el

Sterling's imposing office. The silence of the reception area was no longer p

d a flicker in her eyes, a hint of something that could have been pity or perhaps just professional detachment. I was no longer Miss Hayes, the strugglin

words: "Purely transactional arrangement... no emotional entanglement... nothing more." Each phrase was a hammer blow, crushing any lingering romanticized notions of marriage, even a fake one. Nothing more. Yet, as the elevator glided upward, a flicker of uncertainty ignited within me. Was it truly possible to keep emotions at bay in a situation that felt so

normous arched windows, illuminating a marble floor that gleamed like liquid moonlight. Original paintings, clearly masterpieces, adorned the walls. A

secretary announced, gesturing expansively. "Your assist

the overwhelming opulence. Every surface shimmered, every object radiated wealth. It was beautiful, undeniably, but it felt utterly devoid

still professional. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and her eyes, though kind, were incredibly sharp. "Mrs.

instinctively hating the forma

course, Evelyn. If you'll follow me,

ofas, a dressing room the size of my old art studio, and a bathroom that was bigger than my entire apartment. The colors were muted, elegant grays and creams, with touches of deep blue. T

es widened. "Essentials" meant racks of designer dresses, shoes, and handbags. More clothes than I'd owned in my entire life. "Mr. St

ng. I had barely had time to process that I was Mrs. Sterling.

pare. If you need anything at all, simply press the intercom on the wall." S

at the familiar city. But it felt alien now, distant. The world I knew, the one where I struggled but was free, seemed miles away, almost in

now. Dinners, public appearances, and an empty title. No art, no spontaneity, no genuin

atterns. Something about it tugged at me, a soft, insistent whisper in the back of my mind. Curious, I picked it up. It felt

ry flashed, s

a proud smile on a boyish face. "I made it for you, Evie. To keep your treasures in." He had scraped his knee, I remembered, his jeans t

And the boy... his eyes, so bright with laughter. His jaw, strong

ore my family moved away, before the financial struggles, before... before I had fallen and hit my head so hard I'd spent weeks in recovery,

eling CEO? The boy from my past, the one who carved me a treasure box? The juxtaposition was ja

d of game was this? The contract was one thing. A history, forgotten by me, perhaps suppressed by him? That was a terrifying

Evie. The torn jeans. These were not generic childhood tropes. This was my memory, finally resurfacing, jarringly vivid after years of frustrating blanks. Why now? And why

ng not to know me? Was I simply a means to an end, a convenient pawn in some grand scheme I couldn't pos

ine to a past I now desperately needed to understand. I clutched it, my knuckles white, as if holding onto it

essing my disheveled state. "Evelyn, are you alright?" You lo

d, gesturing vaguely at the opul

ll adjust. Now, let's get you ready for dinner. M

anything I had ever worn. The fabric felt like liquid against my skin, the cut deceptively simple, yet utterly elegant. As Clara fastened the delicate clasps of a pearl necklace around my throa

said, her voice genuinely admiring

sion. That was all this was. A pe

strong. I can see it." Her words, simple as they were, resonated. Perhaps she was right. I had to

xan

searing pain erupted behind my eyes, a familiar, unwelcome guest. I walked to the window, pressing my finger

. She was examining the clumsy wooden box I'd spent weeks carving, her small fingers tracing the

t. The memory was so potent that it

g piece. A past that held too much pain, too much weakness. I had built an empire on the ashes of that boy, that naive f

e the sterile air of my office when she paused at the contract. Was I imagining it? Or had she felt something to

isted on a bride with no existing public profile, someone easily managed. But if Evelyn

der. The board was breathing down my neck for an heir, for stability. My aging parents were growing impatient. This marriage, t

swirled, reflecting the city lights. I needed control. And control meant suppressing every inconvenient

its warmth spread through me. The headache, h

curity detail. Mrs. Sterling has arrive

s meant to be a title devoid of meaning, a mere formality. Yet, something in the way her fragile frame had fil

ng regarding the new infrastructure project. Evelyn's presence was required. Her first public a

a depth that belied her apparent simplicity. She was an artist. I had noted that in her file. A

sharp and decisive, next to hers, slightly less confident, yet surprising

s custom-tailored, a dark expanse that blended seamlessly with the shadows. I checked

and efficient. "Mrs. Sterling is almost r

I asked, my voice flat. My tone per

e of the residence, perhaps. But she is settling in." There was a subtle note of something

ty was an advantage. Perhaps her fragility was an advantage, a way to elicit compassion and understanding from those around

circumstances," Clara stated, her eyes unwavering. "She also seemed a little... d

n my office been more than just a fleeting anomaly? The thought sent a fresh wave of i

pressed, my voice sh

he attributed it to b

dn't afford. Ensure she understands the protocol for tonight. No personal questions from

already briefed her on th

My eyes, accustomed to the dim light of

el

rp contrast to the demure dress she'd worn hours ago. Her hair was swept up, exposing the delicate line of her neck, and the pearl necklac

at familiar, quiet defiance. And something else. A hint of recognition, perhaps? Or was it j

rmoil within. "Mrs. Sterling," I said, my voice smooth and controlled. "You look... presentable."

anded compliment, but she simply nodde

y fueled my unease. She was not just a blank slate. She was a woman

y hidden our shared history, what would she do? And more importantly, what could she expose? The secret I had fought so hard to bury felt closer to the