My husband's pregnant mistress set a "backless dresses only" rule for the gala to humiliate my burn scars—until my billionaire boss handed me a custom gown and a plan to destroy them both.

The grand ballroom of the Grand Plaza was a glittering sea of crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and jazz music.

As Gideon and I walked through the double doors, a path opened up through the crowd of executives, hedge-fund managers, and politicians. People whispered behind their white gloves, point-blank admiring the diamond-lined scars on my back.

Preston pushed through the crowd, his face flushed red with rage and embarrassment, dragging Cassidy behind him by her wrist.

"Vivian!" Preston hissed, stepping directly into our path. "What the hell is the meaning of this?!"

Gideon stopped calmly. He didn't unlace his fingers from mine. He looked down at Preston as if he were a bug on his shoe.

"Mr. Vance," Gideon said, his deep voice cutting through the ambient room noise like a heavy blade. "You're blocking my date's path. Move."

Preston ignored Gideon, his furious eyes glaring down at my gown. "Vivian, have you lost your mind?! You walked out on the red carpet looking like... like a circus freak! Show some respect for my reputation and put a jacket on!"

Before I could answer, Cassidy stepped forward, her voice high and shrill. "Vivian! The dress code explicitly prohibited cover-ups, but it certainly didn't mean showing off horrific medical deformities! You did this on purpose to embarrass Preston!"

I took a slow step toward Cassidy.

Standing in my six-inch heels beside Gideon, I towered over her.

"Deformity, Cassidy?" I asked, my voice calm, clear, and perfectly modulated so that thirty surrounding billionaires heard every word. "These scars are from the night I dragged Preston out of a burning summer house while he was unconscious. I spent three months in an intensive care unit having skin grafted onto my back so my husband could live."

I turned my head slightly, letting the diamond trim on my gown catch the light of the main chandelier.

"If my scars make you uncomfortable, Cassidy, perhaps it's because they remind you of the kind of loyalty and bravery you will never possess."

A low, audible murmur rippled through the crowd of surrounding socialites. Several women in diamond necklaces glared at Cassidy with open disgust.

Preston’s face went from red to a pale, sickly yellow. "Vivian, stop this scene right now! We are going home!"

He reached out to grab my arm.

Before his fingers could touch my skin, Gideon’s hand shot forward like a steel trap. He clamped his fingers around Preston’s wrist, twisting it just enough to force Preston onto his tiptoes.

"Touch her again, Vance," Gideon said, his voice dropping an octave into a terrifying rumble, "and I will have my security detail throw you off this balcony."

Preston gasped, trying to pull his hand back. "Ashford... you don't understand... she's my wife!"

"Not anymore," I said smoothly.

I reached into my evening clutch, pulled out a thick, legal manila envelope, and slapped it directly against Preston’s tux chest.

"What is this?" Preston stammered.

"Divorce papers," I stated coldly. "Along with an emergency injunction freezing all joint accounts and a formal demand for an asset audit of your firm, Vance Logistics."

Preston let out a harsh, hysterical laugh. "An audit?! You can't freeze my accounts! I'm signing an equity buyout with the board tonight! I'm about to become a forty-percent shareholder!"

"Are you referring to the Ashford Capital equity deal?" Gideon asked, a dark, dangerous smile spreading across his face.

Preston blinked. "What?"

Gideon pulled a pen from his breast pocket, clicked it, and handed it to me.

"As the majority owner of Ashford Capital," Gideon told the room, "I have reassigned all final signing authority for your logistics firm to my new Chief Executive Strategist."

Gideon looked at me with deep, burning pride.

"Tell him, Vivian."