I stood in Fiona's room, frozen in place as the reality of my situation crashed over me. Arthur Sterling—the man whose name was on my marriage certificate—was walking into our home at this very moment. My mind raced with questions. How was this possible? Had I somehow met him before and forgotten? Was this some elaborate scam?
Genevieve's face had turned ghost-white when she saw the certificate, a stark contrast to her usual composed cruelty. Before I could take it back from her trembling hands, she stuffed it into her purse.
"You will say nothing," she hissed, jabbing a finger at my chest. "Nothing! Do you understand me? This must be some kind of mistake."
I narrowed my eyes. "Give me back my certificate."
"Shut up. You'll ruin everything. You always ruin everything!"
Her face twisted with hatred as she grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin. "If you breathe one word about this to anyone tonight, I'll make sure Mrs. Dubois suffers for it."
My blood ran cold. Threatening me was one thing, but threatening the only person who had ever shown me kindness was another matter entirely.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "But this isn't over."
Genevieve released me with a shove toward the door. "Get downstairs and stay in the background where you belong. And fix yourself—you look like a servant."
I smoothed my simple navy dress—the most formal thing I owned—and followed her down the grand staircase. The mansion was buzzing with activity. Waiters circulated with champagne flutes, and the soft notes of a string quartet filled the air.
From my vantage point on the stairs, I could see the entire reception hall. Fiona stood beside Caleb near the entrance, both wearing forced smiles as they greeted guests. My gaze drifted to the front door just as it opened to admit a new arrival.
The man who walked in commanded attention without effort. Tall and powerfully built, he moved with the confidence of someone who knew his value exactly. His dark suit looked custom-made, molding perfectly to his broad shoulders. But it was his face that caught my attention—the same face from the marriage certificate, but infinitely more imposing in person.
Arthur Sterling.
My supposed husband.
His expression remained impassive as he shook hands with Alistair. He didn't smile or exchange pleasantries beyond what was strictly necessary. When Fiona approached with Caleb, Arthur's gaze flicked to them briefly, his acknowledgment perfunctory at best.
I hung back, half-hidden by a decorative column, studying him. Nothing about him seemed familiar. How could I be married to a man I'd never met?
As I watched, his eyes suddenly shifted, scanning the room until they landed directly on me. For a moment, our gazes locked. A chill ran down my spine. His eyes were cold, assessing—like he was looking at a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Did he recognize me? Did he know about our supposed marriage?
Before I could interpret his reaction, Genevieve materialized beside me.
"Stop staring at him like that," she snapped. "You look desperate."
"I need to talk to him," I replied, not taking my eyes off Arthur.
"Are you insane? You will stay away from him." Genevieve's voice had taken on a panicked edge. "Go make yourself useful in the kitchen or something."
"I'm not the help, Genevieve," I said, finally looking at her. "And I'm not a child you can order around anymore."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You ungrateful little—"
"Elara!" A soft voice interrupted our exchange.
We both turned to see Mrs. Dubois approaching slowly, leaning on her cane. Despite her illness, she had made an effort to dress for the occasion in a simple but elegant gown. Her face, though pale and drawn, brightened when she saw me.
"You came," she said, reaching for my hand.
I took it gently, feeling the familiar pang of affection mixed with sorrow. Mrs. Dubois had always shown me kindness, despite Genevieve's objections.
"Of course I did," I replied with a genuine smile. "You asked me to."
Genevieve's lips pressed into a thin line. "Beatrice, you should be resting. This excitement isn't good for your health."
"I'm fine," Mrs. Dubois said dismissively. "I wanted to see Elara. She visits so rarely these days."
A flash of memory surfaced—Mrs. Dubois sneaking food to my room when Genevieve had sent me to bed without dinner, which happened frequently throughout my childhood. The quiet moments when she would brush my hair and tell me stories while Genevieve was busy doting on Fiona. The way she had always tried, in her limited strength, to protect me.
"Have you eaten?" Mrs. Dubois asked now, her eyes searching my face with concern.
I nodded. "I'm fine, truly."
"You're too thin," she insisted, then turned to Genevieve. "Make sure Elara gets a proper plate of food."
Genevieve's smile was strained. "Of course. I'll take care of it."
Mrs. Dubois squeezed my hand once more before moving away to greet other guests. As soon as she was out of earshot, Genevieve's fake smile vanished.
