Chapter 3 Revenge at the Gala, Buying a Building

# Chapter 3: Revenge at the Gala, Buying a Building

Three weeks into our arrangement, and I was beginning to understand the true nature of wealth. It wasn't just about having money—it was about the casual certainty that anything could be acquired, altered, or arranged with a phone call. Martin's world operated on a different set of physical laws than the one I'd known.

"You're overthinking it," Martin said, watching me hesitate over a row of credit cards spread on the dining table of my new penthouse apartment. "The black one."

I picked up the sleek carbon card. "This one has no limit?"

"Precisely. The others are for specific purposes—the platinum for travel, the gold for everyday purchases, the blue for charitable donations." He sipped his espresso. "Always use the appropriate card. It's like wearing the right shoes with the right outfit."

"And if I max out the black card?" I asked, only half-joking.

Martin's expression remained impassive. "You can't. That's the point."

I slipped the cards into my new wallet—genuine Bottega Veneta, not the replica I would have sold for $200 a month ago. The irony wasn't lost on me: I was now living the exact lifestyle I had once counterfeited.

"Tonight's charity gala," Martin continued, checking his watch. "The annual Children's Hospital Benefit."

"The Wei family always attends," I said, remembering eighteen years of these events. The silent auctions, the champagne fountains, the strategic seating arrangements that determined one's social standing.

"Yes. Victoria is on the board, and Eleanor is chairing the event this year." His smile was slight but predatory. "Which is why we'll be making a significant donation."

He slid a check across the table. I glanced down and nearly choked.

"Five million dollars?" I whispered.

"The Wei donation is traditionally one million," he said casually. "We're simply showing appropriate commitment to the cause."

"This is about humiliating Eleanor, not helping sick children."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "Why can't it be both? The hospital gets needed funding, and we get to watch Eleanor struggle to maintain composure. Everyone wins."

That evening, I stood in front of the mirror in my dressing room—an entire room dedicated solely to getting dressed, a concept that still stunned me—and examined my reflection. The woman staring back wore a custom Dior gown in midnight blue, Harry Winston diamonds at her throat and ears, and an expression of carefully cultivated confidence that only occasionally slipped to reveal the uncertainty beneath.

Three weeks of intensive training had transformed my exterior: proper table manners for a twelve-course meal, how to address royalty, the correct pronunciation of luxury brands (I'd been saying "Hermès" wrong my entire life), and the subtle art of recognizing genuine wealth versus ostentatious display.

"True wealth whispers," Martin had instructed. "Only the insecure need to shout."

The door opened, and Martin entered, impeccable in his tuxedo. He assessed me with that clinical gaze that never failed to make me feel like a specimen being evaluated.

"You'll do," he said, which from him was high praise.

"I still don't understand why you're doing all this," I said as he fastened a diamond bracelet around my wrist. "This revenge seems... excessive."

Something darkened in his expression. "The Weis have taken more than you realize from both of us." Before I could press further, he added, "The car is waiting."

The gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Great Hall transformed into a glittering wonderland of crystal and flowers. As we ascended the steps, photographers called our names—somehow, in just three weeks, I had become a person of interest, the mysterious new fiancée of tech billionaire Martin Chen.

Inside, the social elite of New York circulated like exotic fish in a carefully maintained aquarium. I recognized many faces from my former life, noted which ones deliberately avoided eye contact and which ones approached with newfound interest in "Martin's fiancée."

"Cassandra!" A familiar voice called, and I turned to see Diane Halston, a socialite who had deleted me from her contacts the day after my expulsion from the Wei family. "Darling, you look divine! We've all been dying to hear how you and Martin met!"

Martin's hand settled possessively at my waist. "We reconnected through mutual interests," he said smoothly. "Cassandra has an exceptional eye for value."

"How fascinating," Diane gushed. "You must join us for dinner at the club next week."

I smiled, remembering how this same woman had pretended not to see me at Whole Foods a month ago. "We'll check our calendar," I replied, mimicking the noncommittal response I'd heard Victoria Wei use countless times.

As we moved through the crowd, Martin whispered, "You're learning."

