Chapter 2 · The Marriage That Never Was

Chapter 2

I didn't go home.

I went back to the law firm.

Ethan was still there. He looked a little stunned when he saw me. "Ms. Grant?"

"I'm ready to sign the contracts to sell everything," I said.

He hesitated. "Some of the buyers haven't confirmed their final prices yet"

"Go with their offer," I told him. "Wrap it all up in seven days."

Ethan looked at me, said nothing, and laid out the papers.

I signed them one by one.

The Grant Hotel Group, my grandmother's oceanfront villa, every piece of commercial property in Bayview City, the resorts, the office towers.

In half a day, I sold off half of the 26.6 billion my grandmother spent 60 years building.

The rest of the buyers were out of town. They'd be flying in to sign over the next few days.

After signing the last document, I set the pen down.

"Thank you, Mr. Cole," I said.

Ethan sighed quietly. "Ms. Grant, whatever happens, I'm always here."

I managed a small smile.

As I stepped out of the law firm and stood by the curb, a detail suddenly came to mind.

Every month, Richard would go to the Lane family's private hospital. He always said it was a routine check-up.

A few times, I wanted to go with him, but he'd always brush me off. "If you come, I'll have to worry about you. Stay home, okay?"

Now that I thought about it, he was probably there for Sophie's prenatal appointments.

In the end, I was nothing but a fool, played for seven whole years.

My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number popped up, with only one line: [Do you remember that warm womb soup from seven years ago?]

My hand clenched tight.

Seven years ago, a month before the wedding, Richard's mom, Helen Lane, personally made me a bowl of soup.

She said it was a family recipe, supposed to help me get pregnant.

I was so touched, I drank it all in one go.

After that, I never got pregnant again.

I saw countless specialists, had endless tests, and everyone said my "ovarian function was abnormal."

Richard would hold me and say it was fine. He told me he didn't care about having kids, and having me was enough.

I believed him.

Now, the text told me that soup wasn't meant to help me have a baby, but to make sure I never could.

I called the number back.

The phone rang three times before someone picked up.

A woman's voice came through, soft and cautious, like she was afraid someone might overhear. "Ms. Grant, this is Annie. I used to cook for the Lane family. Do you remember me?"

I remembered her. She'd been the Lane family's cook for 10 years, then out of nowhere, she was let go three years ago. It was said that she was heading back to her hometown. It always felt sudden.

"That soup," her voice trembled, "it wasn't Mrs. Lane's idea. She and Sophie made the medicine together. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked.

"Because," she paused for a long time, "my daughter used to work at Lane Holdings. They threatened me with that and told me to keep quiet. But she quit last month, so I'm not scared anymore."

"Anything else?" I pressed.

"Sophie has two kids," she said. "Twins, three years old. They're being raised at the Lane family's old house, and everyone thinks they're Mrs. Lane's relatives."

I closed my eyes.

'Twins, three years old?' I wondered.

So, while I was stuck in an endless cycle of IVF treatments, breaking down after every failure, crying myself to sleep night after night, Sophie was giving him twins.

"Thank you, Annie," I said, then hung up.

The night wind in Bayview City swept in from the sea, sharp and salty, chilling me to the bone.

I stood under the streetlight, scrolling up through my chat history with Richard.

One message after another.

Every single one was "Miss you," "Love you," "Wait for me to come home."

Every single one was a lie.

I took screenshots of the chat and saved them to an encrypted album, then I sent him a message: [Okay, honey, I'll be waiting for you.]

Richard got home at eleven that night.

He pushed the door open, watch box in hand, wearing his usual smile. "Tori, did you miss me?"

I was sitting on the couch and gave him a small smile. "Of course I did."

He walked over, bent down to kiss my forehead, and handed me the watch box. "Go on, open it."

I opened it. The watch was gorgeous.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"I love it," I replied.

He smiled, loosened his tie, and slumped back on the couch. "I'm wiped out. Met with three groups of clients on this trip, and each one was tougher than the last."

I poured him a glass of water.

"By the way," I said casually, "did you have some red wine on the plane?"

