The day of the annual gala arrived.
Zoe Lancaster forced herself to focus. Her cold hadn’t cleared up, leaving her body aching all over, but she powered through to manage the various event arrangements.
At seven o’clock that evening, everything at the venue was perfectly in place. Outside, a dense crowd of media personnel was already staking out the area.
Walkie-talkie in hand, Zoe coordinated the event’s flow. She checked the time; Stella Joyce was due to arrive. The celebrity needed to wait in the standby area before her official entrance.
Summer Thorne came over to inform her, "Zoe, Stella Joyce is here."
Zoe tightened her grip on the walkie-talkie and turned to head outside. She saw a commercial van pull up to the curb. The door slid open, and Stella stepped out.
Today, she was dressed in an haute couture Chanel gown. The strapless long dress paired flawlessly with her exquisite makeup and the diamond-encrusted silver heels on her feet. A swarm of staff members buzzed around her, fussing over her every need.
Zoe stepped forward. "Miss Joyce, please wait in this standby area for fifteen minutes."
Stella looked at her with a curved smile, appearing incredibly approachable. "Sure."
Since Zoe’s primary responsibility today was to handle all matters concerning Stella, she naturally stayed by her side. Without paying the celebrity much more attention, Zoe lowered her head to review the schedule.
At five-foot-seven, Zoe was notably tall for a woman. Paired with stiletto heels and a beige tailored suit, her beauty was strikingly aggressive despite her light makeup. She would always be the most eye-catching presence in any crowd—even standing next to a superstar renowned for her looks.
Stella seemed uncomfortable. She suddenly called someone over. "My feet hurt. I don’t want to stand."
Her assistant immediately scurried off to fetch a chair. Lifting the hem of her skirt, Stella slipped off her diamond-encrusted heels and changed into a pair of slippers.
She looked at Zoe. "Could you hold my shoes for me? It’s a bit inconvenient for me right now."
At first, Zoe wasn’t even sure the request was directed at her. That was, until Stella stared at her name tag and called her out. "Zoe Lancaster, right?"
Zoe was mildly surprised.
She initially thought Stella was doing this on purpose. She couldn’t help but study the woman’s expression, but Stella just kept smiling at her. It looked like a genuine, unavoidable request—quite sincere, in fact. It almost made Zoe feel as if she were being paranoid and petty for doubting her.
Zoe didn’t show a hint of displeasure. Stella was indeed the Hawthorne Group’s highly promoted VIP for the night, and as an employee, Zoe was obligated to accommodate a VIP’s needs.
But holding shoes for the other woman...
"Is that a no?" Stella spoke up again. "These shoes are a heavily promoted limited edition by a Hawthorne brand. We really can’t afford any mishaps with them. If Miss Lancaster is unwilling, then I’ll just have..."
"It’s fine," Zoe interrupted. She stepped forward and picked up the shoes, unwilling to argue.
It was meaningless.
Stella offered a sweet smile. "Thanks! You’re so nice."
Zoe returned the smile. She truly wasn’t sure if Stella actually didn’t recognize her. But judging from her behavior, it really didn’t seem like the celebrity knew she was Simon Hawthorne’s wife.
A short while later, another Maybach 62S pulled up.
Simon stepped out of the car. He wore a solid black suit today, his tall, lean frame wearing it better than a runway model. Zoe had never seen a man look better in a suit than Simon.
Stella immediately walked over with a sweet smile and affectionately hooked her arm through his. "Simon, I told you I’d wait and come over with you after you finished work, but you insisted I come first. I’ve been bored to death."
Zoe lowered her head and remained silent.
Yet, she had to admit defeat. Some women were simply in their element when acting coquettish. Stella had only arrived a few minutes ago herself, but with her sweet talking, she made it seem like she only ever wanted to be by Simon’s side. How could anyone not like that?
Simon glanced at Stella’s hand clinging to his arm. He then looked over at Zoe, who was standing quietly to the side. Noticing the pair of shoes she was holding in her left hand, his deep, dark eyes narrowed. "Are those your shoes?"
Stella gave a casual "oh" and said playfully, "They were too tiring to wear, so I had a staff member hold onto them for me."
Only then did Simon retract his gaze. "Those shoes are worth over four hundred thousand. Letting just anyone hold them with their clumsy hands—aren’t you afraid they’ll ruin them?"
Zoe pursed her lips. Her fingertips were stiff and numb from the biting wind.
Simon strode inside on his long legs, dropping a casual command. "Shane, you carry them."
The stern, rigid-looking man following behind Simon immediately stepped forward and took the shoes from Zoe’s hands. "Miss Lancaster, let me."
Zoe didn’t say a word. Stella shot a glance at Zoe. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of her lips before disappearing in a flash.
The two of them entered the venue.
Zoe felt a suffocating tightness in her chest. Amidst the biting cold wind of the night, her headache worsened. She didn’t know if it was because of her cold or because of what Simon had just said. Did he think... she wasn’t even worthy of carrying shoes for the woman he loved?
She almost wanted to laugh.
When they first got their marriage certificate and signed the agreement, she hadn’t known Simon already had a woman he loved. If she had, she wouldn’t have been so full of hope, thinking she could genuinely turn the tides of their contract. She had thought she could work hard to make him fall in love with her. Instead, after pouring out all her affection, she had ended up in this awkward and humiliating situation.
She couldn’t even figure out where she stood anymore, nor did she know how she should handle it.
Even though she had spoken so breezily to Crystal Hayes about planning for future divorce compensation, actually carrying it out would be like carving flesh from her heart.
After scrubbing her hands with soap several times, Zoe finally entered the venue. There, she spotted Mrs. Hawthorne, Ken Lowell, who had just arrived.
For the Hawthorne Group’s annual gala, Mrs. Hawthorne would naturally attend alongside the Chairman of the Hawthorne Group, June Hawthorne.
At this moment, Ken was holding Stella’s hand, chatting and laughing with the media.
A reporter asked, "Mrs. Hawthorne, you seem to admire Miss Joyce very much. I suppose some of the speculations online are pretty much on the mark, then?"
Ken curled her lips into a smile. She didn’t let go of Stella’s hand, seemingly making a subtle statement. "We’re only talking about business today."
Zoe quickly walked away.
Ken had always been dissatisfied with her. Zoe knew very well that even if Simon hadn’t intentionally tried to humiliate her, Ken definitely was doing it on purpose. She used to think the trope of the evil mother-in-law was too exaggerated, but only through personal experience did she realize that a relationship didn’t need to devolve into an ugly, public fallout to be deeply hurtful. Ken’s methods always struck right at the sore spots while maintaining an effortless facade.
It was as if by taking offense, Zoe was the one being malicious, paranoid, and immature.
Zoe walked over to a corner. Having been busy all day, she had only managed to drink a single cup of coffee. Her stomach was completely empty, and she felt awful all over. She leaned against the wall, wanting to catch her breath for a moment.
A cold, stern voice suddenly rang out from behind her. "What are you doing slacking off here?"
Zoe turned around and saw Simon. She had no idea when he had walked over. In his hand, he held a beautifully packaged box of chocolates—likely shoved onto him by someone. He stared at it with a furrowed brow, looking utterly disgusted, before tossing it straight into Zoe’s hands. "Get rid of this."
Zoe was momentarily stunned. "Huh?"
Seeing her blank expression, Simon narrowed his eyes. He suddenly raised his hand, pressing his warm palm against her forehead. "Are you sick?"