Chapter 6 Revenge In Red Bottoms

Aria I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror of the penthouse suite, slipping on a sharp, blood-red dress that hugged every curve like a second skin. My signature Louboutin stilettos clicked against the marble floor. Tonight wasn’t about healing. It wasn’t about hiding. Tonight, I was going to remind the world—and Brandon Blackwell—exactly who the fuck I was. “Ready to raise hell?” Talia grinned from behind me, her eyes sparkling as she handed me my diamond clutch. “Oh, I’m way past ready,” I smirked, turning to face her. “He thought he could embarrass me, humiliate me by moving her in? Let’s see how he handles being outshined at his own event.” Because tonight? Tonight was Brandon’s precious Blackwell Foundation Annual Gala. His crown jewel. His ‘power couple’ performance night. And tonight? I was about to steal the spotlight right out from under him. “Car’s waiting, boss lady,” Talia said, following me out the door. As we stepped into the sleek, black Rolls-Royce, I slipped on my sunglasses like I wasn’t about to walk straight into enemy territory. “You sure about this?” she asked, sliding in beside me. I smirked. “He wants a PR-perfect night. Let’s give him a night no one will forget.” The moment I stepped out of the sleek, black Rolls-Royce and onto the black carpet of the Blackwell Foundation’s annual gala, the world seemed to pause for a second before erupting into a flurry of flashing cameras, murmured conversations, and the relentless hum of curiosity that followed me wherever I went. Photographers jostled for a better angle, reporters shouted my name with eager desperation, and the sea of eyes in the crowd moved from one guest to the next until they all settled on me—the woman they thought would never show up tonight, the wife they assumed had been pushed aside, the one they believed had been discarded. I adjusted the diamond bracelet around my wrist with an effortless flick of my fingers, letting the smooth, cold weight of the stones remind me that I had earned my place here, that I belonged among the elite, and that no man—not even Brandon Blackwell himself—could erase me from this world that I helped build. Dressed in a blood-red Valentino gown that clung to every inch of my body like it had been sculpted just for me, I stepped forward slowly, making it clear that I was not here to fade into the background like some scorned, forgotten woman. Instead, I was here to command the room, to reclaim my power, to remind every single person in attendance—including my dear husband and his new favorite accessory—exactly who the fuck I was. The grand ballroom, a masterpiece of crystal chandeliers, gleaming marble floors, and towering floral arrangements that screamed wealth and exclusivity, was already filled with Manhattan’s most powerful and influential people, all dressed in couture and sipping champagne that probably cost more than most people’s monthly salaries. As I moved through the space, I felt their eyes on me—some filled with admiration, others tinged with jealousy, but all unable to look away. My presence was unexpected. They thought I had disappeared, had been replaced. They were wrong. “Aria! Over here!” “Mrs. Blackwell, where’s your husband?” “Who are you wearing?” I posed with a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Valentino,” I said casually, letting the name drop like a bomb, because of course Brandon hated when I outdressed him. As I stepped onto the red carpet, I heard the whispers. “Isn’t that Brandon’s wife?” “She looks amazing.” “Didn’t she go underground after the Savannah rumors?” I smirked internally. Keep talking. I knew Brandon would be inside already, schmoozing with investors, acting like everything was perfect. Well, not tonight, darling. The second I entered the room. Everyone practically froze. Every pair of eyes turned to me—men’s gazes dropping to my curves, women’s narrowing in envy. And there he was. Brandon Blackwell, standing by the bar in a designer tux, whiskey glass in hand, talking to two major investors. And right next to him, clinging to his arm like a damn accessory, was Savannah—wearing some pale blue gown that suddenly looked cheap compared to me. Brandon’s jaw tightened the moment he saw me. Good. I offered him a dazzling smile, lifting a champagne flute off a passing tray, and sauntered over like I had no care in the world. “Darling,” I purred as I reached him, placing a hand on his chest like the perfect wife in front of his precious board members. “You didn’t tell me Savannah would be joining us.” Savannah’s fake smile faltered. Brandon cleared his throat, glancing nervously at the investors, who were now watching this little drama like it was prime-time television. “Aria,” he said tightly. “What are you doing here?” I blinked, wide-eyed. “Why wouldn’t I be here? I am Mrs. Blackwell, after all.” The older investor chuckled. “Ah, Brandon, you didn’t say your wife was attending. Aria, you’re always such a showstopper. The press can’t get enough of you.” I smiled sweetly, my hand lingering on Brandon’s arm just long enough to see him stiffen. Savannah’s eyes were practically shooting daggers. “Oh, you know me,” I said airily, sipping champagne. “Never one to miss a night to celebrate Brandon’s… success.” Savannah looked like she was about to say something, but I beat her to it. “Tell me, Savannah, are you enjoying the gala? So many important people here. Brandon and I usually host this together, don’t we, darling?” I looked up at him, the picture of innocence. Brandon gave me a death glare that only made me smile wider. “I suppose we do,” he muttered. “I hope you don’t mind me keeping up appearances,” I added, my voice smooth as silk but sharp enough to slice. “After all, the media would have a field day if they saw Brandon with another woman while his wife is still right here.” Savannah bristled. “Everyone knows Brandon and I are—” “Friends,” I cut her off smoothly, flashing a smile that could rival a shark’s. “Of course. And as long as that’s all the media knows, right, Brandon?” He glared at me, but I saw the twitch in his jaw—the tiny crack in his calm. Good. The investors, meanwhile, were eating up every second, whispering to each other, their amused glances making Brandon shift uncomfortably. “Well,” I said, draining my champagne glass and handing it to a passing waiter. “I’ll let you two… friends catch up. I’m sure you have so much to talk about.” With a final smirk, I turned on my heel, walking away like I owned the entire damn building. Talia caught up with me by the balcony. “Girl, that was a masterpiece,” she whispered, trying to hold back her grin. I shrugged, adjusting my diamond earrings. “Just the opening act.” “What’s next?” “Oh,” I smirked, looking back over my shoulder where Brandon and Savannah were now in a tense whisper-fight. “Now, we make him beg for mercy.” Talia leaned closer. “You ready for war?” I turned, my smile sharp and dangerous. “Honey, I am the war.”