A lunch with Mrs. Dubois was long overdue. I'd deliberately chosen The Garden Terrace—neutral territory where memories of being an outsider wouldn't haunt me. The elegant restaurant had just enough privacy for a comfortable conversation without the suffocating atmosphere of the Dubois mansion.
I checked my phone, finding a message from "Grandson." Arthur Sterling's concern for his grandmother was surprisingly touching.
"How is she this morning? Did she take her medication with breakfast? The blue pill must be taken exactly 30 minutes after eating."
I smiled, typing back: "All medications administered on schedule. She slept well and enjoyed her breakfast. Currently reading in the living room."
For proof, I recorded a short video of Old Mrs. Sterling peacefully turning pages in her book and sent it to him.
His response came quickly: "Thank you. The doctor says her vitals look stronger than they have in weeks."
I glanced at Mrs. Sterling, who was completely oblivious that her grandson was monitoring her health from a van parked nearby. The arrangement was strange, but it seemed to be working. She was thriving with the personalized attention, and I was... well, I was actually enjoying her company.
My thoughts returned to the pending divorce. Today was the day I'd finally meet Arthur Sterling face-to-face at his office. I needed that divorce signed as soon as possible—my company's future depended on it.
The next morning, I dressed with extra care in a modest navy blue dress and minimal makeup. Professional, forgettable—exactly what I needed for this meeting. I checked on Mrs. Sterling one last time before leaving.
"I have an important appointment," I explained. "Will you be alright for a few hours?"
She waved me off with a smile. "Don't worry, dear. I'll be fine with my book. You look lovely—going somewhere special?"
I hesitated. "Just a business meeting."
An hour later, I stood in the gleaming lobby of Sterling Group. The building was intimidating—all glass and steel, a monument to power and wealth.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Sterling," I told the receptionist, a perfectly groomed woman with sharp eyes.
She barely glanced up. "Name?"
"Elara Dubois."
Her fingers clicked across the keyboard before her eyes narrowed. "There's no appointment under that name."
"There must be a mistake. I'm here about a personal matter."
The receptionist's expression hardened. "Mr. Sterling doesn't take unscheduled meetings, especially for 'personal matters.'" Her tone made it clear what she thought those "personal matters" might be.
"Could you please call his office? He'll want to see me."
"Listen," she said, lowering her voice, "women like you come here every day claiming to have 'personal business' with Mr. Sterling. He's a very important man. Without an appointment—"
"Is there a problem here?"
That voice. My stomach dropped as I turned to see Fiona gliding toward us, impeccable in a designer suit, her smile razor-sharp.
"No problem," I said quickly. "I was just leaving."
"Elara?" Fiona's surprise seemed genuine for a split second before transforming into malicious delight. "What are you doing here? Surely you're not trying to see my future uncle-in-law?"
The receptionist straightened immediately. "Miss Dubois! We weren't expecting you today. Would you like me to call up to Mr. Sterling's office?"
"That won't be necessary," Fiona said sweetly. "I know my way. But I'm curious—what exactly is my stepsister doing here?"
Before I could respond, Fiona's eyes widened in mock realization. "Oh, Elara. Please tell me you're not trying to get a job here? That would be..." She trailed off, examining me from head to toe. "Well, let's just say you're not exactly Sterling Group material."
The receptionist was now looking at me with open disdain.
"I had business with Mr. Sterling," I said evenly.
"Business?" Fiona laughed. "What business could you possibly have with someone like Arthur Sterling?"
I held my ground. "That's between him and me."
"I see," Fiona's voice carried across the lobby, drawing attention from everyone nearby. "First you assault me at my engagement party, and now you're harassing my fiancé's uncle? This obsession with the Sterling family has gone too far, Elara."
"That's not what—"
"Security might need to get involved," the receptionist suggested, reaching for her phone.
Fiona placed a manicured hand on the woman's arm. "Give her a chance to leave with some dignity. After all, she is family—even if she is the embarrassing kind."
My cheeks burned with humiliation. Every eye in the lobby was on me, watching this public dressing-down.
"I'll go," I said quietly, gathering what remained of my pride.
Fiona's smile was victorious. "Wise choice. And Elara? Stay away from the Sterling family. You don't belong in our world."
As I turned to leave, my phone vibrated. A message from "Grandson."
"Meeting location?"
I hesitated before typing: "Sterling Group main entrance."
Upstairs, Arthur Sterling frowned at his phone. The woman who had been caring for his grandmother—the mysterious "Need Iron"—was at his building?
He abruptly stood, startling his assistant. "Cancel my next meeting."
"But sir, the investors from—"
"Reschedule," he snapped, already heading for the door.
His mind raced as he took the executive elevator down. Who was this woman really? Her care for his grandmother had been exemplary—even the doctor was impressed. Her medical knowledge was precise, her attention to detail impeccable. But why come to his office? What did she want?
Whatever game she was playing, he'd find out soon enough. The elevator doors opened, and Arthur strode into the lobby, scanning the area for someone who might be waiting for him.
His eyes landed on a woman with her back to him, standing rigid as his nephew's fiancée spoke to her. Something in the woman's posture—proud despite clear discomfort—caught his attention.
Then he heard Fiona's carrying voice: "—absolutely pathetic. Honestly, Elara, did you think a man like Arthur Sterling would even spare you a glance? Know your place."
Arthur froze. Elara? The same Elara Dubois who was supposedly his wife? The coincidence was too great.
He watched as the woman turned slightly, revealing a profile that struck him with its quiet dignity. She wasn't what he'd expected. There was no desperation in her demeanor, no grasping ambition—just a controlled composure that was cracking under public humiliation.
And suddenly, something clicked in his mind. This woman being berated by Fiona... could she possibly be "Need Iron"? The timing was too perfect to be coincidence.
His eyes narrowed as he studied her more carefully. If this Elara Dubois was indeed the woman caring for his grandmother, and also his alleged wife...
The implications were staggering.
"I should have security remove you," the receptionist was saying, reaching for her phone again.
That was enough. Arthur strode forward, decision made in an instant. Whatever this woman's agenda, she'd shown genuine care for his grandmother. That earned her at least the benefit of doubt.
"That won't be necessary," he said, his authoritative voice cutting through the lobby chatter like a knife.
All eyes turned to him—including those of Elara Dubois, who looked up with a mixture of relief and apprehension that puzzled him.
Her eyes widened slightly as they met his, and in that moment of connection, Arthur felt an inexplicable certainty that his life was about to become infinitely more complicated.