It was our wedding anniversary. My husband, Marcus, told me an urgent M&A deal had come up and he had to fly to Paris. So I went alone to one of the city’s most exclusive galleries. I’d decided to buy myself the Modigliani I’d been coveting for months as my own anniversary gift. I’d barely sat down in the VIP lounge with a cup of tea when I saw him. Marcus, who was supposed to be in Paris, was standing there with his new assistant, Jenna—the one who always looked at me with a barely concealed sneer. Jenna had her eyes on the very painting I was there to see. She sashayed over to me, and in front of several collectors I knew and the gallery director, she took a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and flippantly tucked it into the folds of my Hermès scarf. “Mrs. Thorne, first time seeing a Modigliani? Are you sure you can… appreciate this level of artistry?” Her voice was sickly sweet, dripping with contempt. … When I remained seated, not even glancing at the money, she scoffed and looped her arm through Marcus’s, pressing her entire body against him. “Marcus, look how stubborn she is. She just won’t listen. She doesn’t know the first thing about art, but she booked the viewing first. She’s just trying to spite you.” Marcus showed no trace of guilt at being caught. “Bianca, go tell the gallery you’re canceling your appointment, and then leave. Now.” I looked at him, motionless. I was getting that painting today. Jenna’s eyes darted around the room, finally landing on my face, full of malice. “So, the lady won’t yield. Then how about we let our wallets do the talking? A friendly auction?” The gallery director’s eyes lit up, his gaze turning to me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow. “If you want to play, I’ll play.” A triumphant look crossed Jenna’s face. “Then let’s make a little wager, shall we? The loser—the one who doesn’t get the painting—has to kneel and crawl out of the gallery. That Chanel couture you’re wearing is lovely, Mrs. Thorne. It would be a shame to get it dirty.” A few muffled snickers rippled through the room. A couple of the other wives exchanged amused, expectant glances. Marcus watched me with cold eyes, saying nothing. They thought this would be enough to make me fold. I suppressed the icy smile that threatened to form on my lips. “Just crawling? Where’s the fun in that? If we’re going to play, let’s play for real stakes.” 1 The atmosphere in the VIP lounge instantly turned to ice. Marcus, Jenna, the collectors, the gallery director—a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly fixed on me. Before becoming Marcus’s assistant, Jenna had supposedly been a jewelry appraiser at some auction house. She’d climbed her way up to Marcus by leveraging her looks and her ability to read a room. The idea that I would not only accept her challenge but raise the stakes was, to them, utter madness. “Has Mrs. Thorne lost her mind? Picking a fight with the assistant in front of everyone? What’s the point?” “Well, after what Jenna said, who wouldn’t be angry? But you have to know when you’re outmatched…” “Please. Everyone knows Mrs. Thorne is just a pretty face. She knows nothing about her husband’s business except how to spend his money. Jenna is Marcus’s right-hand woman, he trusts her completely. What could she possibly have to play with?” “Why can’t she just be a good trophy wife? A man as successful as Marcus is bound to have a few women on the side. Why make a scene?” “Poor Marcus. Not only is she useless, she causes trouble for him.” The whispers reached my ears. Marcus’s face darkened with impatience. “Bianca, stop making a scene!” he hissed, his tone that of a man scolding a petulant child. “Jenna is young and impulsive, she didn’t mean anything by it. Why are you stooping to her level? I have important investors with me today. Don’t you dare embarrass me. Go home.” I shifted into a more comfortable position, leaning back against the velvet chair, my gaze perfectly calm as it met his. “I reserved this painting a week ago. The gallery’s policy is first come, first served. If the price is right, I can purchase it directly. There is no reason I should yield to you. Your assistant wanted to play a game, and I have graciously agreed. I suggest you don’t push your luck.” My defiance seemed to enrage him. He leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening growl. “Bianca, have I spoiled you too much? Don’t you forget who pays for your entire existence. You’re not a somebody. When I tell you to get lost, you get lost.” My eyes narrowed, lingering for a moment on his body pressed tightly against Jenna’s. “Marcus, the bet has been made. The only decision you need to make today is whether you’re standing with her, or with me.” He sneered at me, his tone growing uglier. “Who the hell do you think you are? What do you do all day besides shop and drink tea? Every single thing you own, I bought. Don’t you dare pull this act with me. A trophy wife should know her place. Get out, and I’ll forget this happened. But if you insist on making things difficult, then you can get ready to crawl.” So, he had made his choice. My voice turned to ice. “I’m buying that painting today.” 