Chapter 2

I didn't sleep that night.

I sat alone in Adrian's office long after the building had emptied, staring at the photograph on the screen until my eyes began to ache. Every time I tried to close the folder, another question forced me to open it again.

There had to be an explanation.

Perhaps the photographs had been taken out of context. Perhaps Vivian had deliberately arranged them to make it look as though something had happened between them. Maybe she was blackmailing Adrian, and these documents were connected to some business matter I didn't understand.

I kept inventing excuses for him because admitting the truth felt impossible.

Adrian had never been careless with me.

At least, that was what I had believed.

I opened the photographs again and examined their dates. Three months ago. Two months ago. Six weeks ago. Some had been taken only days before.

They weren't old memories.

They were recent.

I moved to the documents.

The first few were business agreements I didn't understand, but then I found a private contract bearing Adrian's signature.

My name appeared on the first page.

Elena Vale.

My breath caught.

I began reading.

The document had been prepared seven years ago, shortly before our wedding. It described an arrangement involving the Cross family trust and Adrian's inheritance rights.

At first, the legal language was difficult to follow. I read the same paragraph three times before the meaning finally settled in my mind.

Adrian's grandfather had placed a condition on a substantial portion of the family's controlling shares.

Adrian could not obtain permanent control until he had remained married for seven consecutive years.

I stared at the sentence.

Seven years.

Our seventh anniversary was twenty-one days away.

I looked at the date again, certain I had misunderstood it.

I hadn't.

My fingers slowly tightened around the edge of the desk.

"No..."

The word came out as a whisper.

I continued reading.

The agreement stated that Adrian's marriage had to remain valid until the seven-year condition was fulfilled. There were additional clauses concerning succession, ownership, and the transfer of shares once the requirement had been satisfied.

Then I saw how I had been described.

Spouse of record.

I read it again.

Spouse of record.

Not wife.

Not partner.

Not Elena, the woman Adrian had loved for seven years.

A legal requirement.

A position that needed to be occupied until a condition was fulfilled.

My stomach twisted.

I pushed myself away from the desk and walked toward the window. The city lights blurred beneath my eyes.

For seven years, I had thought Adrian chose me because he loved me.

I remembered the night he proposed.

We had been sitting on the balcony of our first apartment, eating takeout because we couldn't afford anything better. He had taken my hand and told me that he didn't care how difficult life became as long as I stayed beside him.

"I don't need a perfect wife," he had said. "I just need you."

I had believed every word.

Now I wondered whether he had simply known exactly what I wanted to hear.

I returned to the computer and continued reading.

The agreement explained why Adrian had been so determined to keep our marriage intact during those first few difficult years.

I remembered our worst arguments.

There had been nights when I packed a suitcase and threatened to leave because Adrian had become impossible to reach. Yet every time, he had stopped me.

He had apologized.

He had promised to change.

He had held me until I cried myself to sleep.

I had thought it was because he couldn't bear to lose me.

But perhaps he couldn't afford to lose his marriage.

That possibility hurt far more than the photographs.

Then another memory surfaced.

Our anniversary.

Adrian had always disliked celebrating it publicly.

Whenever I suggested having dinner with our friends or family, he would find an excuse.

"It's private," he always told me.

At the time, I thought he was simply protective of our relationship.

Now I understood why he had never wanted too many people asking questions about the exact date of our marriage.

He had always known the date mattered.

Seven years.

Twenty-one days.

I scrolled further.

There were schedules attached to the agreement. Share transfers. Trust instructions. Succession documents.

I recognized several company names, but one name appeared repeatedly.

Vivian Hart.

My heart began pounding again.

Why was Vivian mentioned in a succession arrangement connected to my marriage?

I opened another document.

It contained instructions for what would happen after the seven-year condition was fulfilled.

A portion of the shares would remain under Adrian's control.

Another portion would be transferred through a private trust.

The beneficiary information had been partially redacted.

I searched through the attached pages until I found an older copy.

This time, the beneficiary's name was visible.

Vivian Hart.

I stopped breathing.

For several seconds, I simply stared at the screen.

Vivian wasn't merely Adrian's first love.

She had been connected to his family's plans long before she returned.

I thought about the way Adrian had behaved whenever I mentioned her.

The sudden silence.

The change in his expression.

The way he would tell me that some things were better left in the past.

He hadn't wanted me to ask questions.

Because there were answers he didn't want me to find.

I opened another file.

It was a handwritten note, scanned into the archive.

The handwriting looked like Adrian's.

There was only one sentence.

Once Elena has fulfilled her part, everything goes back to Vivian.

I read it once.

Then again.

The words refused to make sense.

My hands began to tremble.

"Fulfilled my part?"

I said it aloud, even though there was no one there to answer me.

What part?

Being his wife?

Staying beside him?

Helping him build his company?

Giving him seven years of my life?

A bitter laugh escaped my throat.

For seven years, I had believed I was building a marriage.

Apparently, I had been completing a contract.

I sank into the chair.

Memories came rushing back, each one suddenly carrying a different meaning.

The day Adrian asked me to marry him.

The wedding.

The honeymoon.

The first anniversary.

The house we bought.

The company I helped save.

The nights I waited for him.

The sacrifices I made without being asked.

How many of those moments had actually belonged to me?

How many had simply been necessary for him to reach this point?

I wiped my eyes before the tears could fall.

I refused to cry for him.

Not yet.

I wasn't ready to forgive myself for being so blind, but I wasn't going to spend the entire night blaming myself either.

I forced myself to keep searching.

If Adrian had hidden this from me, there had to be more.

I opened the oldest folder in the archive.

Most of the documents were dated around the time of our wedding.

One file caught my attention.

Pre-Marriage Correspondence — Confidential.

I clicked it.

Emails appeared on the screen.

The earliest one was dated three months before my wedding to Adrian.

I read the first message.

Then I saw the name of the sender.

Vivian Hart.

My fingers froze above the keyboard.

Three months before Adrian and I got married, Vivian had already been communicating with the Cross family.

And she wasn't asking about Adrian.

She was asking about me.