I waited five years for him to love me.

But love never came.

Instead, she returned, the girl Brandon never stopped loving… and a little boy who looks just like him. A child I should have given him.

I married Brandon Langford to save my father’s company. I gave him everything—my loyalty, my heart, my life. And he repaid me by suspending me from work and handing my project to her.

Clara, his first love, is back, taking everything I built, everything I thought I owned.

I’m done being a placeholder.

This time… I’m claiming my life.

ONE

THALIA

Shopping for sexy nightwear alone should have felt embarrassing.

Instead, I found myself smiling.

My fingers drifted over rows of silk and lace as I moved slowly through the boutique. Black lace sets, satin slips, delicate babydolls—each piece more daring than the last.

Tonight was special.

Just a few hours ago, my doctor had given me the news I had been waiting years to hear.

My hormone levels had finally stabilized.

After endless treatments, injections, and more hospital visits than I cared to count, my body was finally ready.

I could carry a baby.

Even thinking about it made my heart flutter with excitement. I had walked out of the hospital feeling lighter than I had in years, as if the future had suddenly opened in front of me.

And the first thing I did?

I drove straight to the mall.

My husband and I had been married for five years.

It hadn’t started the way most love stories did.

Ours was an arranged marriage—two families, one decision, and a future neither of us had truly chosen at the time.

In the beginning, everything between us had been polite.

Distant.

Careful.

We lived in the same house, shared the same space, but there had always been an invisible line neither of us crossed.

But over the years… things had changed.

Slowly.

Subtly.

The distance had softened into familiarity.

The silence into something more comfortable.

There were moments—quiet ones—that made me believe we were building something real.

Not perfect.

But real.

And maybe… that was enough.

Still, there had always been one thing missing.

A baby.

We had tried before, many times, but each attempt ended with disappointment and another round of treatments. Still, I had never stopped believing that one day things would work out for us.

And now, finally, it seemed possible.

Tonight felt like a new beginning.

If everything went well… maybe soon there would be three of us instead of two.

I picked up a black lace set and held it against myself, glancing at my reflection in the mirror across the aisle.

Pretty.

But not quite right.

Tonight deserved something a little more unforgettable.

I had already walked past the same displays twice, picking up different pieces and imagining Brandon’s reaction to each one.

Would he smile?

Would he pull me closer?

Would he look at me the way husbands looked at their wives in movies—like they couldn’t get enough?

Just as I was about to place the set back, a warm voice spoke behind me.

“Hi, Mrs. Langford. Do you need any help today?”

I turned and found one of the salesgirls standing a few steps away. She looked young, probably in her early twenties, with bright eyes and a perfectly practiced professional smile.

Emily.

I remembered her name from a previous visit.

She had helped me once before.

Relief washed over me. “Yes, actually,” I said, offering a small smile. “I could really use some help.”

Her smile widened immediately.

“Of course. What are you looking for today?”

I hesitated for a second, then decided honesty was easier.

“Something special.”

Emily nodded as if she completely understood.

She scanned the rack before pulling out a piece and turning back to me.

“How about this one, ma’am?”

She held up a stunning red babydoll nightie.

The sheer fabric was trimmed with delicate black lace that curved along the neckline and hem. The deep crimson color was rich and bold, the kind that would glow against bare skin.

The straps were thin and fragile-looking, like they could slip off with the lightest touch.

My breath caught.

It was elegant.

Seductive.

Perfect.

A slow smile spread across my face.

“Yes,” I said softly. “That’s the one.”

Emily beamed. “Excellent choice. It will look beautiful on you.”

“I hope so,” I murmured.

She carefully folded the piece and led me toward the checkout counter.

At the register, she tapped a few keys before looking up.

“That comes to three hundred and fifty dollars, Mrs. Langford.”

I slid my black credit card across the counter without hesitation.

Money had never been something I worried about. And if something as simple as a nightgown could help make tonight memorable, it was worth far more than that.

The machine beeped softly.

Emily handed me the receipt, and I added a generous tip.

Her eyes widened slightly. “Thank you so much.”

“You made the process easier,” I said with a small laugh.

She placed the nightwear into a sleek black bag with the boutique’s gold logo shining across the front.

“I hope your evening turns out exactly the way you want it to.”

I smiled as I took the bag.

“So do I.”

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the boutique and into the lively hum of the mall.

People moved around me in busy clusters—families, couples, teenagers carrying shopping bags.

I headed toward the exit where Thomas would be waiting with the car.

My thoughts drifted back to the doctor’s words and the future they promised. I could almost picture it already.

A tiny hand gripping Brandon’s finger.

A nursery filled with soft blankets.

Our home echoing with laughter.

The sudden sound of a child’s laughter pulled me from my thoughts.

A little boy burst across the open courtyard ahead of me, dark curls bouncing as he ran.

“Daddy!” he shouted happily.

The word rang across the space like music.

I slowed automatically, smiling as the boy crashed into a tall man standing near one of the benches.

The man bent down instantly and scooped him into his arms.

“Whoa there,” he laughed.

The sound was deep, warm…

And strangely familiar.

