I’d just finished my postpartum confinement and finally had enough strength to go out. I took my baby to the county office to request a copy of her birth certificate.

“Hi, I’m here to get my daughter’s birth certificate. Her name’s Blair Evan Sinclair.”

She typed for a while, then paused. Her eyes narrowed at the screen.

“Ma’am… there’s already a child registered under that name. Blair Evan Sinclair is listed under Jordan Evan Sinclair’s household. The child’s about six years old.”

I blinked at her. “That can’t be right. My baby’s only a month old. You have to be looking at the wrong file.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry. It’s the same name. Same father.”

Before I could even process that, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a message from Jordan’s assistant. Anastasia Beverly.

My chest tightened before I even opened it.

The photo loaded.

Jordan had his arm around her waist and his other arm was around a little boy, maybe five or six. They were standing outside a kindergarten. The three of them were laughing like they were the happiest family in the world.

The boy’s school badge was clear.

Blair Evan Sinclair.

My throat closed.

Another message popped up.

“Genevieve, how does it feel being the other woman? I guess you’ll always live under the real wife.”

The screen blurred. I wasn’t even sure when my eyes filled with tears.

Other woman? Me?

What was I then? What were the past seven years?

I forced myself to breathe and looked back at the clerk. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

“Can you… can you check Jordan Sinclair’s marriage record too?”

She hesitated but nodded. A few minutes later, the printer started humming.

The paper felt light when she handed it to me, but my hands were shaking like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Spouse: Anastasia Sinclair.

Marriage date: Seven years ago.

Seven years.

That was the same year he’d married me.

“Ma’am,” the clerk said gently, “do you still want to process your daughter’s paperwork?”

I looked down at my baby sleeping in her carrier. Her tiny lips moved like she was dreaming.

I swallowed hard. “Yes. Please register her under my name only. And… I need to change her name.”

I couldn’t let my daughter carry a lie.

...

When I walked out of the county office, my legs felt weak, like the ground wasn’t steady.

My phone buzzed again.

Jordan.

“Honey, I’m stuck in a meeting right now. I’ll come home later and spend time with you and the baby. Don’t wait up, okay? Miss you already.”

Honey.

Wife.

He’d called me that every single day. He’d texted me whenever he went out, told me where he was, who he was with. He’d hug me the second he stepped through the door, like he couldn’t survive a minute without me.

Was any of it real?

At some party years ago, some rich girl insulted me in front of everyone. The next day her family’s company collapsed. Jordan told me softly, “No one gets to disrespect my wife.” I’d believed him. I’d thought I was protected.

Once I mentioned I liked a limited edition bag I saw online. He flew overseas overnight just to buy it and came back smiling like he’d won a war. “If it makes you happy, it’s worth it,” he’d said, kissing my forehead.

All that devotion. All that sweetness.

Was it guilt? Was it a performance?

I sat in the driver’s seat and tried to put the key in the ignition, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

So while he was wrapping his arms around another woman and picking up their son from school, he was texting me that he missed me?

How many times had he left their house and come straight to mine?

The thing that used to move me the most was that hospital mistake.

The nurse had mixed up the reports and told me I had bone cancer. Late stage. I still remembered the way the room spun when I heard it.

Before I could even react, Jordan grabbed the doctor’s coat with both hands. His eyes were red in seconds.

“What do you mean bone cancer? Do something!” he shouted. “Find the best specialist, the best hospital, I don’t care how much it costs. If she needs my bone marrow, take it. Take everything. If she dies, I’m not living either. Do you hear me?”

He was shaking. Actually shaking.

When they finally came back and said it was a mistake, that the report wasn’t mine, he slid down the wall in the hallway and squatted there like a lost kid. His shoulders were trembling.

He pulled me into his arms and kept saying, “Thank God, Gen! Thank God you’re okay. I thought I was going to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

I’d believed that. How could I not?

Everyone used to warn me. As his business got bigger, more women would circle him. They’d say powerful men never stayed clean.

But he treated me like I was the only woman in the world. I couldn’t even force myself to doubt him.

So why Anastasia?

Of all people, why her?

He used to despise her.

Back when she worked as a nanny for the Sinclair family, she once showed up in this low cut dress to bring him coffee. I still remembered the sound of the glass shattering against the wall.

“Don’t play these cheap tricks with me!” he’d snapped at her. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Don’t come back tomorrow.”

He turned around and pulled me into his arms right in front of her. His voice dropped, low and intense.

“Wife, you’re the only one in my heart. Anyone who tries to get close to me like that, I’ll throw them out. I won’t let anyone disrespect you.”

