No Love, No Betrayal

1
I was at a Christie's auction with a friend when I saw him: Harrison Blackwood. My husband. The golden boy of New York’s elite, the man who supposedly adored me, bidding an obscene amount of money on a diamond necklace I'd been coveting for ages.
The next day, that very necklace was sparkling around the neck of his impossibly pretty new intern.
I didn’t cry. I didn't throw a fit. I simply called a contact at Cartier and commissioned two hundred identical pieces, sending them directly to the freshman dorms at Columbia University.
If he was going to be so generous, I’d help him seal the deal. Make him a campus legend.
Then I had my lawyer draft our divorce papers and had them couriered to his office.
That was the day every single girl in Columbia’s North Tower received a gift from the wife of the Apex Innovations CEO. Every girl, that is, except for Lila Jones.
…
The party was in full swing when Harrison made his entrance with Lila on his arm. The young, beautiful girl clung to him, her smile a dazzling, triumphant thing. The circle of people around me instantly dissolved, their faces a mixture of pity and awkwardness.
I honestly hadn't thought he'd have the nerve to parade her around in public. Our marriage was a union of dynasties, the Blackwoods and the Sinclairs, two of the most powerful families in the city. I thought, at the very least, he owed me a sliver of respect.
I was wrong.
"What's with all the long faces?" I said, my voice gliding through the sudden silence as I moved to his side. "Don't tell me you're all captivated by Harrison's new executive assistant." I offered the excuse on a silver platter.
The tension broke as people nodded, a wave of relieved understanding passing through the crowd.
Harrison, acting as if nothing was amiss, stepped toward me. "Maddie," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble.
Lila, not missing a beat, chirped, "It's so nice to see you again, Madeline."
I fought the urge to gag and offered them both a serene smile. We're all adults here. In this world, you learn to wear a mask, or you drown. You smile when you're seething. You feign affection for those you despise. And you certainly don't cause a scene with a man like Harrison Blackwood. It benefits no one.
But when my eyes landed on the necklace—the one from the auction—a chilling cold seeped into my bones, extinguishing the last flicker of hope.
Just ten minutes earlier, I’d watched from across the room as Harrison gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind Lila's ear, his fingers lingering before he adjusted the strap of her dress that had slipped from her shoulder.
Yesterday, when I saw him leaving the auction house, my heart had fluttered with a sweet, foolish anticipation. I was so sure it was for me. I spent the morning at the salon, getting the perfect hairstyle to complement it, and had my makeup artist craft a look of understated elegance.
But the hours ticked by, and no little blue box appeared.
I finally caved and called him, trying to sound casual as I fished for a hint about a gift.
His answer was a simple "no."
But I heard her in the background. A saccharine, girlish voice.
"Mr. Blackwood, do you think your wife will be upset?"
"No," he'd replied, his voice smooth as silk. "Maddie's always been graceful and understanding. She won't mind."
In that moment, the final illusion shattered. My grace, my understanding—he saw them as a permission slip.
Harrison Blackwood, I realized, was far from the man I thought he was.
But he was right about one thing. I was graceful. And I refused to lower myself by fighting with some cloying, manipulative girl.
Lila shadowed him, her smile aimed at me, but her eyes blazed with a pride and defiance she could barely contain. A college kid, so transparent in her foolishness. She actually thought she meant something to him.
I let a cold smile touch my lips. "That's a lovely necklace," I said slowly, my gaze fixed on her throat. "Was it a gift?"
Lila wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what I was asking.

2
A college intern on a stipend couldn't afford a piece like that.
Her eyes widened in feigned surprise before she darted a panicked, doe-eyed glance at Harrison.
As expected, he stepped in to defend her. "Maddie, don't misunderstand. Lila had a rough week at the office, some of the senior staff were giving her a hard time. As her boss, I just bought her a little something to cheer her up. That's all it is."
I raised my champagne flute to him in a silent toast of "understanding," then turned away and made a quick call to my assistant.