He lifted the boy high into the air before pulling him into a tight hug. The child squealed with delight.

It was a beautiful moment.

For a second, I could almost picture Brandon doing the same thing with our child someday.

I turned slightly, about to walk away and give them their privacy.

Then the man shifted.

Just enough for the light to fall across his face.

My heart stopped.

That jawline.

Those broad shoulders beneath the crisp shirt.

That voice.

It was Brandon.

My Brandon.

My feet carried me a few steps closer before my mind could stop them.

Maybe I was mistaken.

Maybe it only looked like him.

But then he laughed again, tickling the boy’s stomach, and I knew.

Before I could call his name, a woman approached them.

She moved with quiet confidence, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Brandon looked up.

And the smile that spread across his face froze the blood in my veins.

It was warm.

Natural.

Effortless.

I squinted, trying to make out the woman’s face.

Then recognition slammed into me.

Clara Smith.

My childhood friend.

Brandon’s ex-girlfriend.

She rested a hand lightly on the little boy’s shoulder, and he leaned into Brandon’s chest, giggling as Brandon ruffled his curls.

The three of them stood there together beneath the bright mall lights.

The man.

The woman.

And the child between them.

For a brief, unbearable moment—

They looked exactly like a happy family.

TWO

THALIA

By the time the car rolled through the iron gates of the estate, the tightness in my chest had already become hard to ignore.

Thomas stopped in front of the entrance and stepped out to open my door.

“Welcome home, ma’am.”

I nodded faintly and walked inside.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Without stopping, I headed upstairs.

When I reached my room, I pushed the door open without turning on the lights.

The shopping bag slipped from my hand and landed on the bench at the foot of the bed.

I stared at it.

The red lace inside suddenly felt ridiculous.

Earlier that afternoon, I had stood in a boutique for nearly twenty minutes, convincing myself that maybe—just maybe—things between Brandon and me could change.

Now the idea felt laughable.

I picked up my phone instead.

My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped it before unlocking the screen.

Clara’s profile appeared.

I hadn’t searched her name in years. After she disappeared, I forced myself not to look her up again or wonder what kind of life she had built after leaving.

But tonight my thumb moved on its own.

Post after post blurred past my eyes.

Pictures of cafés.

Sunsets taken from unfamiliar cities.

A child’s toys scattered across the floor of a bright living room.

Then I saw the newest upload.

My breath caught.

The photo had been taken from above. A little boy with dark curls sat comfortably between Clara’s legs and a man’s lap.

The man’s face wasn’t visible.

Only his torso.

A charcoal shirt stretched across broad shoulders I knew too well.

And on his wrist—

A Patek Philippe.

The watch I had given Brandon on our first anniversary.

I remembered that night clearly. I had spent weeks choosing it, convinced that if I gave him something meaningful enough, he might finally look at me the way a husband should look at his wife.

He thanked me politely.

Nothing more.

Now that same watch gleamed on the wrist of the man holding Clara’s child.

The caption beneath the photo was only one word.

Family.

My stomach twisted painfully.

Family.

Not friends.

Not acquaintances.

Family.

“How long…” My voice barely came out.

How long had this been happening?

How many nights had I waited alone in this house while he was somewhere else?

Somewhere with them.

I stared at the photo until my vision blurred.

Once upon a time, the three of us had grown up together.

Brandon.

Clara.

And me.

Back then, I was the loud one. The one always dragging the others into trouble. I talked too much, laughed too loudly, and never hesitated to say exactly what I thought. I followed Brandon everywhere and told everyone who cared to listen that I was going to marry Brandon.

Clara was the opposite.

Quiet. Shy. The maid’s daughter who barely spoke unless someone asked her a question.

Yet somehow Brandon had fallen for her.

Even as teenagers it had been obvious. The way he watched her. The way he protected her.

Everyone saw it.

Except his parents.

To the Langfords, Clara would always be beneath them.

Years later, my own life began collapsing.

My father’s company went bankrupt almost overnight.

Investors pulled out.

Creditors circled.

The pressure destroyed him.

He died before the courts even finished sorting through the debts he left behind.

I still remembered the night I went to the Langford estate.

I had stood in Brandon’s father’s study with shaking hands and asked for help.

Money.

A chance to clear the debts before everything my father built disappeared completely.

The price was simple.

Marriage. He wanted me to marry his son since I was better than the “maid’s daughter.” Then, Mrs. Langford called Clara to the study and handed her a check and a leather folder. Clara took it without arguing and disappeared before Brandon noticed.

Brandon cornered me the night the engagement was announced.

Rain hammered against the tall windows of the library as he paced like a caged animal.

“Tell them no,” he demanded.

“You can’t do this to her.”

His voice was tight with anger.

“Clara has nothing to do with your family’s problems. Stay away from her.”

My chest had ached even then.

I had loved him for years by that point.

Loved him quietly while watching him give his heart to someone else.

“I’m going to be your wife now,” I said softly.

His expression turned ice cold.

“You will never be my wife.”

Those words followed me into the wedding.

Into the marriage.

