She slipped through the crowd, staying completely out of sight, and followed him through the noisy, chaotic kitchen hallways until she reached the dimly lit VIP lounge sector.
At the end of the corridor, one of the heavy lounge doors stood slightly ajar. Low, breathy laughter drifted through the gap.
Ayla slowed her steps. She pressed her back against the cold wall and slid closer, peering through the narrow opening.
Inside the lounge, Axel had a woman pinned against the back of a leather sofa, kissing her aggressively. The woman was wearing a plunging red evening gown.
It was Kristal – the brilliant, beautiful Director of Overseas Operations for the Farrell Group.
Kristal giggled and pushed Axel back slightly, running her manicured fingers down his jawline.
“You were a little too convincing on the red carpet out there,” she said, pouting her lips.
Axel let out a dark, mocking laugh. “It’s just PR for the old fossils on the board. Ayla is nothing but a prop.”
On the other side of the door, Ayla felt as though a sledgehammer had caved in her ribs.
It wasn’t just the physical betrayal. It was the complete, utter destruction of her human dignity.
Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely grip her phone. She pulled it out, switched it to video mode, and held the lens up to the gap in the door.
She recorded ten seconds of them tangled together on the sofa. Clear, undeniable proof.
Ayla hit stop and slipped the phone back into her clutch.
She didn’t kick the door open. She didn’t scream.
She turned around and walked back down the hallway, her footsteps completely silent.
When she stepped back into the blinding lights of the ballroom, the pain in her chest was gone. Her eyes were utterly still – empty of everything except cold, calculating resolve.
Ayla walked straight to the main marble bar, tapped her fingernails against the cold stone, and ordered a bone-dry martini.
Ten minutes later, Axel strolled back into the ballroom through the staff entrance, adjusting his cuffs. He looked perfectly composed as he rejoined the circle of investors. A minute after that, Kristal came through a different set of doors, her lipstick freshly applied, hips swaying as her eyes swept the room.
They landed on Ayla standing alone at the bar.
A smug, victorious smirk spread across Kristal’s face. She grabbed a glass of wine and walked directly toward her.
She stopped right beside Ayla and dramatically flipped her hair over one shoulder. A heavy wave of sandalwood and crushed roses hit Ayla’s face.
Ayla’s eyes turned to ice, but her posture remained perfectly relaxed.
“These Silicon Valley dinners must be so incredibly boring for you,” Kristal said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry.
She took a leisurely sip of wine. “I mean, a woman who only knows how to shop couldn’t possibly understand the AI infrastructure architecture Axel was just discussing.”
Several wealthy wives and tech executives nearby stopped talking. They turned their heads, eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity.
Ayla took a slow sip of her martini. The gin burned her throat.
“As the Director of Overseas Operations,” she said, her voice flat and bored, “did you skip the training on basic social etiquette?”
Kristal’s smile twitched. A flush of irritation crept up her face. She stepped closer, invading Ayla’s personal space, and dropped her voice to a venomous whisper.
“Axel loves a woman who can fight alongside him in the boardroom. Not a fake heiress who got thrown out by her own family like garbage.”
Determined to draw a reaction, Kristal shifted her weight deliberately and drove the heel of her stiletto down hard onto the delicate train of Ayla’s custom black gown. The sickening sound of expensive fabric tearing echoed near their feet. Kristal threw her hands up with a loud, theatrical gasp and lurched toward Ayla as though she had lost her balance.
Ayla didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back to catch her.
Instead, her eyes narrowed into slits and her wrist snapped forward with lethal precision. She threw the entire glass of ice-cold martini directly into Kristal’s perfectly contoured face.
The alcohol hit Kristal’s eyes.
Kristal let out an ear-piercing scream.
The ballroom went dead silent. The music seemed to stop. Hundreds of heads snapped toward the bar. Kristal stumbled backward, clutching her face, the sticky alcohol dripping down her chin and staining the front of her red dress.
“You crazy bitch!” Kristal shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Ayla.
The crowd parted as Axel shoved his way to the front, his face purple with rage. He took in Kristal – crying, shivering – and a flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes.
He lunged forward and shoved Ayla hard in the chest.
She stumbled back, her lower back slamming into the sharp edge of the marble bar. Pain exploded up her spine, but she didn’t make a sound.
Axel tore off his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it tenderly around Kristal’s shoulders. Then he spun to face Ayla.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” he roared, his voice booming across the silent ballroom. “Assaulting a company executive in public?!”
He pointed at the floor. “Apologize to her right now, or get the hell out of this venue.”
Whispers broke across the room. The elite crowd was openly mocking the disgraced, hysterical wife.
Ayla looked at him. She looked at the man willing to destroy his wife’s dignity in front of the entire world just to protect his mistress. The last invisible chain holding her to him shattered.
She lifted her empty martini glass and slammed it down onto the marble counter. It shattered into a dozen pieces, the sharp crack making several people flinch.
Ayla stood up straight. She ignored the throbbing pain in her back and looked around the room of staring faces before locking eyes with Axel.
“You two make me sick,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like a scalpel.
She didn’t wait for his reaction. She gathered the ripped fabric of her gown in one hand, turned around, and walked out of the ballroom with her head held high.
The cold San Francisco wind hit her face as she pushed through the exit doors. Ayla pulled out her phone, blocked Axel’s number, hailed a yellow cab, and disappeared into the night.
Ayla dragged her exhausted body out of a yellow cab in Manhattan. She had taken a red-eye flight straight from San Francisco. She walked up to the door of a luxury apartment building and knocked.
Chloe swung the door open in silk pajamas, her eyes widening in horror at the sight of Ayla’s ripped dress and smeared makeup. She immediately pulled her inside and locked the door behind them.
Ayla sank onto Chloe’s plush living room sofa and wrapped both hands around a mug of hot tea, letting the warmth seep into her freezing fingers. In a flat, clipped voice, she gave Chloe a brutal, condensed account of the summit.
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