"I had eighteen years of training in how to be exactly this person," I reminded him.

"No," he corrected. "You had eighteen years of pretending to be a Wei. Now you're becoming something entirely your own."

Before I could process that, I spotted them—Eleanor and Victoria Wei, holding court near the main donation display. Eleanor wore a stunning red gown that showcased her delicate figure, while Victoria was draped in her signature pearls and old-money elegance.

"Ready?" Martin asked.

I nodded, though my heart hammered against my ribs.

As we approached, I watched recognition dawn on their faces—first Martin, then me. Victoria's expression hardened, while Eleanor's mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Martin," Victoria said coolly. "What a surprise."

"Victoria," he replied with practiced charm. "Eleanor. Lovely event."

Eleanor pointedly ignored me, addressing only Martin. "The hospital is grateful for your usual contribution. The Chen family has always been generous."

"Actually," Martin said, "we've decided to increase our commitment this year." He removed the check from his jacket pocket and handed it to the nearby event coordinator. "Five million should help with the new pediatric wing."

The coordinator gasped, drawing attention from nearby guests. "Mr. Chen, Ms. Cassandra—this is extraordinary!"

Eleanor's composure slipped for just a moment, her eyes widening as she registered the amount. Victoria stepped forward, a brittle smile fixed on her face.

"How generous," she said. "Though some might see it as... ostentatious."

"We prefer to see it as necessary," I replied, finding my voice. "Children's healthcare shouldn't depend on social posturing."

A murmur of approval rippled through the gathered crowd. Victoria's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"How interesting to hear about social posturing from someone who lived a complete lie for eighteen years," she said, voice low but perfectly audible to those nearby.

Martin's hand tightened on my waist, but before he could speak, Eleanor stepped forward, her smile vicious.

"I'm surprised you can show your face in society at all," she hissed. "Everyone knows what you are—a beggar playing princess, a nobody who stole a life she had no right to."

I felt the familiar shame threatening to rise, but Martin's steady presence beside me kept it at bay. This was exactly what they wanted—to reduce me to nothing again.

"Eleanor," Martin said, his voice deadly quiet. "You might want to reconsider your tone."

"Or what?" Eleanor challenged. "You'll throw more money around? Buy her more designer dresses to play dress-up in? Everyone can see what this is—you're using this pathetic counterfeit to get back at me for ending our engagement."

The crowd around us had grown silent, the spectacle of elite conflict too delicious to interrupt. I could feel dozens of eyes on us, phones discreetly recording. Tomorrow, this would be in every society column.

Martin released my waist and reached for his phone. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping slightly away and making a call.

Eleanor smirked at me. "He's already bored with his charity case. How long before he trades you in for a real woman?"

I maintained my composure, though inside I was calculating how many ways I could dismantle her with words. Before I could decide, Martin returned, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Apologies for the interruption," he said smoothly. "Just finalizing a transaction."

"Buying another toy for your pet project?" Victoria sneered, gesturing toward me.

"Actually," Martin replied, "I was buying this hotel."

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Eleanor's face went slack with shock.

"That's impossible," Victoria said. "The Metropolitan isn't for sale."

"Not the museum," Martin clarified. "The Wiltshire Hotel. Where you're holding the after-party tonight."

As if on cue, a man in an expensive suit hurried through the crowd, looking flustered. "Mr. Chen," he said, extending his hand. "Gregory Hoffman, General Manager of the Wiltshire. I just received word from ownership—"

"That the sale is complete," Martin finished for him. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

He took the folder the man offered, extracted a document, and handed it to me. "For you."

I stared at the paper in my hands—a deed of ownership to one of New York's most exclusive boutique hotels, transferred to my name.

"I don't understand," I said, genuinely confused.

Martin smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Every woman should have her own source of income. Consider it an engagement present."

Eleanor's face had turned an alarming shade of red. "This is absurd! You can't just buy a hotel during a charity gala!"

"I just did," Martin replied calmly. "And now it belongs to Cassandra."

I looked at the deed again, then at Mr. Hoffman, who was watching me expectantly. A sudden, wild sense of power surged through me.