Into every quiet dinner we had shared since then.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled me back to the present.

Footsteps echoed across the marble floor.

My heart skipped.

Brandon.

Moments later, my bedroom door opened, and he stepped inside without knocking.

He stopped when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

He walked over and sat beside me before placing a hand briefly against my forehead as though checking for a fever.

The gesture was familiar.

Careful.

But distant.

Brandon was not a bad husband. He treated me nicely during our marriage, which made me think we were a normal, sweet couple. I thought the love was growing between us. But I was brought back to reality now, realizing he was just fulfilling his duties as my husband.

And he did his job as a qualified husband excellently.

His gaze moved toward the shopping bag.

He reached inside and pulled out the red lace babydoll, letting the fabric slide slowly through his fingers.

A faint frown appeared.

“This isn’t you,” he said calmly. “Don’t buy things like this again.”

I pushed myself upright.

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

As he spoke, a faint scent drifted from his collar.

Jasmine.

Clara’s perfume.

My chest tightened.

“Then who would it suit?” I asked quietly.

His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Clara.”

The room went completely still.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

“What are you talking about, Thalia?” he asked.

“Answer the question.”

He rubbed his face impatiently.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Do you know she’s back?”

His entire body went rigid.

“Did you go looking for her?” he demanded sharply.

The accusation stung.

And he continued before I could say a word. “I’m warning you, Thalia, stay away from Clara and don’t even dream of hurting her.”

“Hurt her? Why would I want to do that? Don’t I have the right to know if you’re seeing your ex? I’m your wife.”

He dropped the nightwear back into the bag.

“Let’s be clear,” he said coldly. “You asked for this marriage.”

The words landed like a slap.

“You needed money. My family gave it to you. Your debts were paid, and I never treated you badly.”

My throat tightened.

“So don’t start asking for things that were never part of the deal,” he continued. “Just keep playing your role. And never compare yourself with Clara.”

Play your role. Never compare with Clara

Wow… I should have known I was just the contract wife and would never be Clara, the love of his life.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He glanced down at the screen.

My stomach dropped when I saw the name.

Clara.

He answered immediately.

“Yeah.”

His voice softened.

“I’m home. Give me ten minutes.”

He ended the call and stood up.

He didn’t look at me again.

Then he walked out of the room.

The door closed softly behind him.

Silence filled the bedroom.

I sat there staring at the empty doorway, unable to move.

Earlier today I had been dreaming about starting a family with him.

Tiny shoes by the door.

A crib in the empty room down the hall.

But Brandon already had a family.

A woman he truly loved.

A child who called him daddy.

And me?

I was just the contract wife he tolerated.

“I hate you so much, Brandon,” I whispered, but deep down, I knew it was a lie.

By the time I reached my office the next morning, the usual hum of the building felt heavier than normal. Jessy, my assistant, offered a smile and a latte, but I barely noticed.

My inbox was full as always, emails stacking reminders of the life I had poured into this company, Langford Pharmaceuticals. yet Brandon never noticed.

Then came the message that froze my blood: an impromptu briefing with the CEO in Conference Room A.

Project Elara. The treatment I had been leading for eighteen months, the one I had sacrificed nights and weekends for. Brandon rarely requested updates in person unless something critical was happening.

I gathered my tablet and walked toward the executive wing, my chest tightening with every step.

When I opened the door at 9:58, I stopped cold.

Clara. At the head of the table.

Not beside it. At it.

Her navy suit hugged her perfectly. Hair pinned back, red lipstick, that calm, confident smile.

My pulse thundered in my ears. For a moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating.

Dr. Harlan gestured toward her as if unveiling a new research instrument.

“Thalia, perfect timing. Ms. Clara Smith will be taking over primary oversight of Project Elara effective immediately.”

THREE

THALIA

The meeting dragged on for nearly forty minutes.

Charts flashed across the screen as Dr. Harlan talked about revised timelines for Project Elara. Clara stood beside him, explaining sections of the presentation as if she had always been part of the team.

I stayed quiet.

My pen tapped against my notebook once.

Then I forced my hand to stop.

No reaction.

No weakness.

Inside, though, my thoughts were spinning.

How long had Brandon planned this? Because Dr. Harlan told me earlier, Brandon was the one who approved Clara as the supervisor.

Dr. Harlan finally checked his watch.

“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break,” he said. “We’ll reconvene after that to finalize the rollout strategy.”

Chairs scraped back as people stood.

I gathered my tablet slowly.

No rushing.

No running away.

If anyone expected me to break down, they were going to be disappointed.

I stepped out into the hallway.

“Thalia?”

The voice stopped me instantly.

I turned.

Clara stood a few steps away, holding two coffee cups.

Her eyes widened as if she had just seen an old friend.

“Oh my god,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

I stared at her.

“You’re back.”

She walked closer, still smiling.

“I heard you were leading Project Elara,” she said. “I was hoping we’d run into each other.”

“Hoping?” I repeated.

“Of course.” She laughed softly. “It’s been years.”

I didn’t move.

“You disappeared without a word,” I said.

