Chapter 4
It turned out that I never stood a chance from the very beginning.
"There's no point keeping these," Bernie said.
I looked up suddenly.
Bernie stood at the bathroom door, his hair still dripping wet, dressed in dark gray loungewear.
He walked over and took the photo album from my hands.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"Holding onto them will only make things harder for you," Bernie said.
He grabbed the album and tossed it straight into the trash can in the corner.
I shot to her feet. "That's my stuff!"
"You're my wife now," Bernie said.
Bernie fixed his gaze on me, water dripping down his jaw and onto his collarbone. "I can't change your past, but in this house, I don't want Martin's presence haunting every corner."
I was trembling with rage. "So you just toss out my memories? What gives you the right?"
"With this," Bernie said, pulling a document from the nightstand drawer and handing it to me.
A marriage contract.
Everything was spelled out, clear as day.
The marriage would last for one year.
During that time, Daisy would live here as Mrs. Walkley and take care of Dawn.
Bernie would provide everything Daisy needed and pay her a monthly "salary" of 30 thousand dollars.
Once the year was up, they'd get a peaceful divorce, and Bernie would pay Daisy an extra 1.5 million dollars as compensation.
If Martin managed to get custody of Dawn and actually stepped up as a father during this time, the agreement could be terminated early.
The last clause was marked in red: Daisy Martha had the right to terminate the agreement unilaterally at any time.
"Take a good look," Bernie said.
"You're not trapped here. This is just a transaction.
"I'm paying for a year of your time, so you can be there for Dawn through her hardest times.
"You can leave whenever you want, if you can bring yourself to walk away from him."
I clutched the agreement, the edges of the paper cutting into my fingertips.
"Why?" I asked.
I looked up at him. "Why would you go this far for Dawn?"
"He's not even related to you by blood. he's not even Martin's child," I said.
I stopped mid-sentence.
Bernie's eyes suddenly turned cold.
"Who told you that?"
His voice was soft, but there was a dangerous edge to it.
"Martin told me when he was drunk," I said, meeting his gaze.
"He said you were his father's comrade-in-arms, and after his parents died, you took him in.
"You were only twenty-five at the time, just out of the military. You were still a kid yourself."
"That's enough," Bernie cut me off.
The air seemed to freeze.
After a long pause, Bernie went to the window, his back to me. The night outside made his figure seem even lonelier.
"I promised his father," Bernie said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if talking to himself.
"I promised I'd make sure he grew up right, settled down, built a career, and found happiness."
He gave a bitter smile. "I managed the first part, but messed up the rest."
Suddenly, I realized all those little things over the years. Every time Martin and I fought, Bernie would just keep quiet.
Whenever Martin ran off to see Selena, Bernie would show up at home to be with Dawn.
Whenever I broke down in tears, he'd hand me a tissue, but never said a word.
It wasn't indifference.
It was helplessness.
"So you're trying to make things right?" I asked.
"Is this really how you plan to do it?"
"This is all I can do," Bernie replied.
He turned around, and something in his eyes seemed to shatter. "Dawn needs a mother, and Martin... he'll never really grow up."
"He's always chasing after things he can't have, never noticing what he already has right in front of him."
He walked up to me, a head taller, but now he bowed his head, like a kid caught doing something wrong.
"I'm sorry, Daisy."
He said, "I dragged you into this in such a shameless way."
I looked at him. This man, just thirty years old, with a vast business empire and a status that commands respect, now stood here humbled, apologizing because of a promise and a child who wasn't even his by blood.
"One year," I heard myself say.
"Just one year," I repeated.
His eyes suddenly brightened.
"But I've got a few conditions," I said.
"First, we have separate bedrooms. Second, around Dawn, we pretend to be a real couple. And third..." I took a deep breath. "If Martin truly changes, I'm leaving, no questions asked."
The day Selena returned to the country, the first heavy rain of the year poured down.
Bernie was at the office, and I was home with Dawn, building Legos.
We'd spent three days putting together this huge aircraft carrier Lego set with over a thousand pieces, and we were just missing the last piece.
Just as the doorbell rang, Dawn excitedly held up the control tower. "Mommy, look!"
I ruffled his hair and headed to the door.
I stopped dead in my tracks in the entryway.
Selena was standing at the door, dressed head-to-toe in Chanel. Rain dripped from the edge of her Hermès umbrella, forming a small puddle on the gleaming marble floor.