"Mr. Hoffman," I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded, "I understand there's an event scheduled at the hotel tonight?"

"Yes, Ms. Cassandra. The hospital benefit after-party."

I nodded thoughtfully, then looked directly at Eleanor. "I think we'll need to review the guest list. Some adjustments may be necessary."

Eleanor's eyes widened as she understood the implication. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would," I replied, feeling Martin's approving gaze. "It's my hotel, after all."

Victoria stepped forward, her voice low and threatening. "You think you've won something here? Playing dress-up with Martin's money doesn't make you somebody. You're still nothing—a fraud we picked up because you were convenient."

Something in her tone made me pause. There was venom there, but also... fear? I studied her more carefully and noticed she was wearing a distinctive diamond pendant I'd seen many times during my years as a Wei—a family heirloom she claimed had belonged to her grandmother.

Except there was something wrong with it. The setting was slightly different from what I remembered, the chain newer. As a seller of counterfeits, I knew what I was seeing—a replica, not the original.

And suddenly, pieces started falling into place. The Wei family liquidating assets. Victoria's desperation. The pendant that wasn't quite right.

"That's a beautiful necklace, Victoria," I said softly. "Family heirloom, isn't it?"

Her hand instinctively went to the pendant. "Of course."

"Strange," I continued. "I remember the diamond having a slight inclusion near the setting. This one seems flawless."

Victoria's face drained of color. Martin watched the exchange with intense interest.

"You know nothing about fine jewelry," Eleanor interjected. "Just because you can tell fake handbags from real ones doesn't make you an expert."

"No," I agreed. "But I do know that necklace. I wore it to the governor's ball three years ago. And this isn't it."

Victoria's hand tightened around the pendant. "You're making a scene," she hissed. "This conversation is over."

As she turned to leave, I noticed something else—a distinctive clasp on the necklace, one I recognized from a high-end replica jeweler I'd encountered in my counterfeit business. The realization hit me like a thunderbolt: Victoria Wei was wearing a fake. The woman who had exposed me as a fraud was committing the same sin.

Before I could point this out, Eleanor stumbled slightly, her champagne spilling onto Victoria's dress. In the commotion, the necklace shifted, and I saw something that made my blood run cold—a tiny maker's mark that I knew didn't belong on the original piece.

That necklace wasn't just a replica of a family heirloom. It was evidence.

My mind raced back to the night I was exposed. Victoria had presented DNA evidence, claiming it proved I wasn't her daughter. But what if that evidence had been tampered with? What if the Weis had known all along who I really was?

As Victoria fussed with her dress, I impulsively reached out and touched the pendant. "This isn't just a replica," I said quietly. "This is the necklace you were wearing the night you had my DNA tested. The night you decided I wasn't convenient anymore."

Victoria jerked away from me, but not before I saw the flash of panic in her eyes. She grabbed Eleanor's arm and pulled her away, whispering furiously.

Martin watched them retreat, then turned to me with new respect in his eyes. "What did you see?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I think that necklace might be connected to why they got rid of me."

He nodded slowly. "You're becoming more valuable by the minute, Cassandra."

As the Weis disappeared into the crowd, Mr. Hoffman cleared his throat. "About the after-party guest list, Ms. Cassandra?"

I looked at the deed in my hands, then at Martin, who was watching me with curious expectation. Three weeks ago, I'd been selling fake bags to make rent. Now I owned a hotel and was about to bar the Wei family from their own event.

"Let them come," I decided finally.

Martin raised an eyebrow. "Feeling merciful?"

"Strategic," I corrected. "I want them to walk into that hotel knowing it's mine. I want them to drink my champagne and eat my food while wondering what else I might know about their secrets."

A slow smile spread across Martin's face. "You're a quick study."

Later that night, as Eleanor and Victoria Wei entered the Wiltshire Hotel's grand ballroom for the after-party, I was waiting at the top of the stairs. Martin stood beside me, his hand possessively at my waist.

Victoria looked up, saw me, and froze. I raised my champagne glass in silent toast.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't the counterfeit. I was the real thing.

And I was just getting started.