A few moments later, Harrison's phone buzzed, and he stepped aside to take the call.
It was perfect timing. An acquaintance, one of the society wives with a tongue for gossip, drifted over. "Madeline, darling," she began, her eyes flicking to Lila, "who is that... new friend of Harrison's?"
The question was dripping with insinuation. The whole room had seen how he hovered over the girl, a knight in a bespoke suit.
I decided to forgo the pretense. "Oh, her?" I said, my voice clear and carrying. "Just the latest intern with a pipe dream of sleeping her way to the top, I suppose. The other woman, you could say."
The color drained from Lila's face, leaving her looking pale and stricken. Her pretty eyes welled up with tears, a portrait of wounded innocence. A perfect little victim. No wonder Harrison was so taken with her.
The society wife, not expecting such brutal honesty, mumbled an excuse and beat a hasty retreat.
I crossed my arms, a smirk playing on my lips as I studied Lila. "Miss Jones, isn't it? At your age, you really should be focusing on building a real career, not clinging to fantasies. It's a long, lonely fall when men like him get bored. You risk losing a lot more than just your dignity."
She knew I was dressing her down in public. Her lips trembled, but no words came out.
I laughed internally. They were so used to my composed, elegant facade that they'd mistaken me for a wilting flower, easily trampled.
"Madeline, I..."
"Don't," I cut her off with a raised hand. "My mother only had one child, so I have no sister. And this isn't the Victorian era. The term 'mistress' isn't exactly a title to aspire to."
The tears finally spilled, tracing clean paths down her cheeks.
Just as I was about to twist the knife a little deeper, Harrison returned, his face a thundercloud.
He stopped directly in front of me. "The necklaces. You ordered them?"
My assistant was fast. I didn't deny it. "I did."
"Why would you do that? You don't even wear that style."
I leaned back against a marble column, my smile mocking him. "To help you out, of course. College is tough. Those poor girls are probably all stressed out from their internships. I thought I'd do you a favor and buy them all a little something to lift their spirits."
For the first time all night, a crack appeared in Harrison's iron-clad composure. It was gone in an instant, but I saw it. He was a master of hiding his true feelings.
He slid an arm around my waist, his touch a possessive brand, and pulled me close. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "It's just a necklace, Maddie," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "If you wanted one, I would have bought you a dozen. It's not worth getting worked up over and frightening the new girl. I'd hate to see you upset."
It was the same deep, husky tone he used in the dark of our bedroom, his warm breath on my skin. But this wasn't seduction. This was damage control. This was him trying to shield Lila from the consequences.
I played along, my hand tracing a slow path up his back, pulling him even closer. I matched his hushed tone. "You know exactly what she's trying to do, Harrison, and so do I. This was never about the necklace. I don't care what you do on your own time, but don't you dare forget that I am Mrs. Blackwood. If this becomes a public spectacle, it will burn us both."
My voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and venomous. "This is the first and last time."
From a distance, we must have looked like a couple sharing an intimate secret. The crowd around us, misreading the situation entirely, let out a few good-natured whoops and catcalls.
I felt his body go rigid beneath my hand. With a final, patronizing pat on his back, I smiled, stepped away, and plucked a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray.

3
The gala wound down, the glittering guests melting away into the New York night. I thought I had made myself perfectly clear. I thought the disgust in my eyes was unmistakable.
Apparently, I had vastly underestimated the thickness of some people's skin.
Because when we went to leave, Lila tried to get into our car.
"Lila's dorm is a long way from here," Harrison said, his tone clipped. "She'll have a hard time getting a cab this late. It's on the way, we'll just give her a lift."
A blatant lie. I called him on it without hesitation. "She lives in a dorm at Columbia, we're going to our penthouse on the Upper East Side. Since when is Morningside Heights 'on the way'?"
Harrison’s brow furrowed. Lila looked at me, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears, as if I were the villain in this twisted little drama.
