Caught
1066 Words
It was a dream. My heart still pounded from the shock, tears slipping down my face as I stumbled out of the hotel, dazed. I rushed home blindly, sneaking into the house without letting anyone see me, desperate to avoid life's inevitable questions. I was too far gone after what had happened tonight.
The next day, I put on makeup.
Cardan had introduced me to Miss George—some kind of fashion designer—and I was meeting them that afternoon. I needed to make a good impression. At the very least, I had to appear presentable.
I waited a long time at the café where we'd agreed to meet. They were late. When they finally arrived, Miss George explained she had another apartment to check on, and we were running out of time.
“Oh, it’s so late now,” she said, glancing at her watch. “And I have another appointment. But I’ll be at the ball tonight. Would you please come?”
“Okay, I’ll be there,” I said.
She handed me an invitation card—elegant, heavy in my hand, like it carried more than just words.
Later, as I opened my wardrobe to figure out what to wear, my fingers brushed against something cold and familiar.
The pendant.
I must have taken it by mistake.
Without hesitation, I called his secretary.
“Hello,” I said. “I think I accidentally took something that doesn’t belong to me. I’d like to return it.”
“He’s not around at the moment,” the secretary replied. “But he’ll be at the ball tonight.”
“The ball?” I echoed, my pulse quickening.
“Yes"
“And Miss George? She’ll be there too?”
“Yes, she is. I believe so.”
“Perfect,” I said, gripping the pendant. “I’ll return it to him myself.”
"Okay," he said.
Call ended.
That evening, I arrived at the ball. I found Miss George quickly, and we settled the arrangements.
“When would you like to collect it?” I asked.
“Anytime it’s ready. The event isn’t happening too soon." she replied.
After that, I began searching for Cardan. The ballroom was glittering with soft lights, voices layered over the music. A waiter passed by, offering me a glass of champagne, which I accepted without really thinking. I weaved through the crowd, scanning faces.
Then, suddenly—someone bumped into me.
The glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. Champagne sprayed, staining both our dresses.
“I’m so sorry!” the woman gasped, her face flushed with embarrassment. Without waiting for a response, she gently took my arm and led me toward the restroom.
We did our best to clean up, dabbing at the damp fabric with paper towels and whispered apologies.
“I really am sorry,” she said again, glancing at me in the mirror. “I was looking for my husband. He’s late. He’s always late.”
She sighed, then smiled weakly. “But no need to bore you with my story. Let’s go.”
“No problem,” I said, offering a reassuring nod.
We walked out together, hand in hand like old friends. Her voice softened as we talked about her husband—their whirlwind romance, the rushed vows. I shared bits of my fashion career too, and for a while, the ballroom faded around us.
She sipped her wine slowly, like it was grounding her, and we talked—two strangers who, for one night, found a quiet understanding in the middle of the noise.
“Your husband doesn’t deserve you,” I said quietly.
She gave a sad little laugh. “Well... it’s not entirely his fault.”
Then she reached into her clutch and pulled out a card.
“Here’s my contact. It would be nice to be your friend.”
I smiled and took it, tucking it carefully into my purse.
As she walked away, I turned and resumed my search for Cardan—until a sudden force yanked me into the shadows.
A strong hand gripped my wrist. Before I could react, I was pinned against the wall.
Cardan.
His eyes blazed into mine, wild with fury.
“What the hell are you doing with my wife?” he hissed.
“Who is your wif—” I stopped mid-sentence, the realization crashing over me like a wave.
“Oh.”
Sasha.
She was Sasha.
And he was the husband.
Cardan was the man she had just told me about.
Shit.
“Why does she have to be his wife?” I thought bitterly, heart racing.
His face inched closer, voice low and dangerous. “Your job is to conceive my child. Not to befriend my wife.”
“I—” I tried to speak, but he cut me off.
“Confidentiality. Remember? What exactly is your plan here? You want to confess to her?” He stepped even closer. “If she finds out who you are... you're done.”
The threat hung in the air between us—sharp, unforgiving.
“Never speak to her again,” he snapped.
Something in me cracked.
What was that supposed to mean? That I wasn’t good enough for his precious, untouchable wife?
I stepped closer, voice calm—almost tender.
“Why so tense?” I asked, eyes locked on his. “Relax.”
He didn’t move.
“Are you scared she’ll find out you cheated on her?” I murmured, our faces only inches apart.
“Don’t worry,” I added, voice like silk. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Something in his expression shifted. He released me abruptly.
I smirked.
Then I took his hand, slowly opened his palm, and placed the pendant inside.
Without another word, I turned and walked out of the ballroom.
It was late by the time I got home. I slipped quietly into the house, hoping to avoid any questions—but when I opened my bedroom door, Ivana was standing there, holding a piece of paper.
“The receipt for the house,” she said flatly.
“I found it while cleaning. Or rather... while looking for something.”
She held it up.
“Turns out this house isn’t nearly as cheap as you claimed.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Soraya, where did you get the money?”
- Writer
