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2 Chapter 2 – A Stranger Named Husband
I nodded in thanks for the information, my eyes tracking the group as they moved to a specially prepared area. Arthur helped his grandmother from the wheelchair to a comfortable armchair, his movements surprisingly gentle for such an intimidating
man.
I didn’t bother responding. Years ago, I had wondered the same thing–why Mrs. Dubois, who should have hated the living reminder of her husband’s infidelity, had instead shown me such tenderness. Now I simply accepted her kindness as the one bright spot in this household of vipers.
“Elara!” A soft voice interrupted our exchange.
“Are you insane? You will stay away from him.” Genevieve’s voice had taken on a panicked edge. “Go make yourself useful in the kitchen or something.”
The man who walked in commanded attention without effort. Tall and powerfully built, he moved with the confidence of someone who knew his value exactly. His dark suit looked custom–made, molding perfectly to his broad shoulders. But it was his face that caught my attention–the same face from the marriage certificate, but infinitely more imposing in person.
Arthur Sterling.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But this isn’t over.”
His gaze, when it met mine, was ice–cold and penetrating. He said nothing, just stared at me with an expression that suggested I was an unwelcome interruption.
His eyebrow raised slightly at the word “daughter,” his gaze lingering on me with what
seemed like new interest.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You ungrateful little-”
Genevieve’s laugh was bitter. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Somehow getting your hands on a fake certificate with Arthur Sterling’s name? What’s your game? Blackmail? You think you can squeeze money out of the Sterlings with this pathetic
scheme?”
Arthur stepped fully onto the balcony, putting his phone to his ear. He turned his back
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to me, clearly expecting I would leave. I didn’t.
“What are you still doing here?” she demanded. “You’ve gotten what you wanted–the marriage certificate. Now leave before you embarrass us in front of the Sterlings.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Give me back my certificate.”
“I don’t know what spell you’ve cast on her,” she muttered. “She’s always had a soft spot for you. Disgusting”
But I stood my ground as Genevieve retreated inside. This might be my only chance to speak with him alone.
I took a deep breath, summoned all my courage, and smiled tentatively.
From my vantage point on the stairs, I could see the entire reception hall. Fiona stood beside Caleb near the entrance, both wearing forced smiles as they greeted guests. My gaze drifted to the front door just as it opened to admit a new arrival.
Genevieve released me with a shove toward the door. “Get downstairs and stay in the background where you belong. And fix yourself–you look like a servant.”
“You’re too thin,” she insisted, then turned to Genevieve. “Make sure Elara gets a proper plate of food.”
“I’m fine,” Mrs. Dubois said dismissively. “I wanted to see Elara. She visits so rarely these days.”
I took it gently, feeling the familiar pang of affection mixed with sorrow. Mrs. Dubois had always shown me kindness, despite Genevieve’s objections.
His expression remained impassive as he shook hands with Alistair. He didn’t smile or exchange pleasantries beyond what was strictly necessary. When Fiona approached with Caleb, Arthur’s gaze flicked to them briefly, his acknowledgment perfunctory at
best.
Mrs. Dubois squeezed my hand once more before moving away to greet other guests. As soon as she was out of earshot, Genevieve’s fake smile vanished.
Genevieve’s smile was strained. “Of course. I’ll take care of it.”
“Honey?” I said, the single word hanging in the night air between us.
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The party continued around us, a showcase of wealth and status that had nothing to do with actual celebration. I drifted toward the edge of the room, avoiding Caleb’s gaze whenever it found me. The last thing I needed was for him to corner me with another speech about how we could have been great together if only I hadn’t been “born
wrong.”
“And what exactly would that be?” a deep voice interrupted.
“Liar!” she spat. “You’ve always been jealous of Fiona. Always wanting what she has. First Caleb, now you’re trying to connect yourself to his family?”
After dinner, I slipped out onto one of the balconies for a breath of fresh air. My phone vibrated in my pocket–a message from my contact.
A commotion near the entrance caught my attention. The Sterling family had fully arrived–an elderly woman in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse, followed by several stern–faced men in suits who I assumed were security. Arthur walked beside the wheelchair, occasionally leaning down to speak to the woman.
Genevieve’s demeanor changed instantly. She straightened, pasting on a sycophantic smile. “Mr. Sterling, I’m so sorry you had to witness this. My daughter was just leaving.”
“Shut up. You’ll ruin everything. You always ruin everything!”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re delusional. I couldn’t care less about Caleb or his family. I just want to understand what’s happening.”