His hand paused for a second as he took the glass, only for a second.

"Yeah, they offered it in first class. I tried a sip," he said.

"I thought you didn't drink red wine. Didn't you say you're allergic to tannins?" I asked.

He laughed. "A sip is fine."

I let it go.

He went to take a shower.

I sat on the couch and scrolled through Sophie's Moments on my phone.

She'd posted something 40 minutes ago.

The photo showed two tiny hands holding a big one, with the caption: [Dad's back.]

There were more than twenty comments underneath.

Every single one was from someone in the Lane family.

Richard's cousin commented: [The little ones are so cute.]

Another cousin wrote: [Richard looks so cool as a dad.]

Every comment felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

So after he got off the plane, he went straight to the Lane family's old house to see his babies with Sophie first.

Only after that did he come "home", back to me, the stand-in wife.

The sound of running water drifted out from the bathroom.

I got up, walked into the study, and turned on the computer.

I logged into Richard's email. The password was still my birthday.

I started digging through his emails.

Most were work stuff, so I skimmed past them.

Then I found one from three months ago, sent by Helen.

Subject: About Victoria

The body was two lines: [Richard, you can't keep dragging things out with Sophie. As for Victoria, wait until she gets her grandmother's inheritance. Not a single cent of that 26.6 billion can leave her hands.]

I stared at the screen, my fingers turning cold.

It wasn't my feelings they messed with for seven years.

They wanted my money too.

The fortune of 26.6 billion was why they kept me around.

If City Hall hadn't slipped up, or Ethan hadn't dug up the truth, after I got the inheritance, they would've used that fake marriage certificate to rob me of half my fortune, all nice and legal.

I closed the email and cleared my browsing history.

Richard came out of the bathroom, hair still dripping, wrapped in a towel. "Tori, why are you still up?"

I shut the laptop and turned to him with a smile. "Waiting for you."

He grinned and scooped me up. "Come on, let's go to bed."

I lay my head on his shoulder, staring at the back of his head, and suddenly felt like I was looking at a stranger.

I had loved him for 26 years, but when he hugged me, what was he really thinking? Was it Sophie, or the 26.6 billion?

Chapter 2

I didn't go home.

I went back to the law firm.

Ethan was still there. He looked a little stunned when he saw me. "Ms. Grant?"

"I'm ready to sign the contracts to sell everything," I said.

He hesitated. "Some of the buyers haven't confirmed their final prices yet"

"Go with their offer," I told him. "Wrap it all up in seven days."

Ethan looked at me, said nothing, and laid out the papers.

I signed them one by one.

The Grant Hotel Group, my grandmother's oceanfront villa, every piece of commercial property in Bayview City, the resorts, the office towers.

In half a day, I sold off half of the 26.6 billion my grandmother spent 60 years building.

The rest of the buyers were out of town. They'd be flying in to sign over the next few days.

After signing the last document, I set the pen down.

"Thank you, Mr. Cole," I said.

Ethan sighed quietly. "Ms. Grant, whatever happens, I'm always here."

I managed a small smile.

As I stepped out of the law firm and stood by the curb, a detail suddenly came to mind.

Every month, Richard would go to the Lane family's private hospital. He always said it was a routine check-up.

A few times, I wanted to go with him, but he'd always brush me off. "If you come, I'll have to worry about you. Stay home, okay?"

Now that I thought about it, he was probably there for Sophie's prenatal appointments.

In the end, I was nothing but a fool, played for seven whole years.

My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number popped up, with only one line: [Do you remember that warm womb soup from seven years ago?]

My hand clenched tight.

Seven years ago, a month before the wedding, Richard's mom, Helen Lane, personally made me a bowl of soup.

She said it was a family recipe, supposed to help me get pregnant.

I was so touched, I drank it all in one go.

After that, I never got pregnant again.

I saw countless specialists, had endless tests, and everyone said my "ovarian function was abnormal."

Richard would hold me and say it was fine. He told me he didn't care about having kids, and having me was enough.

I believed him.

Now, the text told me that soup wasn't meant to help me have a baby, but to make sure I never could.