Anastasia had knelt on the floor crying, begging him not to fire her. He didn’t even look at her.

“I only love my wife,” he'd said coldly. “I can’t stand dirt in my sight. Don’t ever show your face to me again.”

She’d packed up and left that same day.

And then months later, when she suddenly appeared as his personal assistant at the company, I’d questioned him.

He held my face and sighed like he was the reasonable one.

“Genn, after she lost her job, her family tried to marry her off to some old widower. She’s been threatening suicide every day. I’m worried she’ll start spreading rumors about us. It’s safer to keep her where I can see her. I’m doing this to protect you.”

To protect me.

And I believed him.

Six years. They’d been together for six years. They even had a six year old son.

Right under my nose.

I bit down hard and forced the tears back. Crying wasn’t going to change anything. I contacted a private investigator.

Thirty minutes later, he sent me a video with the live location.

I drove there without thinking.

Jordan wasn’t at the company. He’d just come out of Blair’s kindergarten after a parent teacher meeting.

He was holding Anastasia’s hand. Carrying the little boy in his other arm. The three of them crossed the street together, laughing.

The smile on his face looked so soft and real. Softer than any smile he’d ever given me in our family photos.

Why did that hurt more than the marriage certificate?

I pressed the gas and followed them all the way to a villa area on the outskirts of the city.

Jordan got out first and opened the trunk. He pulled out a huge box of toys.

The boy screamed happily and ran off with it.

Anastasia leaned into him, her voice playful. “You spoil him way too much. One day he’s going to walk all over you.”

Jordan chuckled and brushed her hair back. “If I don’t spoil my son, who will? Of course I’m proud.”

He leaned down and kissed her. Not quick. Not distant. A real kiss.

She looked up at him, “Baby, thank you for arranging the best private primary school for Evan. You didn’t have to do so much. When I found out I was pregnant back then, I didn’t even plan to tell you. I never wanted to cause trouble for you and Genevieve. Just seeing you from far away was enough for me.”

“What are you saying?” Jordan pinched her cheek gently. “Don’t think like that. She won’t find out. And even if she does, what can she do?”

He smiled at her like she was the only one who mattered.

“You’re my wife on paper. You and our son deserve everything. It’s only right that I take care of you.”

My wife on paper.

So what was I?

The public decoration? The woman he cried for in hospital hallways? The one he swore he couldn’t live without?

Anastasia started laughing while she was still crying, like she couldn’t believe how lucky she was. Jordan leaned close to her ear and whispered.

“Since we’re legally husband and wife,” he murmured, “don’t you think we should actually act like it? We’ve been too restrained.”

She hit his chest lightly. “You’re shameless.”

He just laughed, scooped her up and carried her straight into the villa.

I was still sitting in my car.

It felt like something blunt was sawing through my chest. Not sharp enough to kill me quickly. Just slow and painful.

...

I drove home without remembering how I got there.

That night, when Jordan pushed the door open, he did what he always did. He spread his arms wide, that soft smile already on his face.

“Wife,” he said warmly, walking toward me, “did you wait long? You must be exhausted taking care of the baby all day. Come here, let me hug you.”

I stepped aside before he could touch me.

He paused for half a second, then smiled like nothing happened.

“I went to the county office today,” I said quietly. “About registering our daughter.”

His expression changed fast, but he covered it up just as fast.

“Oh, that?” He waved it off. “I’ll handle it another day. Don’t stress about that stuff.”

“I can do it,” I replied. “It’s not that complicated.”

His tone hardened for a split second. “I said I’ll take care of it!”

Then he saw my face and softened immediately. He reached for my hand.

“Genn, don’t misunderstand. The paperwork is messy these days. You just finished postpartum confinement. You shouldn’t be running around. Stay home and rest. Leave everything to me, okay? I don’t want you tired.”

So considerate. So caring.

I lowered my eyes and nodded.

I didn’t tell him that our daughter had already been registered under my name. I didn’t tell him I’d changed her last name.

And I definitely didn’t tell him that on my way home, I’d made another call.

To the one man Jordan hated the most.

I’d held my phone tightly and said, very calmly, “I’m still legally single. If you’re still willing… marry me in seven days.”

There was a long silence on the other end before he answered yes.

Back in the living room, Jordan let out a small sigh and leaned against me like he was the one who’d been wronged.

“It’s been weeks since you finished your confinement,” he said softly. “We haven’t had time for ourselves. Tonight maybe we could…”

My stomach twisted.

Before I could respond, my phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Panic?

He turned his back to me to answer.

