"Honey?" I said, the word hanging awkwardly between us.
Arthur Sterling's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Excuse me?" His voice was deep, controlled, and laced with steel.
I swallowed hard. "I think we need to talk. About our... marriage."
"I don't know who you are or what game you're playing," he said, his tone flat. "But I suggest you stop now."
I pulled the folded photocopy from my purse. "This says otherwise." My hand trembled slightly as I held it out to him. "According to official records, we're married."
He took the paper without touching my fingers, unfolding it with precise movements. His eyes scanned the document, and for a split second, something flashed across his face—surprise, confusion, anger—before his features settled back into an impenetrable mask.
"This is clearly a forgery." He handed it back to me. "I'm already married."
That caught me off guard. "You're what?"
"Married. For the past three years." He checked his watch, dismissing me. "I don't have time for this nonsense."
"But that's impossible," I insisted. "The registry system—"
"Is not infallible." He cut me off. "Someone made a mistake. Or more likely, you did this intentionally."
My cheeks burned with indignation. "Why would I fake a marriage to someone I've never even met?"
His cold eyes assessed me from head to toe. "The same reason most women try to attach themselves to me. Money. Status. Power." Each word dripped with disdain. "You wouldn't be the first to try. Just the most creative."
"I don't want your money!" I said, my voice rising. "I want answers. And a divorce."
Something shifted in his expression. "A divorce," he repeated. "From a marriage that doesn't exist."
"From a marriage that apparently does exist, according to official records," I countered. "Look, I don't understand what's happening either, but—"
"Ms...?" He trailed off expectantly.
"Dubois," I supplied. "Elara Dubois."
"Ms. Dubois. I don't know how you got this document or what you hope to gain. But this conversation is over." Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone on the balcony.
I hurried after him, unwilling to let my only chance slip away. "Wait! We need to figure this out!"
The ballroom was still crowded with guests. Arthur moved through them effortlessly, a sea of people parting for him without conscious thought. I struggled to keep up, weaving through clusters of chattering socialites.
I caught sight of his broad shoulders near the exit. "Mr. Sterling, please!"
He didn't slow down. Within moments, he was through the door and gone.
I rushed toward the entrance, only to collide with Fiona. She steadied herself against the wall, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my arm.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "Chasing after Arthur Sterling like some desperate groupie?"
"It's none of your business, Fiona."
Her eyes narrowed. "Everything in this house is my business. Especially when it involves my fiancé's family." She adjusted her designer dress. "You're making a fool of yourself. As usual."
Before I could respond, Alistair Dubois approached, his expression concerned. "What's going on? I just saw Arthur Sterling leave rather abruptly."
Fiona's face transformed instantly into a mask of filial concern. "Oh, Daddy, it was so embarrassing. Elara was pestering Mr. Sterling all evening. He finally got fed up and left."
"What? That's not—"
"Is this true, Elara?" Alistair's stern gaze fixed on me.
"Of course not," I started, but Fiona cut me off.
"She was following him around, trying to talk to him about some business proposition," Fiona continued smoothly. "As if someone like Arthur Sterling would be interested in anything she has to offer."
Alistair's face hardened. "Elara, this event is important for our family. For Fiona's future." The unspoken message was clear: my role was to blend into the background, not cause problems.
"I understand," I said stiffly. "If you'll excuse me."
I walked away, ignoring Fiona's triumphant smirk. I needed space to think, to process what had just happened. Arthur Sterling denied our marriage yet claimed he was already married to someone else. None of it made sense.
My phone buzzed in my purse. Victor, my operations manager.
"Victor, what did you find?" I answered, keeping my voice low.
"Boss, you're not going to believe this," Victor said, excitement vibrating through his voice. "Arthur Sterling is the CEO of Sterling Group. Took over five years ago in what industry insiders call a 'bloodless coup.' He pushed out his own family members—including his father—to take control."
My stomach dropped. "How bad is he?"
"They call him the Ice King. Ruthless in business, never loses, shows no mercy to competitors." Victor paused. "There are rumors he destroyed his brother's career when he tried to challenge him. His own brother, Elara."
I closed my eyes briefly. "Great. Just great."
"There's more," Victor continued. "Sterling Group is expanding into our market sector. They've been acquiring smaller companies like ours for the past year. Usually hostile takeovers."
The implications hit me like a truck. My company—my secret company that I'd built from nothing—was in the final stages of preparing for an IPO. A connection to Sterling Group now, especially a personal one like marriage, could derail everything. Investors would assume a merger or acquisition was coming, or worse, that my company was just a front for Sterling's interests.
"Victor, this stays between us," I said firmly. "No one can know about this supposed marriage. And I need a meeting with our lawyers first thing tomorrow."
"You got it, boss. What's the plan?"
"Get a divorce," I said decisively. "As quickly and quietly as possible."
After ending the call, I slipped out of the mansion. The night air felt cool against my flushed skin as I walked to where I'd parked my scooter. The modest vehicle looked out of place among the luxury cars lining the driveway—a perfect metaphor for my own position in the Dubois family.
I rode through the quiet streets, my mind racing. How had this happened? Was it a clerical error? A bizarre coincidence? Or something more deliberate?
Lost in thought, I almost didn't see the elderly woman who stepped into the road until the last moment. I swerved sharply, bringing my scooter to a skidding halt mere inches from her.
"Oh my god!" I gasped, jumping off. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you!"
The woman seemed disoriented, her silver hair disheveled and her expensive clothing rumpled. She looked around in confusion.
"Ma'am?" I approached cautiously. "Are you lost? Can I help you get home?"
She didn't respond, her gaze distant. I noticed a medical alert bracelet on her wrist. Pulling out my phone, I prepared to call for assistance.
"I should contact someone for you—"
Without warning, her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. Her eyes cleared, focusing on my face with sudden intensity.
"Granddaughter-in-law!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a note of delighted recognition. "You're my granddaughter-in-law!"
I blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you must be mistaken. I'm not—"
"Arthur's wife," she continued firmly, her grip tightening. "My grandson Arthur Sterling's wife. I'd know you anywhere."
My blood turned to ice. How could this woman possibly know about a marriage that even I hadn't known about until today? Who was she?
"Arthur's wife," she repeated, patting my hand affectionately. "You've finally come home to us."