I called the number back.

The phone rang three times before someone picked up.

A woman's voice came through, soft and cautious, like she was afraid someone might overhear. "Ms. Grant, this is Annie. I used to cook for the Lane family. Do you remember me?"

I remembered her. She'd been the Lane family's cook for 10 years, then out of nowhere, she was let go three years ago. It was said that she was heading back to her hometown. It always felt sudden.

"That soup," her voice trembled, "it wasn't Mrs. Lane's idea. She and Sophie made the medicine together. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked.

"Because," she paused for a long time, "my daughter used to work at Lane Holdings. They threatened me with that and told me to keep quiet. But she quit last month, so I'm not scared anymore."

"Anything else?" I pressed.

"Sophie has two kids," she said. "Twins, three years old. They're being raised at the Lane family's old house, and everyone thinks they're Mrs. Lane's relatives."

I closed my eyes.

'Twins, three years old?' I wondered.

So, while I was stuck in an endless cycle of IVF treatments, breaking down after every failure, crying myself to sleep night after night, Sophie was giving him twins.

"Thank you, Annie," I said, then hung up.

The night wind in Bayview City swept in from the sea, sharp and salty, chilling me to the bone.

I stood under the streetlight, scrolling up through my chat history with Richard.

One message after another.

Every single one was "Miss you," "Love you," "Wait for me to come home."

Every single one was a lie.

I took screenshots of the chat and saved them to an encrypted album, then I sent him a message: [Okay, honey, I'll be waiting for you.]

Richard got home at eleven that night.

He pushed the door open, watch box in hand, wearing his usual smile. "Tori, did you miss me?"

I was sitting on the couch and gave him a small smile. "Of course I did."

He walked over, bent down to kiss my forehead, and handed me the watch box. "Go on, open it."

I opened it. The watch was gorgeous.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"I love it," I replied.

He smiled, loosened his tie, and slumped back on the couch. "I'm wiped out. Met with three groups of clients on this trip, and each one was tougher than the last."

I poured him a glass of water.

"By the way," I said casually, "did you have some red wine on the plane?"

His hand paused for a second as he took the glass, only for a second.

"Yeah, they offered it in first class. I tried a sip," he said.

"I thought you didn't drink red wine. Didn't you say you're allergic to tannins?" I asked.

He laughed. "A sip is fine."

I let it go.

He went to take a shower.

I sat on the couch and scrolled through Sophie's Moments on my phone.

She'd posted something 40 minutes ago.

The photo showed two tiny hands holding a big one, with the caption: [Dad's back.]

There were more than twenty comments underneath.

Every single one was from someone in the Lane family.

Richard's cousin commented: [The little ones are so cute.]

Another cousin wrote: [Richard looks so cool as a dad.]

Every comment felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

So after he got off the plane, he went straight to the Lane family's old house to see his babies with Sophie first.

Only after that did he come "home", back to me, the stand-in wife.

The sound of running water drifted out from the bathroom.

I got up, walked into the study, and turned on the computer.

I logged into Richard's email. The password was still my birthday.

I started digging through his emails.

Most were work stuff, so I skimmed past them.

Then I found one from three months ago, sent by Helen.

Subject: About Victoria

I stared at the screen, my fingers turning cold.

It wasn't my feelings they messed with for seven years.

They wanted my money too.

The fortune of 26.6 billion was why they kept me around.

If City Hall hadn't slipped up, or Ethan hadn't dug up the truth, after I got the inheritance, they would've used that fake marriage certificate to rob me of half my fortune, all nice and legal.

I closed the email and cleared my browsing history.

Richard came out of the bathroom, hair still dripping, wrapped in a towel. "Tori, why are you still up?"

I shut the laptop and turned to him with a smile. "Waiting for you."

He grinned and scooped me up. "Come on, let's go to bed."

I lay my head on his shoulder, staring at the back of his head, and suddenly felt like I was looking at a stranger.

I had loved him for 26 years, but when he hugged me, what was he really thinking? Was it Sophie, or the 26.6 billion?