After he hung up, his voice was rushed. “Honey, there’s an emergency at the company. I have to go now. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

He kissed my forehead quickly and grabbed his coat.

I followed him in my own car.

His car didn’t head toward the company.

It stopped in front of that same secluded villa.

A few minutes later, Anastasia walked out. She swayed her hips like she knew she’d won. She slid into the passenger seat.

Then the car started rocking.

I stared at it, numb.

With shaking hands, I opened the listening app on my phone. I’d installed it months ago because I was worried about his safety during business events. I wanted to make sure no one plotted against him.

How ironic.

Now it was helping me hear my husband cheat.

Her voice came first, soft and fake sweet. “Good thing I told you I had a stomachache. If I didn’t lie, you’d have stayed home pretending to be the perfect husband tonight.”

He laughed breathlessly. “You should rest more. Don’t overthink. Genn doesn’t suspect anything.”

There was a pause, then he added, almost casually, “After she gave birth, her body changed so much. Her stomach’s covered in stretch marks. I can’t even look at it without feeling turned off.”

I stopped breathing.

That body had carried his child.

Anastasia gasped softly. “Then don’t go back tonight. Stay with me. Let her sleep alone for once.”

He didn’t answer with words. The sounds that followed were enough.

A few minutes later, the car door opened. He lifted her again and carried her inside like she was something precious.

…

The next morning, I was lying there, pretending to wake up when Jordan came in. His hair was damp like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

“Genn, come on, get up. I’ve got something planned for you today,” he said, “There’s a fair with some antiques you used to like. I thought… you’d enjoy it.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead, the same gentle gesture I’d believed was love. I hesitated, staring at him, and then got up.

...

At the fair, Anastasia appeared, dripping in red from head to toe, that ridiculous slit in her dress making everyone stare.

“Mr. Sinclair, your coat.”

Jordan froze, then turned to her like she’d just thrown dirt on him. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you, and you know better than this.”

She tilted her head at me, trying to look wronged. “But someone has to make sure you’re comfortable, right?”

People around us started whispering immediately. Everyone knew he doted on me. Our wedding had been grand, a spectacle the city still talked about.

Jordan’s grip on my waist tightened, and his eyes went cold. “Anastasia, enough. This is not your place. Go back to the office.”

She hesitated, biting her lip, then ran off, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

Jordan turned back to me, trying to act calm. He kissed my forehead again and helped me sit. But I could feel the tremor in his hands, the tension in his body. He kept glancing at the display cases, his feet shifting nervously under the table.

“I’ll step out for a bit. Just… pick whatever you like.”

The people around us whispered, envious. “Look at him doting on his wife. How sweet.”

“Do you think she even knows what she’s looking at? Born into the Fitzwilliam family. Must feel untouchable.”

I ignored them, my stomach twisting. I followed him as he left, and my heart sank when I reached the women’s restroom.

I shouldn’t have, but I heard them.

“Why did you even come here dressed like that? Three times this morning wasn’t enough?” Jordan’s voice was low, rough, panting almost.

“You started it,” Anastasia said, whining but flirty. “Why didn’t you think of that when you threw me out of the house?”

I wanted to disappear.

He muttered, almost lazily, “Relax, she’s just my wife on paper. Everyone here does this for the Fitzwilliam name, not me. You know that.”

“I am your legal wife!” she whispered, her voice shaking. “When will I ever get to be with you openly?”

Jordan’s voice hardened. “Stop talking nonsense. We agreed to keep this quiet. Don’t push it.”

Then, his voice softened again, “Here, the gem I got? It’s yours. Consider it… a small apology.”

“I want a real wedding too,” she murmured, “something bigger than hers. Something everyone can see.”

Then there was that sound I’ll never forget. I staggered out of the fair, pressing against the wall, retching, heart twisting.

So that’s him. The man who gave me a grand wedding, a title, public displays of affection, all while keeping his real love for her and their child.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. Six more days. Just six more days and it’s over.

I called my assistant, voice steady but hard as steel. “Check all my shares and projects in Sinclair Group. Prepare the transfer papers immediately.”

Her next words froze me.

“Miss Genevieve… the Cancer Research Project you handled? It was transferred to Miss Anastasia last month.”

The “Cancer Research Project” had been my father’s pride and joy. He’d devoted his life to helping people, and this project was meant to develop new treatments that could actually save lives.

I’d worked through my pregnancy, keeping the project going for months. It was only right before giving birth, when everything was finally starting to fall into place, that I allowed myself to breathe a little.

When I got to the company, my assistant was sweating like she’d run a marathon.

“Miss Genevieve, Mr. Sinclair has handed everything over to Miss Anastasia. Big, small… we don’t even know what’s happening inside.”

