When I Exposed His Mistress on Live TV

The chandelier light in the Manhattan auction house was blinding. It bounced off crystal champagne flutes and the diamond necklaces of the city’s elite. I sat in the second row, keeping my posture entirely straight. I wore a tailored black suit. It was my armor.

Six years ago, I wouldn't have been allowed in this room. Back then, I was just a bankrupt girl running away to London with a shattered heart. My father had just fallen into a coma, his life’s work stolen. And the people I loved most had stood by and laughed.

Now, I was Amari Pierce, a celebrated designer. I didn't need anyone's permission to be here.

The auctioneer tapped his podium. "Lot 42. A custom-designed men's diamond engagement ring. Flawless cut, platinum band."

An image flashed on the large screen. My chest tightened for a fraction of a second, then went perfectly numb. I knew that ring. I designed it myself. I bought it six years ago for the man I thought I would marry. That was before Hazel Webb smashed a birthday cake in my face while everyone laughed. Before he watched me cry and told his friends I was "just a game."

"Bidding starts at one hundred thousand," the auctioneer announced.

A few paddles went up. I waited. The price climbed steadily to five hundred thousand.

I raised my paddle. "One million."

The room went dead silent. Heads turned to look at me. Whispers broke out like wildfire. A million dollars for a plain men's band was absurd. But I didn't care about the money. I cared about control.

"One million going once," the auctioneer said, his voice booming in the quiet room. "Going twice. Sold."

I didn't smile. I stood up, smoothed my jacket, and went to collect what was mine.

A valet handed me the small velvet box near the exit. I stepped out through the heavy glass doors into the Manhattan night. It was pouring. The rain slashed against the pavement, cold and unforgiving. The chill matched the ice in my veins.

I stood under the awning and opened the box. The diamond caught the dim streetlights. It was a beautiful piece of work. It was also completely worthless to me now.

"Amari."

The voice cut right through the heavy sound of the rain. I froze, but only for a second. I slowly turned my head.

Kai Payne stood a few feet away on the wet sidewalk. Six years ago, he was the untouchable heir to the Payne fortune. He used to wear his arrogance like a second skin, looking at me with a lazy, amused smirk. Now, his dark hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain. His expensive suit was completely soaked. He looked at me with wide, desperate eyes. His chest heaved as if he had run all the way here just to catch a glimpse of me.

"You came back," he breathed. His voice was hoarse. It lacked all of its old commanding power.

I looked at him. I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel love. I just felt a hollow emptiness.

"Amari, please," he took a step forward, his hands trembling at his sides. "I saw you bid inside. You bought the ring back. Does that mean...?"

He trailed off. His eyes dropped to the open velvet box in my hand. A pathetic, desperate hope flickered in his gaze. He actually thought I bought it for him.

I looked down at the ring. Then I looked at the filthy green trash can on the corner of the sidewalk. It was overflowing with wet newspapers, empty coffee cups, and soaked food wrappers.

I walked over to the trash can. Kai followed me with his eyes, his breath hitching.

I picked the million-dollar ring out of its velvet cushion. I held it up between my thumb and index finger. I made sure he saw it clearly under the streetlamp.

"Amari, wait. What are you doing?" Panic laced his words. The color drained from his face.

I held his gaze. My face was a blank mask. I let the ring slip from my fingers.

It fell with a tiny, dull sound into the wet sludge and garbage. I tossed the empty velvet box in right after it.

"Just cleaning up my life," I said smoothly.

I turned my back on him and walked toward my waiting car. My driver stood by the open door, holding a large black umbrella.

"Amari! No!"

I stopped at the car door and glanced over my shoulder.

Kai Payne, the proud, untouchable billionaire, dropped to his knees on the wet concrete. The filthy puddle soaked right through his tailored trousers. He didn't even flinch. He plunged his bare hands into the overflowing trash can.

"Where is it?" he muttered frantically.

He shoved aside wet, rotting food and soggy cardboard. His hands were covered in grime and dirt. The heavy rain beat down on his shaking shoulders. He dug deeper, scraping his knuckles against the sharp metal edges of the bin until they bled.

"I'll find it," he choked out, his voice cracking with a sob. "I'll find it, Amari. I swear."

He was digging through literal garbage for a piece of the past I had just thrown away. Six years ago, I would have died for a fraction of this devotion. Now, watching him degrade himself in the rain, I felt absolutely nothing.

Late affection is worse than worthless. It's an insult.

I slid into the warm leather seat of my car.

"Drive," I told the chauffeur.

As the car pulled away, I looked out the tinted window. Kai was still on his knees in the downpour, his bleeding hands buried in the trash, desperately searching for a love that was already dead.