Clara tilted her head slightly.

“Life happens. And you can’t expect me to stick around after you married my man.”

Her gaze slid over me.

“You look good, Thalia.”

I didn’t return the compliment.

“What do you want?”

She lifted one of the coffee cups toward me.

“Peace offering?”

I glanced down at it.

“Black,” she added. “Two sugars. Your favorite.”

“I switched to oat milk years ago.”

Her smile didn’t fade.

“Some habits are hard to forget.”

She stepped closer and held the cup out again.

“Come on. It’s just coffee.”

I hesitated.

Then I reached out.

Her heel suddenly twisted.

“Oh!”

The cup tipped.

Hot liquid splashed across my hand.

Pain exploded instantly.

“Damn it!”

I jerked back as the coffee soaked into my sleeve, burning my skin.

Clara gasped.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

Her tone sounded apologetic.

But her eyes didn’t.

She leaned closer.

“You should really watch where you put your hands, Thalia,” she murmured.

I stared at her.

“What did you just say?”

Her smile turned cold.

“Some things aren’t meant for you to hold onto.”

My stomach tightened.

“Excuse me?”

“Brandon,” she whispered.

Then she added softly,

“This project. This life.”

I clenched my jaw.

“You think you can just walk back in here and take everything?”

She laughed quietly.

“Oh please.”

Her gaze dropped to my hand.

“That burn looks painful.”

I said nothing.

Clara leaned closer again.

“You’ve always had a talent for pretending things belong to you.”

“Stop talking.”

“But it’s true,” she said lightly. “You begged Brandon’s father to save your father’s failing empire.”

My fists tightened.

“And the price was you.”

“Clara—”

“Years of marriage,” she went on. “And you still think Brandon will love you?”

Her smile widened.

“That’s almost adorable.”

“Enough.”

Her voice turned softer.

Mocking.

“Do you still think you’re the noble daughter of the Wentworth family?”

I froze.

She watched my face carefully.

“Oh right,” she continued. “Your father’s empire collapsed, and he died, didn’t he? Who would protect you now? Your mother? Is she still lying in that hospital bed? Years now. Comatose. Completely useless.”

Something inside me snapped.

My hand moved before I could stop it.

The slap echoed through the hallway.

Clara’s head snapped sideways.

A red mark appeared instantly across her cheek.

The conference room door opened, and Brandon stepped out.

Dr. Harlan and two executives followed behind him.

Clara pressed a hand to her face, tears suddenly filling her eyes.

“Brandon…”

Her voice trembled.

“She hit me.”

His gaze moved straight to me.

Not my burned hand.

Not the coffee dripping from my sleeve.

Me.

“What the hell, Thalia?”

I lifted my hand slightly.

“She spilled coffee on me. On purpose.”

“It was an accident!” Clara said quickly. “I already apologized!”

Brandon walked toward us.

His jaw was tight.

“You don’t put your hands on someone in my company,” he said coldly.

I let out a quiet laugh.

“Your company.”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “My company.”

He looked at me with open irritation.

“You’re suspended. Effective immediately.”

The hallway went silent.

“Go home,” he continued. “Cool off. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Discuss what?” I asked.

“Your behavior.”

Clara touched his arm gently.

“Brandon… please. I don’t want trouble.”

His expression softened immediately.

“You’re not the one causing trouble.”

I didn’t say another word.

I turned and walked away.

Each step sent a sharp pulse of pain through my burned hand.

Behind me, I heard Brandon say quietly,

“Come on. Let’s get some ice.”

I didn’t look back.

By the time I reached the lab, my hand was shaking.

I locked the door behind me.

Then I turned on the cold water and held my hand under it.

Blisters were already forming.

Second-degree burn.

The diagnosis came automatically.

Years working with chemicals had taught me enough about injuries.

I grabbed burn cream from the emergency kit and wrapped gauze around the wound.

The pain slowly dulled.

When I finally sat down at my desk, my laptop screen lit up.

Three new emails from headhunters.

I ignored them.

Instead, I opened the HR portal.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then I typed the subject line.

Resignation – Thalia Wentworth

FOUR

THALIA

I had just placed the cardboard box in the passenger seat and was about to start the engine when someone called my name.

“Thalia!”

The voice came from behind me.

I froze for a second before turning around.

Brandon was walking out of the company building, his expression already dark with anger. He must have just finished dealing with his favourite girl upstairs.

His steps were fast and impatient as he approached my car.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I closed the car door slowly.

“Leaving.”

His brows furrowed.

“Leaving for where?”

“Home.”

His eyes briefly shifted to the cardboard box sitting on the passenger seat, but he didn’t seem to think much of it.

Instead, his gaze returned to my face, sharp and cold.

“Good,” he said. “Then come back upstairs first.”

I didn’t move.

“You’re going to apologize to Clara,” he continued. “Right now.”

My fingers tightened around the car keys.

“No.”

For a moment, Brandon simply stared at me.

“What did you say?”

“I said no.”

The air between us seemed to freeze.

“You slapped her in front of the entire company,” he said slowly. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

I stayed silent.

