Chapter 3: The Charity Gala of Lies
The flashbulbs were blinding.
"Marcus! Khloe! Over here! Give us a smile!"
The annual Thorne Foundation Charity Gala was the social event of the season in Manhattan. Tonight, the ballroom at the Plaza Hotel was packed with politicians, hedge fund managers, and old money elites.
Marcus held Khloe’s waist in a vice-like grip, plastering on his signature billion-dollar smile. To the cameras, they were the picture of marital bliss. The handsome titan of industry and his beautiful, glowing pregnant wife.
"Keep smiling," Marcus muttered under his breath, his fingers digging painfully into her side, right over her fading bruise. "If one reporter asks about a rift in this marriage, I will cut off the allowance to your uncle's hospital by midnight. Nod and smile."
"Of course, darling," Khloe replied, turning her head to give him a look of absolute adoration for the cameras. "Whatever you say."
They moved into the ballroom, taking their seats at the VIP table. Across the room, Khloe spotted Isabella. She was holding court with a group of investors' wives, laughing loudly. But what made Khloe’s blood run cold was the jewelry resting on Isabella’s collarbone.
It was a teardrop emerald pendant. The exact pendant that had belonged to Khloe’s late mother. It was Khloe's most prized possession, kept locked in a safe in the penthouse. Marcus had given it to his mistress.
A wave of pure, white-hot rage washed over Khloe. She didn't let it show on her face. Instead, she waited.
When Marcus was pulled away by the Mayor for a photo op, Khloe stood up, smoothing her elegant black maternity gown. She walked slowly, purposefully, across the crowded ballroom toward Isabella’s table.
As Khloe approached, the other women fell silent, shifting uncomfortably. They had all heard the rumors. They all knew Isabella was Marcus’s sidepiece.
"Isabella," Khloe said warmly, her voice carrying just enough for the surrounding tables to hear. "You look stunning tonight. I must say, I am so relieved you came."
Isabella looked confused, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Are you?"
"Oh, absolutely," Khloe smiled, reaching out and gently touching the emerald pendant on Isabella's neck. Isabella flinched back. "I was just telling Arthur Pendelton—the head of the board—how generous you've been with Marcus's personal accounts lately. Those wire transfers to the Cayman Islands? The ones totaling forty-five million dollars? Such a clever tax loophole. Arthur is very eager to ask you about it."
Isabella’s face drained of all color. The smug arrogance vanished, replaced by sheer, unadulterated panic. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," Khloe leaned in close, her lips brushing Isabella’s ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper colder than absolute zero. "I know about the money. I know about the accounts. And I have the security footage from the hospital. If you don't take my mother's necklace off right now and hand it to me, I will walk onto that stage, take the microphone, and ruin your life on live television."
Isabella swallowed hard. Her hands shook violently as she reached behind her neck, fumbling with the clasp. She dropped the heavy emerald into Khloe’s waiting palm.
May you like
"Good girl," Khloe whispered, slipping the necklace into her clutch. She stepped back, offering a radiant smile to the stunned women at the table. "Enjoy your evening, ladies."
As Khloe walked away, she caught Marcus’s eye from across the room. He looked confused. Khloe simply smiled, raising her glass of sparkling water in a mock toast. The game had officially begun.