Seeing I wouldn't budge, Harrison switched tactics, playing the emotion card. "Maddie, you've always been so reasonable..."
"And what if I don't want to be?" I snapped, cutting him off.
Lila, her lower lip trembling, stepped towards me. "Madeline, I shouldn't have accepted the necklace. I'm sorry, what happened tonight was my fault. But I really can't get a ride..."
She held out a beautifully wrapped perfume box. A gift from him, no doubt. "I'll trade you. It's my favorite perfume."
I wrinkled my nose in disdain. "What scent is that? It smells of cloying desperation."
The repeated humiliations finally broke through her act. A furious blush crept up her neck, and she stood there, clutching the box, tears held captive in her eyes.
Harrison, who had been playing the part of the patient gentleman all night, finally lost his composure. "Madeline," he said, his voice dangerously low, "that's enough."
I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "Is it? Is this 'enough'?"
"Harrison, don't forget whose party this was," I continued, my voice turning to ice. "My father pulled the strings that made your little deal happen tonight. Without him, you'd be walking away with nothing."
Without waiting for his response, I pushed past the tearful Lila and slid into the back of the town car.
He was a businessman, first and foremost. He knew how to weigh his options. He knew exactly what my words implied.
He might be the golden boy, but I was a Sinclair. I was born with a silver spoon, yes, but it was sharpened to a knife's edge. In our world, sentiment rarely outweighed profit.
A moment later, he got in the car beside me.
The drive was suffocatingly silent. I wouldn't stoop to fighting over a man with a college girl, but my position in this city mattered. The headline "Harrison Blackwood Abandons Wife on Park Avenue for Intern" wasn't one I was willing to tolerate.
My fury, which had been simmering, began to boil when I noticed the front passenger seat. It had been adjusted. Moved forward, reclined slightly. I knew in an instant who had been sitting there.
And then I saw it. Stuck to the dashboard, a small, pink sticky note with childish handwriting: "Angel's Seat."
A white-hot rage surged through me. I wanted to kick him out of the moving car, then go back and slap that angelic look right off Lila’s face.
Just as I was about to erupt, his phone rang. The sound of Lila's pathetic sobbing filled the silent car.
"Harrison... sob... I can't get a cab... and I think someone is following me... I'm so scared, can you please... can you please come back for me?"
Without a single moment of hesitation, Harrison slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt at the side of the road.
"Okay, don't panic," he said into the phone, his voice all reassuring calm. "Stay right where you are. Don't move. I'm coming to get you."
My hand, which had been reaching to adjust my own seat, froze mid-air. I turned to him, my expression one of pure disbelief.
Harrison’s face was a mask of grim concern. "Maddie, you take the car home. Lila could be in real danger. I have to go back."
I laughed. It was a raw, incredulous sound. "This is Midtown Manhattan, Harrison. We're surrounded by thousands of people. There are three police precincts between here and Columbia. What 'danger' could she possibly be in?"
My voice dripped with scorn. "What are you, her father? If she's in danger, she should call 911, not you!"

4
He was speechless, cornered by my logic. He closed his eyes for a long moment, took a deep, shuddering breath, then opened them again. "Maddie, she's just a girl. Can't you have a little empathy?"
He looked at me, a note of pleading in his voice. "Is this really all because of a necklace? Are you going to hold this against me forever?"
"Are you blind, Harrison?" I shot back, my voice rising. "Can't you see she's provoking me? And you're going to leave me, your wife, stranded on the side of the road for her?"
The look in his eyes shifted, cycling rapidly from anger to coldness, and finally, settling on a profound disappointment.
"Madeline," he said, his voice flat. "When did you become so unreasonable? So... hysterical? This isn't the woman I married."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I was being unreasonable?
"Let me get this straight, Harrison. This is the first time you have ever raised your voice to me. And it's for another woman."
He turned his head abruptly, staring out the window, a clear signal that the conversation was over.