2 Marcus was about to explode, but Jenna stopped him, giggling and shaking his arm. “Marcus, honey, don’t get angry with her. She’s just a kept woman, completely dependent on you. Why let someone so clueless get under your skin? If Mrs. Thorne wants to play, I’ll play with her. Think of it as free entertainment for our guests.” She sighed dramatically. “She’s only acting out like this because she’s jealous of me being by your side… Maybe I should be the one to leave.” She made a show of turning away, and Marcus immediately pulled her back into his arms. “She’s the one who should leave, not you. If she wants to crawl, we’ll let her.” They were acting like love-struck teenagers right in front of me, his wife. A wave of disgust washed over me. A portly, balding man—a Mr. Harrison—clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “No wonder you take Ms. Jenna everywhere, my boy. Not just beautiful, but smart, too.” At the compliment, a smug look appeared on Marcus’s face. Jenna shot me a triumphant, provocative glare. “So, how high are we playing, Mrs. Thorne? A million a hand?” “A million? Don’t make me laugh,” Mr. Harrison snorted, tapping his fat fingers on the armrest. “Playing for small stakes is boring, Mrs. Thorne. Let’s do this: when the public auction begins, whoever wins the painting gets ten percent of the final sale price from the loser, in cash, on the spot. What do you say? Do you have the guts?” Jenna’s expression faltered. Ten percent. If the painting sold for ten million, that was a million dollars. While she had Marcus, a sum like that in cash… “Mr. Harrison, isn’t that… a bit much?” she hesitated. Harrison, enjoying the drama, waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Jenna. I’ll cover your bet. I just feel for my friend Marcus here. So young, so successful, and married to… well, a decoration.” Jenna beamed, thanking him profusely before turning back to me, her eyes gleaming like a predator’s. “Well, Mrs. Thorne? It’s not too late to back out and apologize.” 3 Every eye in the room was on me. I didn’t look at Jenna, addressing Harrison instead. “With so many witnesses, can we take you at your word, Mr. Harrison?” “Of course! It’s all about the thrill,” he said, puffing out his chest. I nodded and turned to the gallery director. “Please prepare a formal betting agreement, and have a notary present. Once the agreement is signed, we can begin the auction.” Marcus looked stunned. “Bianca, are you insane? Where are you going to get that kind of money? Don’t expect me to pay a single cent for you if you lose.” I laughed coldly. “The word ‘lose’ isn’t in my vocabulary.” Jenna gave me a smug look. “Don’t forget, Mrs. Thorne. The loser has to crawl.” “That’s exactly what I was about to say to you,” I retorted. Jenna’s smile widened as she turned to Marcus, her expression now one of wounded innocence. “Marcus, will you be angry with me for making this bet? She is your wife, after all. If she crawls out of here, it will be a humiliation for you, too.” “She eats my food, lives in my house, and still dares to give me attitude? Crawling is getting off easy. She should be on her knees, begging for your forgiveness.” “Oh, Marcus, she’s still your wife. I would never humiliate you like that. Let’s not get angry with this simpleton.” She looked back at me. “Mrs. Thorne, this is a game of money. You’re so used to spending Marcus’s, you’ve probably lost all concept of what it’s worth.” I looked at Marcus. “Are you sure you want to foot the bill for Jenna’s bid?” “Of course. Unlike you, she has been a huge asset to my career. If she wants it, I’ll get it for her. As for you, don’t expect a dime from me.” I scoffed. So, it was just about who had more money. I wasn’t worried. The notary arrived, the papers were signed, and the auctioneer took the stage. After a brief introduction, the bidding began. Jenna raised her paddle first, her voice crisp. “Five million.” “Excellent! Ms. Jenna starts off strong!” Harrison cheered from the side. I lifted my teacup, feeling its warmth against my fingertips, and said nothing. The room grew quiet. “Five million, going once…” the auctioneer called. “Giving up so soon, Mrs. Thorne?” Jenna simpered, covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought she had more fight in her,” Harrison chimed in. “Turns out it was all a bluff. Well, looks like a sure win for Ms. Jenna. My money was well spent. A little live entertainment to cap off the evening.” Jenna’s triumphant smirk was practically glowing. She stood to get a glass of champagne, and as she passed my chair, the pointed toe of her stiletto “accidentally” snagged the hem of my dress. “Really, Mrs. Thorne. Why do this to yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to leave with some dignity? If you crawl out of here like a dog, you’ll be a laughingstock in your little social circle.” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss. 4 Marcus frowned, his patience worn thin. “Bianca, stop embarrassing yourself. Many of these people are my most important partners. You’re humiliating me. Get out now, and I’ll let this go. I won’t even cancel your credit cards. Otherwise, I will cut you off completely.” He was red in the face with anger. Jenna nestled against him, fanning the flames. “Marcus, sometimes I just feel so sorry for you. You’re so brilliant, so successful, running this massive company… and yet… your wife is good for nothing but spending money. It breaks my heart.” I raised my eyes, my gaze like daggers. “It sounds like you care a great deal for my husband.” Jenna paused, then adopted a look of profound devotion. “Yes. I admire him. And I would rather spend my life supporting him and helping him achieve greatness than be a leech, like some people. A shameless leech who publicly humiliates him.