Chapter 1 - The Shards of a Marriage
The sunrise over Miami was a cruel,
bright pink,
and it spilled across the marble floor of our penthouse like a confession.
Harold didn't sleep,
and neither did I.
He paced the length of the living room,
his silk robe fluttering behind him like a wounded bird.
The auction was over,
but the echo of the laughter still rang in my ears.
"Two million dollars,"
he muttered,
stopping by the window to stare at the ocean.
"No one pays that for a joke,
Anastasia."
I sat at the kitchen island,
my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
I still wore the blue dress,
the fabric wrinkled now,
a reminder of the night I was sold.
"It wasn't a joke to you,"
I said,
my voice sounding thin and unfamiliar.
"You stood on that stage and asked for twenty dollars."
Harold turned,
his face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear.
"It was theater!"
he shouted,
his voice cracking.
"It was for the foundation!"
"But Owen Rodgers didn't think so,"
I replied,
setting the cup down with a sharp click.
The name Owen Rodgers hung in the air,
heavy and silver.
Harold walked over to me,
his shadow looming over the counter.
"Who is he to you?"
"I told you,"
I said,
looking him directly in the eyes,
"I have never seen that man in my life."
"Liar,"
he hissed,
leaning in close.
"He knew your maiden name."
"He knew you were a Robbins."
I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
Robbins was a name I hadn't used in nearly three decades.
It was the name of a girl from a small town,
a girl with no parents and a scholarship that barely covered her books.
"How could he know that?"
I whispered,
more to myself than to him.
Harold grabbed my wrist,
his grip tight and punishing.
"That’s what I’m going to find out."
"My investigators are already digging."
"If you’ve been hiding a fortune from me for twenty-seven years,"
"I swear to God,"
"I will make the auction look like a compliment."
I pulled my hand away,
feeling the bruise already beginning to form.
For twenty-seven years,
I had tolerated his moods.
I had smoothed over his scandals,
and I had built his reputation from the ground up.
But something had shifted during that auction.
When the room laughed,
the last string of my heart had snapped.
I wasn't a wife anymore.
I was a stranger in a blue dress,
waiting for a man in a gray suit to tell me who I really was.
I stood up,
walking past Harold without a word.
"Where are you going?"
he demanded.
"To get dressed,"
I said,
not looking back.
"I have a meeting with Mr. Rodgers."
"You are not leaving this house!"
he roared.
I stopped at the doorway and turned slightly.
"You auctioned me off,
Harold."
"Technically,"
"I belong to the highest bidder now."
The silence that followed was the loudest sound in the world.
Harold looked as if I had slapped him.
I walked into the bedroom and locked the door,
leaving him alone with his whiskey and his questions.
The woman in the mirror looked tired,
but her eyes were sharp.
The Robbins girl was still in there,
May you like
hidden beneath layers of Prescott pearls.
And she was ready to come home.