"Did you forget our agreement?" I pressed on, my voice low and dangerous. "The one we made before we signed the marriage certificate? Mutual respect. No affairs. No scandals. It wasn't just for us; it was for the Sinclair and Blackwood empires. Are you really willing to burn all of that down for her?"
The only sound in the car was his heavy, strained breathing.
I knew he was wavering.
In this round of our silent, ugly war, I had won. For now.
That night, Harrison and I slept in separate rooms.
His excuse was that I was being "too aggressive," that he felt "suffocated" and needed space. He said we both needed to calm down.
Fine. It gave me the space I needed to think. To re-evaluate our entire relationship.
Lying in the king-sized bed alone, the day's events played on a loop in my mind. The first time Harrison had ever publicly humiliated me for another woman.
The Blackwoods and the Sinclairs had been allies for generations, but Harrison and I had barely known each other growing up. I'd heard stories, of course, whispers of the eldest Blackwood son—a brilliant, ruthless playboy coasting on his family name.
But at our engagement party three years ago, I had been undeniably drawn to him. Beneath the handsome, confident exterior was a surprisingly sharp wit and an effortless charm. When our parents proposed the merger—our marriage—I agreed.
With our backgrounds, our education, our shared ambition, we admired each other. The engagement was swift. I never considered love or affection; I was raised in a world of assets and liabilities, and the first lesson I ever learned was how to weigh them. Our marriage was the ultimate strategic alliance, merging our family companies and catapulting our careers into the stratosphere.
I had always believed that for Harrison and me, we were simply the best possible choice for one another—a perfectly balanced equation.
But somewhere along the way, I think he started to fall in love with me.
The untouchable prince of New York's elite would hold me in the dead of night, burying his face in my shoulder and murmuring nonsense like a little boy. On frigid winter nights, he’d tuck my icy feet into the warmth of his robe. When I had cramps, he'd bring me a hot water bottle and a cup of tea. He’d tilt the umbrella entirely over my head in the rain, not caring that his own shoulder was getting soaked.
Not long ago, he'd whispered to me, "Maddie, you will always be my first choice."
But then Lila appeared, and everything changed.
After years of navigating the cutthroat world of high society and corporate warfare, for the first time in my life, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Harrison.
"Goodnight, Maddie."
It was followed by a cute animated sticker of a cat patting another cat's head.

5
That was Harrison. Ever the master of appearances. Even in the midst of a cold war, he would perform the necessary rituals, go through the motions.
The wine from dinner had left me with a dull headache. I went to the kitchen to make myself a glass of warm milk and saw it.
My favorite ceramic mug had a hairline crack running down its side.
I called the housekeeper. "Who used this mug?" I asked, my voice tight.
She looked terrified. "No one, Mrs. Blackwood, I swear. You told us never to touch it, that you would wash it yourself. We never do."
She was right. I had given that order. The mug was a birthday gift from last year. Harrison had commissioned it from a famed German ceramicist I admired, taking a detour on a business trip just to pick it up. I treasured it.
And now it was flawed.
"Should I... should I see if it can be repaired?" the housekeeper asked timidly.
"No," I said, my voice flat. "It's precisely because it was so precious that even the smallest crack is irreparable."
A few minutes later, my head of security sent a video file to my phone.
The footage was from the kitchen security camera, timestamped yesterday afternoon. It showed Lila picking up my mug. She looked around, a malicious little smirk on her face, and then deliberately let it slip from her grasp, dropping it into the hard, stainless-steel sink.
He had actually brought her into our home.
The necklace had angered me, a beautiful thing wasted on someone so cheap. It was a matter of aesthetics.
But this? Sneaking into my home, my sanctuary, and intentionally destroying something I cherished? This was a declaration of war. This was a direct, personal violation.
A wave of pure, unadulterated fury washed over me, burning away every last scrap of restraint.
With a sweep of my arm, I sent the beautiful, flawed mug crashing to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces.
And in that moment, so did my marriage.

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