Beneath the Billionaire's Shadow

Harriet's fingers trembled as they brushed over the delicate peach fabric of her dress. It wasn't the ideal choice for tonight's gala, but it was the only option, simple enough to avoid Arthur's anger. He despised anything that drew attention to her, as if her mere presence embarrassed him. Still, she knew her simplicity wouldn't shield her from his disdain.

When she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she noticed her pale face; long red curls and tired green eyes. Exhausted, in fact. Arthur's impact on her was so severe that no amount of makeup could conceal it. Harriet's hands shook as she readjusted her dress for the third time. Trying to summon the courage she'd need to face him.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

The sudden, piercing ring of her phone startled her, causing her to lose her balance. The caller ID showed Athur's name. With her heart racing, she lifted it up.

"You have fifteen minutes," Arthur's voice cut through the silence, sending a chill down her spine. "Don't embarrass me again, Harriet."

"I won't, I..." The call ended.

Harriet stood motionless, her fingers clenched tightly around the phone, as his words loomed over her like an impending storm.

"You can do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Gathering her purse, she made her way outside and hailed a cab, settling into the seat as the car sped through the glittering lights of New York City. The closer she got to the gala, the heavier her chest felt, fear curling around her heart.

As she stepped into the grand ballroom, the scent of expensive perfumes and the faint tinkling of champagne glasses engulfed her. The grand hall, filled with New York elites, sparkled under the illumination of dazzling crystal chandeliers. The sight of men in tailored suits and women in stunning gowns creates a captivating sight. She hesitated at the entrance, scanning the room and feeling the weight of every eye, every whisper that seemed to remind her she didn't belong.

Her gaze finally landed on Arthur, captivating a group of executives. His polished smile, which she knew so well, concealed his true identity. His laughter mingled with the music, creating an aura of confidence. Harriet felt a sharp pain in her chest, like an old wound reopening. Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to walk towards him, each step heavier than the last.

As soon as she was within earshot, Arthur turned. The warmth in his smile vanished immediately as his gaze swept over her dress, his expression twisting with a hidden look of disdain.

"What are you wearing?" he hissed, gripping her arm tightly. The pain was sharp, but Harriet stood her ground, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"This...this is what I could manage," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, even as she tried to meet his stony gaze.

Arthur's grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. "You make me look foolish," he spat. "Are you trying to humiliate me?"

Her throat tightened, and she blinked rapidly, holding back her tears. "I'm sorry, Arthur..."

"Save your excuses," he cut her off, shoving her arm away as though her touch was something filthy. "Just stay out of my way tonight."

As he turned back to his circle of friends, Harriet retreated, pain throbbing in her arm and her chest. She made her way to a corner, finding a secluded spot to observe the crowd, her eyes drifting over the glittering scene. She spotted Janet across the room, laughing with a group of executives. Janet's laughter seemed easy, her posture confident. They had once been close, sharing dreams and supporting each other. But now, she barely acknowledged her. Harriet wondered if, like Arthur, Janet saw her as an outsider. The thought stung more than she'd care to admit.

Lost in her thoughts, the sudden appearance of a photographer in front of her and Arthur startled her. "A picture of the beautiful fiancée and Mr. Benson?" He suggested.

Arthur's hand shot out, gripping hers with a pressure that was both possessive and punishing. He leaned closer, his voice a low, harsh whisper. "Smile," he commanded, his breath warm against her skin. "At least pretend you fit in here."

Harriet forced a smile, feeling the muscles in her cheeks strain as the camera flashed. When the photographer moved on, Arthur dropped her hand, his distaste clear as he turned back to the crowd, leaving her standing alone. Harriet felt a growing emptiness inside, a deep ache that reminded her of how unnoticed she was in his world.

The evening wore on in a haze of forced smiles and loneliness. Harriet moved through the crowd, her presence barely acknowledged as Arthur mingled around, drawing laughter and admiration from every corner. She lingered in the background, feeling like a ghost as she watched him captivate everyone around him. His every smile felt like a knife, each one reminding her of how little she mattered to him.

When the event ended, relief washed over. But as they returned to Arthur's mansion, the tension between them only grew thicker.

Arthur ascended the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Moments later, he returned, holding something in his hands. Harriet felt her throat tighten, making it difficult to breathe as she recognized her wedding dress, the delicate fabric glowing softly in the dim light.

"What...what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, but her heart screamed with fear.

Arthur turned, his gaze fixed on her, filled with a hatred that ran deeper than mere disappointment. "The marriage," he said, each word sharp with disdain, "is over."

In one swift motion, he ripped the dress apart, creating a loud noise that echoed through the empty room. Harriet dropped to her knees, her hands shaking as she reached for the torn fragments, each piece slipping through her fingers like sand. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she held onto the shattered remnants of the life she'd once imagined.

But amid the sorrow, something fierce and raw flared within her. A fire ignited, fed by years of suppression, being belittled, dismissed, and made to feel small. The weight of all she'd endured settled over her.

"I'm done," she whispered, her voice trembling yet determined. Rising slowly, she wiped her tears, her gaze hardening as she looked into the hallway mirror. With a renewed sense of determination burning through the grief, a silent vow echoed in her mind: she would rise from this, stronger than he could ever imagine.

As she left the hallway, leaving behind the torn dress and the man who had tried to define her, Harriet felt the weight of her old life fall away. She moved forward with a renewed sense of purpose, the spark within her ignited, propelling her into a future of her own making. But as she took her first steps towards freedom, a storm was already gathering, one that would test her strength to its limits and confront her with unforeseen dangers.