Everyone in New York knows my marriage to Brandy Sterling is a sham.

It’s a role I’ve played for three whole years.

For three years, the heir to the Sterling Group has drifted between exclusive parties and supermodels, never once setting foot in our Manhattan penthouse.

His scandals are relentless. Day after day, he's photographed leaving a different hotel with a new woman on his arm.

The next day, those photos would be plastered across the headlines of every gossip rag.

He never cared about my feelings, because in his eyes, I had stolen the place that rightfully belonged to his first love.

My friends all pity me, whispering behind my back that I’m nothing more than a pathetic, decorative wife.

I never correct them. I just smile, manage his latest PR crisis, and play the part of the perfect Mrs. Sterling.

But what they don't know is that our marriage is nothing more than a business arrangement. I signed a secret prenuptial agreement with his father, Arthur.

Brandy needed a wife to secure his inheritance, and I needed the Sterling family's top-tier medical resources.

Once the contract expires, I can get a divorce, receive a massive trust fund, and use it to pay for the medical care of my beloved Stephen, who lies in a deep coma.

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1

Everyone knows that Brandy was forced by his family to marry me.

That's why he hates me. He hates me for stealing the position that should have belonged to his unforgettable first love.

After his first love, Emily, abandoned him for a new life in Europe, Brandy went completely off the rails. To get him to settle down, his family strong-armed him into marrying me.

After the wedding, I dutifully played my part as the perfect wife.

No matter how late he stumbled home or whose perfume clung to his suit, I never said a word.

Of course, he almost never came home at all.

When the tabloids would catch him leaving a hotel with some famous starlet and the photos hit the headlines the next day, Brandy's mother, Eleanor, would summon me. Her voice dripping with disdain, she accused me of being unable to keep my husband in line and shaming the family name.

Every single time, Brandy would just stand there, a mocking glint in his eyes, swirling the whiskey in his glass as if he were watching an amusing little play unfold.

My friends all said I was pitiful and that Brandy was a first-class bastard.

But deep down, I felt no hatred, no resentment. Hate takes energy, and I had none left to waste on him.

I would plaster on a smile and help him smooth over every scandal.

I accompanied him to business events with a practiced smile, playing the part of the perfect wife for all the world to see.

Because in one more month, our contract would finally expire.

I could take the money—enough to cover all of Stephen's medical expenses—and walk away.

But before I could even taste the freedom, Emily came back.

And on the very first day of her return, they flaunted an intimate photo together across all their social media.

The day Emily returned to New York, I was in the middle of cleaning up the fallout from Brandy's latest scandal.

In the photo, he had his arm wrapped around a blonde, whispering in her ear. They looked impossibly close.

The online comments section had exploded. Some condemned Brandy's flagrant infidelity, while others mocked me, the official wife who was nothing but a figurehead.

"Isn't Brandy Sterling married? Why is he always being photographed with other women?"

"To the person above: Just proves his wife can't keep him satisfied. Besides, our Brandy is gorgeous. What's wrong with him having a little fun on the side?"

"Seriously. If I were Charlotte Hayes, I'd kill to be in her shoes. She's living the dream."

"You people are certifiably insane."

A bitter laugh escaped me as I stared at the screen. In a twisted way, they weren't wrong.

Brandy Sterling had always been the center of everyone's universe.

Especially with those deep-set eyes of his, which held a look of careless, devastating seduction.

As the future head of the family, he was a born winner.

Too bad his soul was rotten to the core.

I was rubbing the bridge of my nose, having just shut my laptop, when the beep of the fingerprint lock echoed through the silent apartment—a sound I hadn't heard from anyone but myself in ages.

The man at the door wore a black baseball cap, his dark eyes shadowed beneath the brim.

It was Brandy.

In three years of marriage, it was a rare sight for him to be home.

But there was another woman standing behind him.

She was clutching the corner of Brandy's jacket, her expression the picture of vulnerability.

Before I could find my voice, the woman spoke. "I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I know this is sudden. I just got back to New York, and there was a mix-up with my hotel... I had nowhere else to turn. I called Brandy in a panic, and I never dreamed he'd bring me here. I hope this isn't a huge imposition?"

I understood immediately. This had to be Emily, the woman Brandy had once been madly in love with.

The moment she was back in town, he couldn't wait to parade her through our marital home.

I looked at Brandy.

He didn't even spare me a glance.

But when his gaze fell on Emily, his dark eyes softened, filled with the tenderness of a man who had just recovered something precious he thought was lost forever.

He took Emily's hand and led her toward the master bedroom, tossing a cold command over his shoulder as he passed: "You're in the guest room from now on."

Then the bedroom door slammed shut, leaving me standing alone in the cavernous living room.

In three years of marriage, it had always been this way. He could be endlessly gentle with other women, but to me, he was treated like a piece of furniture—not even worth a second glance.

I didn't argue. I just turned and walked to the guest room.

Patience, Charlotte, I told myself. Just thirty more days.

One more month, and my contract with Arthur is up.

I can take the money and leave. I can finally get Stephen the treatment he needs.

The next morning, I was having breakfast alone in the dining room.

Emily emerged from the master bedroom wearing one of Brandy's oversized white shirts. The hem barely covered anything, and her neck was a roadmap of hickeys from the night before.

I deliberately kept my eyes fixed on my plate.

Seeing my lack of reaction, she seemed displeased at being ignored.

She leaned against the dining table, fiddling with a coffee cup. "Morning, Charlotte," she began, her voice sickly sweet. "So sorry about last night. Brandy just got a little carried away. I hope we weren't too loud, were we?"

She stared at me with those wide, innocent eyes, as if I were the one intruding on her home.

I set down my fork, my gaze raking over her from head to toe. "It was quite loud," I said coolly. "But I'm used to it. He brings all sorts of women home."

Emily's sweet expression soured instantly. Enraged, she suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. "Who are you calling 'all sorts of women'?"

With a vicious tug, she snapped the delicate bracelet on my wrist, sending its custom beads scattering across the polished floor.

My heart clenched.

It was the first gift Stephen had ever given me.

I hurriedly bent down to pick up the beads, but she deliberately shot her high heel out, kicking one of them so it skittered under the sofa.

"Oops, my foot slipped," she cooed, her eyes glinting with malice.

My composure shattered. I lunged, my nails aimed right for her face.

But my wrist was caught in a firm, powerful grip.

Brandy had emerged from the bedroom at some point. He frowned at me, his tone glacial. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Emily immediately switched to playing the victim. "I was just saying hello to Charlotte, and I accidentally broke her bracelet. She just went crazy and tried to attack me."

"I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I really didn't mean to. I'll pay you back for it, I promise!"

She hid behind Brandy, her voice choked with fake sobs.

Brandy glanced at the scattered beads on the floor, his eyes filled with disdain. His voice was cold. "It's just a bracelet. Buy another one."

"Was it really necessary to get physical?"

"You lack the grace one would expect from the lady of this house. I honestly don't know what my father ever saw in you."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

He was always like this, blaming me without ever bothering to learn the truth.

I wasn't about to waste my breath arguing with him. I gathered the scattered charms, didn't spare either of them another glance, grabbed my bag, and slammed the door on my way out.