“Have you eaten?” Mrs. Dubois asked now, her eyes searching my face with concern.
I nodded. “I’m fine, truly.”
I hung back, half–hidden by a decorative column, studying him. Nothing about him seemed familiar. How could I be married to a man I’d never met?
My supposed husband.
We both turned to see Mrs. Dubois approaching slowly, leaning on her cane. Despite her illness, she had made an effort to dress for the occasion in a simple but elegant gown. Her face, though pale and drawn, brightened when she saw me.
My blood ran cold. Threatening me was one thing, but threatening the only person who had ever shown me kindness was another matter entirely.
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I stared at the message, more confused than ever. If there was no record of our
marriage anywhere else, how had it appeared in the civil registry system? Something wasn’t adding up.
“You came,” she said, reaching for my hand.
“I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers,” I replied evenly. “Starting with why you took my certificate.”
“I’m not the help, Genevieve,” I said, finally looking at her. “And I’m not a child you can order around anymore.”
The sound of the balcony door opening behind me made me quickly pocket my phone. I turned to find Genevieve, her face flushed with too much champagne and anger.
We both turned to find Arthur Sterling himself standing in the doorway to the balcony, his imposing figure silhouetted against the light from inside. His cold eyes moved between us, assessing the situation.
“Info on Arthur Sterling: 32, CEO of Sterling Group for past five years. Took control from family’s main branch in hostile takeover. Cold, ruthless businessman. No known romantic attachments. Rumored to have enormous personal fortune separate from family holdings. Absolutely NO record of marriage found anywhere. Are you sure about this?”
“That’s Old Mrs. Sterling,” a waiter whispered as he passed me with a tray. “Arthur’s grandmother. They say she’s the only person he actually listens to.”
His conversation was brief and one–sided, mostly consisting of terse “yes” and “no” responses. When he finished, he slipped his phone into his pocket and turned, looking mildly surprised to find me still there.
“I didn’t fake anything,” I said, my confusion genuine. “I went to register my marriage
demanded, and they told me I was already married to him. I’ve never even met the man before today.”
like you
I stood in Fiona’s room, frozen in place as the reality of my situation crashed over me. Arthur Sterling–the man whose name was on my marriage certificate–was walking into our home at this very moment. My mind raced with questions. How was this possible? Had I somehow met him before and forgotten? Was this some elaborate
scam?
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Before I could interpret his reaction, Genevieve materialized beside me.
“Of course I did, I replied with a genuine smile. “You asked me to.”
As I watched, his eyes suddenly shifted, scanning the room until they landed directly on me. For a moment, our gazes locked. A chill ran down my spine. His eyes were cold, assessing–like he was looking at a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Did he recognize me? Did he know about our supposed marriage?
“I need to make a call,” he said, his voice deep and authoritative. “In private.
“Get out,” Genevieve hissed. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll tell everyone what you’re trying to do.”
Genevieve’s face had turned ghost–white when she saw the certificate, a stark contrast to her usual composed cruelty. Before I could take it back from her trembling hands, she stuffed it into her purse.
“You will say nothing,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at my chest. “Nothing! Do you understand me? This must be some kind of mistake.”
“I need to talk to him,” I replied, not taking my eyes off Arthur.
I smoothed my simple navy dress–the most formal thing I owned–and followed her down the grand staircase. The mansion was buzzing with activity. Waiters circulated with champagne flutes, and the soft notes of a string quartet filled the air.
“Stop staring at him like that,” she snapped. “You look desperate.”
“Of course,” Genevieve gushed, already backing toward the door. She shot me a warning glare. “Elara was just going too.”
Her face twisted with hatred as she grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin. “If you breathe one word about this to anyone tonight, I’ll make sure Mrs. Dubois
suffers for it.”
The evening dragged on in a blur of forced pleasantries and strategic avoidance. I kept one eye on Arthur Sterling throughout, but he showed no sign of recognizing me. Either he was an excellent actor, or he was just as confused by our supposed marriage
as I was.
A flash of memory surfaced–Mrs. Dubois sneaking food to my room when Genevieve had sent me to bed without dinner, which happened frequently throughout my
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childhood. The quiet moments when she would brush my hair and tell me stories while Genevieve was busy doting on Fiona. The way she had always tried, in her limited strength, to protect me.
Genevieve’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Beatrice, you should be resting. This excitement isn’t good for your health.”
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