

“I should have ignored you.”

I almost laughed.

“That would have made me hate you.”

“I could have lived with that.”

He leaned back and looked at me.

“But I cannot live with what he has done to you.”

“Dad, please.”

“I heard you. You don’t want revenge.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

He removed his coat.

“Neither do I.”

Arthur looked at him.

I looked at him.

Even Clara looked suspicious.

My father calmly adjusted his cuff.

“I want accountability.”

That sounded much more dangerous.

The Apex Group gala had already begun.

Nearly six hundred guests filled the top-floor ballroom of the Grand Armitage Hotel.

Spencer stood beneath crystal chandeliers speaking with Senator Lowell Briggs and two investment executives from Chicago.

Paisley remained attached to his arm.

She had spent the first hour making certain everyone noticed.

Pictures were already circulating online.

CEO Spencer Conway Arrives With Mystery Blonde.

Apex Founder’s Glamorous Gala Companion.

Paisley loved every second.

“What about your wife?” one executive joked.

Spencer smiled into his whiskey.

“Phoebe hates these events.”

Paisley touched his lapel.

“She’s more of a homebody.”

That was the story they had agreed on.

It sounded cleaner than admitting Spencer had forbidden his wife from attending.

Across the ballroom, Victor Daley watched his daughter carefully.

He did not look pleased.

Paisley noticed.

“Dad, stop staring.”

Victor pulled her aside.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming with Conway.”

“So?”

“So he’s married.”

“Technically.”

“What does that mean?”

Paisley rolled her eyes.

“He and Phoebe barely have a marriage.”

Victor’s face darkened.

“You need to distance yourself from this.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t understand who his wife is.”

Paisley laughed.

“I met her tonight.”

“No, you saw her.”

“Same thing.”

“No.”

Victor looked around before lowering his voice.

“Her maiden name is Harrell.”

Paisley shrugged.

“So?”

For a moment, Victor simply stared at her.

“Raymond Harrell.”

The color drained slowly from her face.

“The Raymond Harrell?”

“Yes.”

Paisley recovered quickly.

“Spencer said they’re estranged.”

“That doesn’t make her stop being his daughter.”

“So what? She doesn’t have anything. Spencer told me she left that family years ago.”

Victor clenched his jaw.

“You’re playing with people you do not understand.”

Before Paisley could respond, a notification appeared on nearly every phone in the ballroom.

Apex shares had entered after-hours volatility.

Then another alert.

Harrell Capital had requested an emergency shareholder meeting.

Spencer saw the notification and frowned.

He immediately excused himself from Senator Briggs.

“What the hell?”

His chief financial officer, Marcus Reed, hurried across the room.

“Spencer.”

“What happened?”

“We don’t know.”

“Why is Harrell calling an emergency vote?”

Marcus lowered his voice.

“They’ve also contacted Blackmont Pension and Westbridge.”

Spencer’s face tightened.

Together, those three investors controlled more than fifty percent of Apex voting shares.

“For what purpose?”

Marcus hesitated.

“Board leadership.”

Spencer stared at him.

“They’re trying to remove me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Call Harrell.”

“We did.”

“And?”

“They said Mr. Harrell is unavailable.”

Spencer swore under his breath.

Paisley approached.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Spencer—”

“I said nothing.”

His tone made her step back.

Then the ballroom doors opened.

The conversations nearest the entrance faded first.

Then others turned.

Within seconds, silence traveled across the room.

Raymond Harrell had entered.

He was not alone.

Arthur Fletcher walked beside him.

And between them, wearing the same old navy-blue dress Spencer had mocked less than two hours earlier, was me.

Spencer’s face became blank.

Paisley stopped breathing.

I had changed nothing.

Not the dress.

Not my hair.

Not my makeup.

I wanted him to see exactly the woman he had rejected.

Only now, I was walking beside the man whose investment had helped keep his company alive.

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