Chapter 3
Nora fell ill with a high fever after being caught in the rain. It lasted three full days.
The moment she recovered, Chase dragged her to a banquet at the Thai Imperial Hotel in Bellwood.
At the entrance, she saw Camila, wearing the exact designer gown Nora had begged Chase for–countless
times–but never once received.
Their eyes met, the air sparking with unspoken hostility.
“Mr. Whitmore, Mrs. Whitmore,” the concierge said politely, “per the hotel’s cultural policy, male guests may only enter with their legal spouse. If you wish to bring a mistress, she must kneel and bow at the door.”
Camila pouted and threw herself into Chase’s arms.
“Chase! I’m not kneeling for anyone! And I don’t want to be your mistress either, hmph!”
Nora couldn’t hold back.
“Too late to worry about that now, isn’t it?”
Camila’s eyes welled up with tears in an instant.
“Chase…”
Chase hesitated–just for a moment–then turned to the concierge and said flatly,
“Camila Rae is my wife.”
Nora froze where she stood, staring at him in disbelief.
“Chase…”
“Just go along with it,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. “Camila’s young. Sensitive. She couldn’t possibly kneel in front of everyone.”
And Nora could?
Seeing the color drain from her face, Chase made an effort to coax her.
“You’ve always wanted that Peninsula Manor house, haven’t you? I’ll buy it for you–tonight. All you have to do is enter–as my mistress.”
The guests nearby began whispering, their voices thick with mockery.
“Wasn’t Mr. Whitmore’s wife the heiress of the Langston family? When did that change?”
“Right? The Whitmore Group only survived that crisis back then because he married into the Langstons.
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And now he’s turning his back on her for a mistress?”
“Tsk, honestly? That little canary looks more like the real wife. That Langston girl’s just pathetic.”
Nora’s face went pale.
She had never felt this humiliated.
Nora drew in a steady breath–and pulled out their marriage certificate.
Camila was forced to kneel. She stayed on the floor the entire meal, waiting on Chase and Nora.
Her doll–like face crumpled in misery, tears trembling at the edge but refusing to fall–enough to make anyone’s heart ache.
Nora remained expressionless. But Chase was visibly distressed.
Gritting his teeth, he hissed,
“Nora, are you satisfied now? To publicly shame Camila like this??”
Nora bit her lip.
“The marriage certificate–was signed willingly. I never forced you. I’ll use it whenever I see fit.”
Halfway through the meal, Chase kicked the table over and stormed out, carrying Camila in his arms.
The looks that followed Nora–pity, mockery, disdain–were enough to drown her.
Her face turned pale again. She lost all appetite and quickly left.
The moment she stepped outside the hotel, her world went black.
When she came to, she was tied up in an underground parking garage.
Her knees were tied down to the cold concrete, forcing her into a humiliating kneel.
A group of masked men circled her, snapping photos from every angle.
Nora panicked.
“What the hell are you doing?! Let me go! I’m Chase Whitmore’s legal wife! If he finds out—he’ll never let you get away with this!”
But the men only sneered.
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