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “How noble. But the man you admire has a wife. Isn’t it a little pathetic to be so obvious about it?” “Bianca, watch your mouth!” Marcus finally exploded, slamming his hand on the table. “Jenna is innocent and dedicated! How dare you slander her with your filth! She’s not like you. Know your place.” “I never loved you,” he snarled. “If my father hadn’t seen some value in your family’s old connections, I never would have married you. What do you have besides a pretty face? You’re not worthy of me.” “Push me again, and I’ll throw you out on the street today. Without me, you’d have to sell yourself to survive.” I stared at his face, twisted with rage, and the last ember of warmth in my heart died. I had agreed to this arranged marriage because I saw his drive and ambition when he was starting out. I thought he was different from the other lazy, entitled heirs. I never imagined he would be so foolish as to be manipulated by a shallow assistant and publicly humiliate me. Seeing Marcus leap to her defense, Jenna shot me a triumphant look and began to gently pat his back. “Marcus, don’t be angry. It hurts me to see you upset.” She turned her blazing eyes on me. “If I win, I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you to crawl. I want… his freedom.” My voice was flat. “Freedom? You mean, you want us to divorce?” Jenna looked at Marcus, her eyes full of love and a desperate, reckless courage. “Marcus, I am willing to fight for your freedom. Are you willing… to break free from this cage?” Marcus looked at Jenna’s young, beautiful face, then at the smirking faces of his “partners.” A wave of vanity and reckless impulse washed over him. As everyone watched, he slowly, deliberately, nodded. 5 My hands, resting on my lap, clenched into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. A feeling like hot oil seared through my chest. My marriage was a joke. Someone let out a low whistle. A voice called out, “Go, Jenna! True love wins!” “Marcus deserves to be free!” “She’s a beautiful woman, though. If she’s single again, maybe we can have a taste…” Hearing this, a sly look entered Jenna’s eyes. “Bianca, I’m raising the stakes again. If you lose, you not only have to divorce Marcus, you also have to…” She paused, her voice turning sinister. “You have to spend a night with Mr. Harrison. For free.” Harrison glanced at Marcus, who remained impassive. His lecherous gaze then shifted to me. “So, Bianca. Do you still dare to play?” The room erupted in jeers. “I’m in on that! If she loses, she spends a night with me too!” I looked at Marcus’s cold, indifferent face. A chilling smile spread across my own. “Alright. But if I’m the prize, you’d better be prepared to offer a prize of your own.” If they were going to serve their faces up on a platter, I was more than happy to slap them. I was going to show Marcus and his disgusting partners exactly what it cost to insult me. 6 Amidst the jeering crowd, Marcus finally spoke. “Bianca, I never knew you were such a shameless, degenerate woman. Using your own body as a bargaining chip. Win or lose, a woman like you is not fit to be my wife. Since you insist on this, sign the divorce papers first. My wife will not be a whore.” Jenna was the one who made the bet. I accepted, and suddenly I was the degenerate. His bias was breathtaking. I looked at him, my eyes cold. “Are you sure? You don’t want to reconsider?” “If you leave right now, apologize to Jenna, and treat her with respect from now on, I’ll let this go,” he said, his tone one of magnanimous condescension. “But don’t forget, today’s bet is about who wins the auction. It’s about money. You are guaranteed to lose.” I smiled. “Then please, bring me the divorce papers.” He stared at me in disbelief. “What did you say? Do you have any idea what will happen if you lose? I’m giving you one last chance. Answer me again.” His shock was becoming tiresome. “That’s my business. You won’t need to worry about it, ex-husband-to-be. Weren’t we signing something? Let’s get it over with.” Marcus was stunned into silence. Perhaps he never imagined that the woman he thought of as his dependent could have such a spine. I could tell the divorce was just a threat, a tool to control me. But now, he was trapped. Jenna must have sensed his hesitation. She leaned in and whispered, “Marcus, she’s bluffing. She just wants you to back down. If you do, what will your partners think? She’s a housewife who you support. She’d never leave you. She’s just trying to scare you. Look, they’re all watching.” Her words seemed to solidify his resolve. He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Fine. If you want to debase yourself, I’ll help you.” The auction was paused. A lawyer, conveniently on hand, quickly produced two copies of a divorce agreement. I looked at Marcus with amusement. “You’re sure about this?” He signed without looking at me. So ruthless. Harrison sidled up. “Shouldn’t we get our little bet in writing, too?” The man was so legally ignorant it was almost funny. But to put them at ease, I signed his paper as well. The wager: fifty million dollars. If I lost, I was theirs for a night. If I won, they paid. The thought of several hundred million dollars appearing in my account out of thin air… I really had Jenna to thank for all this. The auctioneer, seeing our business was concluded, resumed the proceedings. Jenna, full of confidence, pushed the price to eighty million. “Go, Jenna! The painting is worth every penny!” Harrison cheered. He shot a greasy look my way, an air of certainty about him. I lifted my teacup, tapping a finger against the rim. My gaze swept over Harrison. “Is this how your company makes its investment decisions? Blindly, based on the whims of an assistant?” Harrison’s face turned a blotchy purple. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that? If it weren’t for Marcus, you wouldn’t even be allowed in this room. The old man of the Thorne family must have been senile. Marcus has such a bright future, and you’re just a stone around his neck. But I guess it makes sense. A woman who would bet her own body isn’t exactly high-class. Don’t you worry. Tonight, I’ll take good care of you.” So this was the caliber of Marcus’s partners. His bankruptcy was well-deserved. My own family’s investment in his company, however, was now at risk.
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