My Husband Gave My Family’s Priceless Sapphires To His Mistress — So I Stripped Him Of His Title

Part 1

I stared across the crowded ballroom, my blood turning to ice as I saw my husband’s mistress wearing my family’s sacred sapphires.

The heavy blue stones rested carelessly against her bare skin, publicly stripping me of everything my father’s vast wealth had bought.

My marriage to the Duke of Ashbury had always been a cold transaction, built entirely on my dowry and his rapidly decaying title.

In exchange for paying his ancestral debts, I had endured five years of his gambling, his drinking, and a lifetime of suffocating humiliation.

I never complained, never wept, and never gave society the satisfaction of seeing me break.

I attended the endless string of high-society galas, wearing the required velvet gowns and offering the required, frozen smiles to people who despised me.

The midsummer ball at Wellington House was the undeniable pinnacle of the London social season.

I stood near the edge of the cavernous grand ballroom, my spine perfectly rigid against the oppressive heat of a thousand dripping wax candles.

Greg was late, which was an entirely expected and calculated insult.

I gripped the ivory handle of my fan, my dark midnight gown contrasting sharply against the pale, pastel sea of eager debutantes.

The string quartet was playing a lively, sweeping waltz when a sudden, heavy silence violently smothered the room.

The music faltered, the notes dying abruptly in the thick, perfumed air.

Hundreds of aristocrats turned their heads in unison toward the sweeping marble staircase.

Greg stood at the very top of the landing.

He was undeniably handsome, possessing the arrogant, sharp-jawed profile that had defined his lineage for centuries.

But he was not alone.

The woman hanging onto his arm was Heather, a prominent theater actress known strictly for her scandalous dresses and ruthless ambition.

She wore a crimson silk gown that clung to her curves in ways decent society explicitly forbade.

Her golden hair tumbled freely over her bare shoulders in calculated disarray.

But it was not the scandalous crimson dress that made the blood freeze solidly in my veins.

Resting heavily against her bare skin was my family’s most sacred legacy.

The Ashbury sapphires.

They were a blinding cluster of massive, unheated blue stones bound in ancient platinum, passed down through generations of duchesses.

I had worn them on my wedding day, feeling their immense weight like an ice-cold collar locking around my neck.

They were legally bound to the estate, deeply sacred, and meant only for the most significant of state occasions.

Now, they were draped carelessly over the neck of a common mistress.

Greg was not just flaunting his latest infidelity to the entire world.

He was publicly stripping me of my rank, my dignity, and my rightful place in this society.

Whispers erupted all around me like a massive flock of startled birds.

Intricate lace fans snapped open everywhere to hide malicious, hungry grins.

Every single person in that ballroom waited for me to collapse, to scream, or to finally break down in a hysterical fit under the weight of his cruelty.

Across the cavernous room, Greg’s cold eyes met mine.

He offered a slow, incredibly arrogant smile.

He lifted his crystal glass of expensive champagne in a silent, mocking toast aimed directly at me.

He truly believed he was completely untouchable.

English law brutally dictated that a wife’s property, her body, and her very existence belonged entirely to her husband.

He thought he owned those priceless sapphires, he thought he owned the title, and he thought he owned me.

I refused to give him or the gaping crowd the satisfaction of a single tear.

A cold, terrifying clarity settled instantly over my mind.

The quiet grief I had carried for five years simply evaporated, replaced completely by an absolute, freezing hatred.

An older dowager standing beside me murmured a sympathetic offer to use her carriage, fully expecting me to flee in deep shame.

I thanked her politely and stated firmly that the champagne was simply far too good to leave.

I turned my back on the staircase and spent the exact next two hours making impeccably polite conversation.

Every single time the bright blue flash of those sapphires caught my eye, another piece of my restraint chipped away.

He had already taken my money, my youth, and my dignity.

He would absolutely not take my future.

I finally stepped into my private carriage just past midnight, the thick London fog wrapping tightly around the wooden wheels.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the heavy velvet drapes of our dining room.

Seated perfectly still at the head of the long mahogany table, I let my tea grow entirely cold.

At half past eleven, Greg finally strode in, bringing with him the suffocating scent of stale brandy and Heather’s perfume.

Ignoring the elaborate breakfast spread completely, he poured himself a generous measure of claret.

A patronizing smirk crossed his face as he carelessly noted my early departure from the party.

Setting my teacup down, I let the fine china clink sharply against the matching saucer.

When I demanded to know exactly where the sapphires were, he only sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair with supreme irritation.

Dismissing the sacred jewels as mere stones, he cruelly claimed that Heather breathed vibrant life into them.

Worse still, he added that wearing them made me look exactly like a corpse dressed for a state funeral.

Keeping my voice dangerously low, I reminded him that the gems legally belonged to the entailed trust.

That simple fact caused his careless amusement to vanish instantly into a sudden flash of aristocratic rage.

The dark wine splashed across the pristine white tablecloth like fresh blood when he slammed his glass down violently.

Through gritted teeth, he declared himself the absolute Duke, reducing me to nothing more than a glorified ledger keeper.

The threat of permanent banishment to our isolated estate in Yorkshire hung in the air if I ever dared to question him again.

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the room, leaving me staring quietly at the red stain spreading across the linen.

I stood up and immediately rang the bell for my loyal maid.

I asked for my plainest walking dress and a heavy, obscuring veil.

It was finally time to go hunting.

I walked out into the cold morning air, knowing exactly how I was going to ruin his life.