Brandon stepped closer.

“I don’t know when you became this vicious,” he said. “But you’ve completely lost your sense of shame.”

Each word struck like a whip.

“You used to at least pretend to behave properly,” he continued. “Quiet. Polite. Obedient.”

My chest tightened painfully.

“But now you’re acting like some crazy woman who throws public tantrums.”

His gaze hardened.

“Do you know how pathetic that looked?”

Something inside my chest twisted.

“I’m ashamed of you.”

The words landed like a blade.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Five years.

Five years of marriage.

Five years of trying to be the perfect wife.

And in the end, this was what he thought of me.

Like I was something embarrassing he had to tolerate.

Something inside my heart quietly broke.

I took a slow breath.

Then I looked straight at him.

“Let’s divorce.”

The words hung in the air between us.

Brandon blinked once.

Then he scoffed.

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I should have known you’d react like this.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

But before I could check it, Brandon’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

The irritation on his face disappeared immediately.

“Clara.”

He answered the call at once and stepped a few feet away.

His voice softened instantly.

“Are you okay?”

I stood beside my car and watched him.

“Yes, I’m still outside,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything.”

Handle everything.

He turned slightly and glanced back at me.

“Wait here,” he said before returning to the call. “We’ll talk later.”

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I pulled out my phone.

My fingers moved quickly across the screen.

“Help me draft a divorce agreement.”

I sent the message to Knox.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

A few seconds passed before his reply came again.

“Okay, come to my office.”

***

When I returned home later that evening, the sun had already begun to set.

The Langford estate stood quietly under the fading golden light.

For five years, I had called this place home.

Tonight it felt strangely unfamiliar.

I carried the cardboard box inside.

The moment I stepped into the living room, I saw Bailey.

She was slouched across the cream-colored sofa, scrolling through her phone lazily.

She looked up when she heard my heels on the marble floor.

Her eyes immediately dropped to the box in my arms.

“Well,” she said with a smirk. “Look who’s back.”

I didn’t answer.

I started walking toward the stairs.

Bailey sat up immediately.

“What’s in the box?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

She laughed softly.

“Oh, I think it does.” She leaned forward slightly. “The company’s buzzing about you today. Suspended already?”

I kept walking.

Bailey stood up and followed me a few steps.

“You know,” she said casually, “I always wondered how long you’d last there.”

I stopped at the base of the stairs.

“Bailey,” I said calmly. “Leave me alone.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“I said leave me alone.”

Her expression turned mocking.

“You think you can order me around?”

I didn’t answer.

Bailey folded her arms.

“Since you’re already here,” she said lazily, “go make me something to eat.”

I remained silent.

“The lemon chicken,” she added. “The one with capers.”

Her voice turned impatient.

“And don’t forget the garlic this time.”

For five years, that had been the routine.

Bailey ordered.

I cooked.

Dinner.

Coffee.

Snacks.

Whatever she wanted.

She treated me like a maid.

And I endured it.

But today something felt different.

“No,” I said quietly.

Bailey blinked.

“What?”

“I said no.”

Her face twisted with disbelief.

“You don’t get to say no to me.”

I turned and started walking up the stairs.

Behind me her footsteps followed.

“You live here because of my brother,” she snapped. “Don’t start acting arrogant.”

I kept walking.

“This is Brandon’s house,” she continued loudly. “You’re just the placeholder wife.”

My steps didn’t slow.

“Hey!” she shouted. “I’m talking to you!”

I reached the landing.

Then she said it.

“You hear me, barren woman?”

My body froze.

The word hung in the air like poison.

Barren.

Years of doctor visits.

Blood tests.

Waiting rooms.

Bailey knew exactly what she was doing.

Slowly, I turned.

She stood at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, smiling like she had just delivered the perfect insult.

I walked down a few steps until we were almost eye level.

“Listen to me carefully,” I said.

My voice was calm.

Too calm.

“Don’t ever mention my ability to have children again.”

Her smile flickered.

“Or my body,” I continued.

“And definitely not my worth.”

Bailey’s expression stiffened.

“You say something like that again,” I said quietly, “and you will regret it.”

For once, Bailey Langford had no response.

She just stared at me.

I turned and walked away.

Inside the bedroom, the silence felt heavier.

I placed the box on the bed and went straight to the closet.

The walk-in closet was enormous.

Designer dresses lined the racks. Shoes arranged perfectly. Handbags displayed like museum pieces.

Most of it felt like someone else’s life.

I pulled my largest suitcase from the shelf.

Black Rimowa.

The suitcase I had bought five years ago for a honeymoon Brandon postponed until it quietly stopped being mentioned.

I placed it on the bed and unzipped it.

Clothes first.

But not everything.

Only the things that belonged to me.

Sweaters. Jeans. Comfortable clothes Brandon always said were “too casual” for a Langford wife.

Shoes.

Jewelry.

I took a few books from my bedside table, and that was when I saw an old picture of us. Brandon and I.

I took the picture when Brandon was in the hospital after he had an injury on the school track field.

I stayed at the hospital to took care of him for days before he woke up.

