His Unwanted Wife's Secret Double Life

The buzz of the phone was an ugly sound in the silent penthouse.

Kate Mathis was barefoot, the white marble floor cold against her skin. She walked from the vast living room, toward the gray velvet sofa where the phone lay vibrating.

The screen lit up with a single word: "Mom,Helen."

She hesitated, a familiar tightness in her chest. She swiped to decline the call. A text message popped up instantly.

"Kate, please be home for dinner at seven this evening. We are celebrating your sister Wendy's return from Europe."

Kate's temples began to throb at the second line. "You must bring Iverson. It's been too long since we've all been together as a family."

The word "must" was a command, not an invitation.

She looked around the multi-million dollar apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the glittering New York skyline, but inside, there was no warmth. No life. Just cold, expensive emptiness.

This was their marriage, a two-year contract. A strategic investment by the Russo Group into her family's struggling business. She was part of the deal.

Her thumb hovers over her husband's name, Iverson, in the contact list. She already knew how this call would end. His assistant would answer, telling her in a polite, robotic tone that "Mr. Russo is in a meeting."

She took a breath that didn't quite fill her lungs and pressed the call button anyway.

The phone rang for a long time. She was about to hang up when the call connected. It wasn't his assistant. It was him.

"What is it?" His voice was low, deep, and utterly devoid of emotion.

Her heart sank. She quickly explained her mother Helen's invitation, the words tumbling out, her voice carrying a pleading tone she couldn't hide.

A long silence stretched from the other end of the line. So long she could hear the faint rustle of paper, as if her request was nothing more than background noise to his work.

She heard him speak to someone else in the room, his voice a low murmur. "Push the afternoon remote conference back ten minutes."

Then, he was back on the line with her.

His voice was still flat. "I have a board meeting with Europe tonight. I can't miss it."

Iverson Russo was the CEO of his family's empire, a man whose time was measured in millions of dollars per minute.

Kate's knuckles turned white as she gripped the phone. She forced her voice to sound calm. "Can't it be postponed? It's just a family dinner."

"No." The word was sharp, final. There was no room for negotiation.

She wanted to say more, but he cut her off.

"I'm busy, Kate." A flicker of impatience entered his tone, as if she were a child making an unreasonable demand. "Go by yourself.Give my regards to my mother-in-law Helen."

The line went dead.

She stood motionless, phone still pressed to her ear, listening to the busy tone, until outside the last glimmer of dusk faded and the city lights flickered on. The apartment was dark, engulfing her in shadows.

She tossed the phone onto the sofa. It bounced once on the expensive silk cushions and made no sound.

She walked to the enormous window, watching the endless stream of traffic below.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, a rough, angry motion to force back the tears that threatened to fall.

Turning, she walked into the massive closet. It was filled with the latest haute couture gowns, all sent by Iverson's staff. She had never worn any of them.

From the rows of vibrant, beautiful dresses, she pulled out the plainest one she owned: a simple black sheath.

She had to face her mother's questions alone. And she had to face her perfect, returning sister.

She picked up her phone and sent a text back to her mother. "Okay, Mom. Iverson has an urgent work emergency, so I'll be coming alone."

After sending it, she silenced her phone and dropped it into her purse.

She caught her reflection in the dark glass of the closet door. A pale face, a hollow look in her eyes. She gave a small, bitter laugh.

Trophy wife. That's what they called her in the society pages.

She opened a drawer on her vanity. It was filled with high-end cosmetics, but she ignored them, pulling out a small, worn makeup bag from the back.

Inside, she found a lipstick she had mixed herself, a deep, defiant red. She applied it to her lips. The color made her look like she had blood in her veins again.

She didn't want them to see how broken she was.

Especially not Wendy.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her shoulders back and walked out of the cold apartment.

The private elevator doors slid open. The mirrored walls reflected a single, solitary figure. She stared at her own reflection as the elevator descended, her expression shifting from disappointment to a hard, numb resolve.