"I don't know what spell you've cast on her," she muttered. "She's always had a soft spot for you. Disgusting."
I didn't bother responding. Years ago, I had wondered the same thing—why Mrs. Dubois, who should have hated the living reminder of her husband's infidelity, had instead shown me such tenderness. Now I simply accepted her kindness as the one bright spot in this household of vipers.
The party continued around us, a showcase of wealth and status that had nothing to do with actual celebration. I drifted toward the edge of the room, avoiding Caleb's gaze whenever it found me. The last thing I needed was for him to corner me with another speech about how we could have been great together if only I hadn't been "born wrong."
A commotion near the entrance caught my attention. The Sterling family had fully arrived—an elderly woman in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse, followed by several stern-faced men in suits who I assumed were security. Arthur walked beside the wheelchair, occasionally leaning down to speak to the woman.
"That's Old Mrs. Sterling," a waiter whispered as he passed me with a tray. "Arthur's grandmother. They say she's the only person he actually listens to."
I nodded in thanks for the information, my eyes tracking the group as they moved to a specially prepared area. Arthur helped his grandmother from the wheelchair to a comfortable armchair, his movements surprisingly gentle for such an intimidating man.
The evening dragged on in a blur of forced pleasantries and strategic avoidance. I kept one eye on Arthur Sterling throughout, but he showed no sign of recognizing me. Either he was an excellent actor, or he was just as confused by our supposed marriage as I was.
After dinner, I slipped out onto one of the balconies for a breath of fresh air. My phone vibrated in my pocket—a message from my contact.
"Info on Arthur Sterling: 32, CEO of Sterling Group for past five years. Took control from family's main branch in hostile takeover. Cold, ruthless businessman. No known romantic attachments. Rumored to have enormous personal fortune separate from family holdings. Absolutely NO record of marriage found anywhere. Are you sure about this?"
I stared at the message, more confused than ever. If there was no record of our marriage anywhere else, how had it appeared in the civil registry system? Something wasn't adding up.
The sound of the balcony door opening behind me made me quickly pocket my phone. I turned to find Genevieve, her face flushed with too much champagne and anger.
"What are you still doing here?" she demanded. "You've gotten what you wanted—the marriage certificate. Now leave before you embarrass us in front of the Sterlings."
"I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers," I replied evenly. "Starting with why you took my certificate."
Genevieve's laugh was bitter. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Somehow getting your hands on a fake certificate with Arthur Sterling's name? What's your game? Blackmail? You think you can squeeze money out of the Sterlings with this pathetic scheme?"
"I didn't fake anything," I said, my confusion genuine. "I went to register my marriage like you demanded, and they told me I was already married to him. I've never even met the man before today."
"Liar!" she spat. "You've always been jealous of Fiona. Always wanting what she has. First Caleb, now you're trying to connect yourself to his family?"
I shook my head in disbelief. "You're delusional. I couldn't care less about Caleb or his family. I just want to understand what's happening."
"Get out," Genevieve hissed. "If you don't leave now, I'll tell everyone what you're trying to do."
"And what exactly would that be?" a deep voice interrupted.
We both turned to find Arthur Sterling himself standing in the doorway to the balcony, his imposing figure silhouetted against the light from inside. His cold eyes moved between us, assessing the situation.
Genevieve's demeanor changed instantly. She straightened, pasting on a sycophantic smile. "Mr. Sterling, I'm so sorry you had to witness this. My daughter was just leaving."
His eyebrow raised slightly at the word "daughter," his gaze lingering on me with what seemed like new interest.
"I need to make a call," he said, his voice deep and authoritative. "In private."
"Of course," Genevieve gushed, already backing toward the door. She shot me a warning glare. "Elara was just going too."
But I stood my ground as Genevieve retreated inside. This might be my only chance to speak with him alone.
Arthur stepped fully onto the balcony, putting his phone to his ear. He turned his back to me, clearly expecting I would leave. I didn't.
His conversation was brief and one-sided, mostly consisting of terse "yes" and "no" responses. When he finished, he slipped his phone into his pocket and turned, looking mildly surprised to find me still there.
His gaze, when it met mine, was ice-cold and penetrating. He said nothing, just stared at me with an expression that suggested I was an unwelcome interruption.
I took a deep breath, summoned all my courage, and smiled tentatively.
"Honey?" I said, the single word hanging in the night air between us.