He was never fond of taking photos. Every time I asked to take a picture with him, he would grumble that it was girly stuff, and in every single shot, he stood as far away from me as possible with a reluctant face.

That was why, when he lay in the hospital bed, I secretly snapped this photo.

Leaning close to his shoulder and closing my eyes, just like I was lying right beside him.

How foolish of me. I wanted to drop the picture but decided last minute to keep it.

I pulled the suitcase off the bed and rolled it toward the door.

Back downstairs Bailey was sitting on the couch again.

But when she saw the suitcase, her scrolling stopped.

I walked straight past her.

At the coffee table I set the suitcase down.

Then I reached into my purse.

The manila envelope was still there.

Inside the envelope were the divorce papers. Knox prepared them as quickly as he could.

I held it out toward Bailey.

“Give this to your brother.”

She stared at it.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

She took it slowly.

“If this is some pathetic love letter—”

“It’s not.”

I picked up my suitcase again.

The wheels rolled across the marble floor as I walked toward the front door.

Behind me Bailey stood up.

“You’re really leaving?”

I stopped with my hand on the door handle.

Then I looked back at her.

“Yes.”

For the first time in five years, the word felt real.

FIVE

BRANDON

The first thing I felt was anger.

It sat heavy in my chest all afternoon, refusing to fade.

I stood in my office at Langford Pharmaceuticals, staring through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Traffic crawled below like ants. People moved through their ordinary lives, while mine felt like it had been hijacked by chaos.

Thalia’s face flashed in my mind again.

The sharp sound of that slap echoed just as clearly as it had outside the conference room.

My jaw tightened.

I still couldn’t believe she had done it.

Clara had stood there, one hand pressed to her cheek, while half the executive board watched. Her eyes had been shining with tears. The entire hallway had gone silent.

The humiliation burned hotter the more I thought about it.

You don’t put your hands on anyone in my building.

My building.

I had handled the situation exactly the way a CEO should.

Calm. Firm. Controlled.

Still…

Something about the way Thalia looked when she walked away bothered me.

She hadn’t looked angry.

She hadn’t looked embarrassed either.

Just… distant.

As if she had already left long before she walked out of that hallway.

I frowned slightly and pushed the thought away.

She crossed a line.

Simple.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in.”

Lydia from HR stepped inside, holding a tablet. She looked unusually tense.

“Mr. Langford, I came regarding Mrs. Langford—”

“I don’t want to hear anything about Thalia right now.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

Lydia blinked.

“Sir, it’s about a document she submitted—”

“I said I’m not interested.”

Silence filled the room.

Lydia hesitated for another second before nodding quickly.

“Understood.”

She turned and left the office.

The door closed softly behind her.

I exhaled and turned back toward the window.

Protecting the company mattered more than whatever stunt Thalia was pulling today.

And right now I have more important priorities.

Clara.

My thoughts drifted backward before I could stop them.

Back then, the three of us had been inseparable.

Me, Clara, and Thalia.

Those summers felt endless.

Thalia had always been the loudest one.

The spoiled princess of the Wentworth family.

Fearless.

Dramatic.

Always dragging the rest of us into whatever adventure she had planned that day.

Clara was the complete opposite.

Quiet.

Gentle.

Shy.

She followed Thalia everywhere like a shadow.

One hot afternoon.

The stadium was packed. The sun burned against my neck. I was sprinting across the football field, eyes on the goal.

The ball came fast. Too fast.

I went for it, shoulder first, trying to block the other player.

Then… I felt it.

Pain exploded in my side as I hit the ground hard, hearing a crack echo in my skull.

Everything blurred.

Voices. Shouts. My teammates’ panic. Then darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room stared back at me.

The smell of antiseptic filled the air.

Machines beeped quietly beside my bed.

My head throbbed.

My entire body felt like it had been crushed.

“Brandon?”

The voice was small and hesitant.

I turned my head.

Clara sat beside the bed.

Her hair was messy, and dark circles framed her tired eyes.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

A doctor came in and checked my vitals.

“You’ve been unconscious for a whole week,” he explained.

A week. Seven days.

After the doctor left, Clara leaned forward and carefully took my hand.

“I stayed,” she said softly.

“What?”

“The whole time.”

Her voice trembled slightly.

“I didn’t leave.”

Later a nurse confirmed it.

Clara had refused to go home.

She slept in the chair beside my hospital bed.

Ate vending machine snacks.

Argued with nurses who tried to make her rest.

She stayed there every single day.

That was the moment everything changed.

That was when I fell in love with her.

But life had a way of ruining everything.

Years later our families stepped in.

They arranged my marriage to Thalia.

Business alliances.

Social standing.

Status.

Clara disappeared before the wedding.

Just vanished.

For five years I heard nothing from her.

Not a single message.

Not a single explanation.

Then, a few weeks ago, she walked back into my office like a ghost from the past.

And she wasn’t alone.

She was holding the hand of a little boy.

Dark curls.

Dark eyes.

The child looked up at me curiously.

Clara’s voice trembled slightly.

“He’s my son.”

The words hit me like thunder.