I said quietly, steady as I could, “It’s fine. Take me to the president’s office. I know the password to Jordan’s computer.”

Before I could move, Anastasia appeared, blocking the hallway.

“Miss Genevieve, wait,” her chest puffed out, lips swollen and red. I could see hickeys on her neck. She looked… untouchable.

“You can’t go in without the president’s say-so,” she added, her tone dripping with fake authority.

“Move. This is my project. I’ve overseen it from the start, and I have the right to check it myself.”

She narrowed her eyes and hissed, “You let this slide during your pregnancy, and now you want to swoop in and claim it?!”

I stared at her, my jaw tight. “You think you can steal months of work? You think it just falls into your lap? There’s no free lunch.”

She couldn’t stop me. She couldn’t. In her frustration, she started blurting everything she felt, like a child lashing out.

Just then, Jordan arrived, looking flustered. “Genn… why are you here already? You didn’t wait for me.”

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Busy playing house with her, weren’t you? How could you even care about me right now?

I handed him a stack of documents. “Look at this, Jordan. Every original sample, every imported material for the treatments… it’s been swapped for cheap junk. Who changed the suppliers and pocketed the difference?”

He glanced at the papers and frowned, clearly realizing something was off.

Anastasia’s face was drained of color. “I… it’s nothing to do with President Sinclair. I just… I wanted extra money for my son. I didn’t think it would go this far. I’m sorry, Miss Genevieve…”

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’re committing fraud. I’m calling the authorities.”

Before I could even finish, a small figure barreled into me, throwing me off balance.

“Mom! Don’t let her hurt you! Dad, make him pay!”

I froze.

Blair Evan Sinclair.

The hit wasn’t hard, but I’d just given birth a month ago. My body was still weak. When that little body slammed into me, pain shot through my stomach and I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped my throat. My vision blurred for a second.

The whole office went quiet.

Jordan rushed over like some heroic husband. “Genn, hey, look at me. Are you hurt? Does it hurt anywhere? Tell me.”

His hands hovered near my shoulders but didn’t really touch me.

Anastasia quickly pulled Blair behind her, wrapping her arms around him like she was shielding him from danger.

“Evan, that’s not polite,” she said gently, but there was no real anger in her voice. “You can’t push people like that. Say sorry to Auntie.”

Auntie? Me? Wow.

Then she looked at me with those watery eyes. “Miss Genevieve, please don't be upset. Don’t take it out on a child. He’s just protective of his mom.”

Protective.

Before I could even respond, Jordan spoke first. “Genn, don’t be harsh on him. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t understand adult matters.”

He turned to Anastasia. “Take Evan downstairs. I’ll talk to Genevieve. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Didn’t mean anything?

I looked straight into Jordan’s eyes. “Explain what, exactly?” I asked slowly. “Explain why he called me a bad woman? Or explain why he called you Dad?”

The air turned heavy.

For a second, Jordan’s face stiffened. Then he forced a smile. “You’re overthinking. Kids call anyone they’re close to Dad sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Really?

I couldn’t stand there and watch them act anymore. I turned and walked out.

Jordan chased after me. “Genevieve, why are you making this a big deal? He’s six! You’re arguing with a six year old now?”

I stopped walking.

Six years old and already that vicious. Who taught him that? Who let him think I was the enemy? Was that not their responsibility?

I clenched my fists. “Kids don’t come up with that kind of hatred on their own. They learn it.”

His expression shifted instantly. He frowned like I’d offended him. “What are you implying? That he’s mine? Genevieve, that’s ridiculous! I only have one child. Our daughter.”

He said it so smoothly. So naturally.

Even now, he was lying.

I let out a laugh that didn’t sound like mine. “Then what’s our daughter’s name?”

He froze.

“You haven’t even named her yet, have you?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

I remembered the name he’d once written in his memo. I’d seen it by accident months ago. He’d written, I hope my child grows up proud and unbreakable. The name attached to that wish had been meant for our baby.

And now that name belonged to Anastasia’s son.

I looked at him steadily. “Her name is Jennifer.”

He swallowed. His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read, then he softened again, slipping back into that gentle tone.

“Jennifer,” he repeated with a small smile. “That’s beautiful. Bright and warm. Just like you. She’ll always light up your life.”

He reached out like he wanted to touch my hair.

I stepped back slightly.

“I’ve got a business trip for a few days,” he continued, like nothing had happened. “When I get back, we’ll talk properly. I’ll make things clearer for you.”

“Of course,” I cut in. “Work’s important.”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I walked away.