The day Emily returned to New York, I was in the middle of cleaning up the fallout from Brandy's latest scandal.
In the photo, he had his arm wrapped around a blonde, whispering in her ear. They looked impossibly close.
The online comments section had exploded. Some condemned Brandy's flagrant infidelity, while others mocked me, the official wife who was nothing but a figurehead.
"Isn't Brandy Sterling married? Why is he always being photographed with other women?"
"To the person above: Just proves his wife can't keep him satisfied. Besides, our Brandy is gorgeous. What's wrong with him having a little fun on the side?"
"Seriously. If I were Charlotte Hayes, I'd kill to be in her shoes. She's living the dream."
"You people are certifiably insane."
A bitter laugh escaped me as I stared at the screen. In a twisted way, they weren't wrong.
Brandy Sterling had always been the center of everyone's universe.
Especially with those deep-set eyes of his, which held a look of careless, devastating seduction.
As the future head of the family, he was a born winner.
Too bad his soul was rotten to the core.
I was rubbing the bridge of my nose, having just shut my laptop, when the beep of the fingerprint lock echoed through the silent apartment—a sound I hadn't heard from anyone but myself in ages.
The man at the door wore a black baseball cap, his dark eyes shadowed beneath the brim.
It was Brandy.
In three years of marriage, it was a rare sight for him to be home.
But there was another woman standing behind him.
She was clutching the corner of Brandy's jacket, her expression the picture of vulnerability.
Before I could find my voice, the woman spoke. "I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I know this is sudden. I just got back to New York, and there was a mix-up with my hotel... I had nowhere else to turn. I called Brandy in a panic, and I never dreamed he'd bring me here. I hope this isn't a huge imposition?"
I understood immediately. This had to be Emily, the woman Brandy had once been madly in love with.
The moment she was back in town, he couldn't wait to parade her through our marital home.
I looked at Brandy.
He didn't even spare me a glance.
But when his gaze fell on Emily, his dark eyes softened, filled with the tenderness of a man who had just recovered something precious he thought was lost forever.
He took Emily's hand and led her toward the master bedroom, tossing a cold command over his shoulder as he passed: "You're in the guest room from now on."
Then the bedroom door slammed shut, leaving me standing alone in the cavernous living room.
In three years of marriage, it had always been this way. He could be endlessly gentle with other women, but to me, he was treated like a piece of furniture—not even worth a second glance.
I didn't argue. I just turned and walked to the guest room.
Patience, Charlotte, I told myself. Just thirty more days.
One more month, and my contract with Arthur is up.
I can take the money and leave. I can finally get Stephen the treatment he needs.