She told me everything after that.

She left because my mother threatened her and after leaving the country, she married a man simply to survive.

But the marriage had been a nightmare.

Her husband was an alcoholic.

A drug addict.

He beat her constantly.

For years, she had endured it, trying to protect her child.

Until finally she couldn’t take it anymore.

She fought her way out of that life and escaped with her son.

With nowhere else to go…

She came back to me.

The memory of the pain in her eyes tightened something in my chest.

My heart ached for her.

No one deserved to suffer like that.

Not Clara.

I had made a promise to myself that day.

I would protect her.

No matter what.

My phone rang suddenly.

Bailey’s name flashed across the screen.

I answered.

“What is it?”

Her voice exploded through the speaker.

“Your wife has completely lost her mind!”

I frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“You need to come back right now!”

I rubbed my temple.

“I’m on my way.”

The call ended.

—

Night traffic buzzed through the city as I drove back to the estate.

When I stepped inside, Bailey was pacing in the living room like an angry storm cloud.

“Oh good,” she said when she saw me. “You’re finally back.”

I loosened my tie.

“Start talking.”

“She came in with a box of office junk,” Bailey said. “Looked like a hurricane hit her.”

“And?”

“She refused to cook dinner.”

I stared at her.

“That’s your complaint?”

Bailey ignored the comment entirely.

“She threatened me on the stairs,” she continued. “Then she packed a suitcase and walked out.”

I walked to the bar cart and poured myself a drink.

“You’re telling me my wife left the house because you asked her to cook?”

“That’s not the point,” Bailey snapped.

She grabbed something from the coffee table.

“She told me to give you this.”

A manila envelope.

My name was written across the front in Thalia’s handwriting.

“What is it?” I asked.

Bailey shrugged.

“No idea. She wouldn’t say.”

I turned the envelope once in my hand.

Then I placed it back on the table.

Thalia had pulled tricks like this before.

Years ago, when I canceled our honeymoon because of work, she left a letter in an envelope demanding an apology before she would come home.

I didn’t apologize.

Two days later she returned on her own.

The memory made me shake my head slightly.

This was probably the same thing again.

Another dramatic stunt.

Another childish demand for attention.

I was too tired to deal with it tonight.

“I’ll look at it later,” I said.

Bailey blinked.

“You’re not even going to open it?”

“Not tonight.”

Just then, my phone rang again.

This time it was my secretary.

I answered.

“Yes?”

Her voice sounded cautious.

“Mr. Langford… I thought you should know.”

“Know what?”

There was a brief pause.

“Mrs. Langford submitted her resignation today.”

SIX

THALIA

Across the city, my new apartment still smelled faintly of fresh paint.

Freedom had a strange scent.

I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the half-opened boxes scattered everywhere. The place wasn’t nearly as large as the Langford estate, but it felt lighter somehow. The silence didn’t feel heavy here. It felt… peaceful.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in!”

The door swung open, and Knox, my good friend and lawyer, walked in like he owned the place, a bottle of champagne balanced in one hand.

“Wow,” he said, glancing around the apartment. “Minimalist chaos. I like it.”

“It’s called moving,” I said.

He set the bottle down on the counter and looked around again.

“Not bad,” he said. “Small, but nice. Also significantly less terrifying than the Langford mansion.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been to the Langford estate once.”

“And once was enough,” he said. “That house felt like it was judging me.”

“It probably was.”

Knox grinned and lifted the champagne bottle.

“You’re celebrating tonight.”

“I’m unpacking tonight.”

“No,” he corrected. “You’re celebrating.”

He popped the cork before I could stop him. Foam spilled over the rim as he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen counter.

“To Thalia Wentworth,” he said dramatically.

“Formerly Langford,” I corrected.

Knox handed me a glass. “Exactly. To being single again.”

I hesitated for a second, then clinked my glass against his.

“To being single.”

We drank.

Knox leaned against the counter, studying me over the rim of his glass.

“You know what?” he said.

“What?”

“You look depressed.”

I frowned. “I am not depressed.”

“You’re wearing a beige sweater and gray pants.”

“So?”

“So the Thalia I knew in college would rather swallow broken glass than wear beige.”

“That was years ago.”

“Exactly,” Knox said. “What happened to you?”

“Life happened.”

He tilted his head.

“Correction. Brandon happened.”

I didn’t respond.

Knox watched me quietly for a moment, then sighed.

“You used to be the loudest person in the room,” he said. “Remember sophomore year? You dragged half your department to that horrible karaoke bar at midnight.”

I laughed despite myself. “That place was fun.”

“You sang on top of a table.”

“I was encouraged.”

“You were drunk.”

“Details.”

Knox smirked.

“That girl vanished the second you married Brandon.”

“That girl grew up.”

“No,” Knox said calmly. “That girl got buried under someone else’s expectations.”

I looked away.

He pointed at my clothes.

“And this,” he continued, “is evidence.”

I glanced down at my sweater.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s beige.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“It’s tragic.”

I laughed.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You used to wear red leather jackets,” he continued. “And those glitter boots.”

“They were not glitter boots.”

“They were absolutely glitter boots.”

“They were stylish.”

“They were blinding.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself.

“Did Brandon hate colorful clothes too?” Knox asked suddenly.

I hesitated.

His eyes widened.

“You’re kidding.”

“He preferred… neutral colors.”

He set his glass down and crossed his arms.

“You stopped going out.”

“So?”

“You stopped dressing like yourself.”

“It’s just clothes.”

“You stopped being you,” Knox said flatly.

I sighed.

“You’re exaggerating.”

Knox pushed away from the counter.

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re fixing this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I just moved in!”

“And now you’re going out.”

“I haven’t been to a bar in years.”

“Exactly,” Knox said.

He grabbed my wrist.

“Come on.”

“Knox—”

“No excuses.”

“Where are we even going?”

“To fix your wardrobe first.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“Good thing it’s not your money.”

“Knox!”

“Relax,” he said. “I owe you after that statistics project you saved me from in college.”

“That was eight years ago.”

“I hold grudges.”

***

An hour later, I was sitting in a salon chair while two stylists worked on my hair.

“This is insane,” I muttered.

Knox sat across the room, scrolling through his phone like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“You kidnapped me.”

“I rescued you.”

“I didn’t need rescuing.”

“You absolutely did.”

One of the stylists laughed quietly.

“He’s very invested in this makeover,” she said.

“Too invested,” I replied.

Knox looked up.

“I heard that.”

“Good.”

Another stylist walked over holding a dress.

“Your friend picked this.”

I stared at the dress.

It was black, elegant, and definitely not something I had worn in years.

“That’s not subtle,” I said.

“Exactly,” Knox replied.

Twenty minutes later, the stylist spun my chair toward the mirror.

“Done.”

I blinked at my reflection.

My hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders. My makeup was light but sharp enough to highlight my eyes. The dress fit perfectly, the slit showing just enough leg to feel bold without being ridiculous.

I barely recognized myself.

Knox stood and looked me over.

“There she is.”

“Who?”

“The real Thalia.”

***

Fowler's nightclub exploded with music and light the moment we stepped inside.

The bass vibrated through the floor while colored lights flashed across the packed dance floor.

Knox spread his arms.

“Now this,” he said, “is therapy.”

“You think loud music is therapy?”

“Absolutely.”

We walked toward the bar.

Almost immediately, people started staring.

“Wow,” someone whispered behind us.

“Who is that?”

“Isn’t that Knox Carter?”

I glanced at him.

“You’re famous here?”

“I think so,” he said casually.

He was definitely famous here. Back in college, Knox was popular among the girls, the school’s golden boy. As much as he loved having fun, he was extremely serious when it came to work.

Before we reached the bar, a blonde woman approached him.

“Knox,” she said with a smile, touching his arm. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Working,” he replied.

“You disappeared on us.”

“I had cases.”

“You always have cases.”

She tilted her head.

“Dance with me tonight?”

Knox gestured toward me.

“I already came with someone.”

She glanced at me, surprised.

“Oh.”

“Another night,” Knox said politely.

She laughed. Then she walked away.

I looked at him.

“You know everyone here.”

“Occupational hazard of being charming.”

I laughed, shaking my head. Damn! I’ve missed my friend.

At the bar, he ordered two drinks.

While we waited, he leaned closer.

“Someone’s been asking about you.”

“About me?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

He nodded toward the corner.

A woman stood there watching us.

My breath caught.

“Olivia?”

She walked toward us slowly.

“You look alive again,” she said.

“Olivia…”

“We can argue later,” she said quickly. “Right now, I’m just glad you’re out of that marriage.” She looked towards Knox and said, “he told me.”

I laughed awkwardly.

“You always were brutally honest.”

“You always needed someone to be.”

Knox raised his glass.

“Well,” he said. “Reunion accomplished.”

Olivia smiled. We used to be close, but after I got married, Olivia noticed I was changing and kept telling me not to lose myself, that I was not happy. But I broke contact with her, thinking she just hated that I was married.

“Thank you for dragging her here,” Olivia said

Knox shrugged.

“Someone had to.”

“You two are terrible,” I said.

“Correct,” Olivia replied.

Twenty minutes later, Knox grabbed my hand.

“Dance floor.”

“What? No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not dancing.”

“You absolutely are.”

Before I could protest, he pulled me into the crowd.

Music blasted around us as lights flashed across the room.

“You remember how to dance?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Someone nearby laughed.

“Look at them.”

“They look perfect together.”

“Are they a couple?”

I rolled my eyes.

Knox spun me once dramatically.

“See?” he said. “Still got it.”

“You’re attracting attention.”

“That’s normal.”

“For you maybe.”

A group of girls nearby whispered loudly.

“That’s Knox Carter.”

“He’s ridiculously handsome.”

“Who’s the girl with him?”

“I don’t know.”

Then suddenly—

A hand grabbed Knox’s arm.

Hard.

“Take your hands off my wife.”

The music seemed to fade for a second.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned.

Brandon stood behind us.

His eyes burning with fury.