Everyone in our circle laughs that I send women to my own husband's bed.
They toast Vivienne for raising a son too loyal to touch them, and pity Adrian for marrying a barren schemer like me.
What none of them know is that his mother picks every girl, and signs my name to the invitation.
The first one, Adrian threw out before sunrise, then screamed at me, then bought me a necklace worth a hundred million to make it right.
The second one only brushed his hand and he gagged, fought with me again, then bought a whole estate and swore I was the only woman he would ever keep.
He thought money was the same thing as believing me.
By the tenth girl, he shut the bedroom door and did not come out for a single night.
After that we stopped fighting; we stopped speaking at all.
The whole city decided I would claw my way into the Hale name and never, ever let go.
So when I finally laid the divorce papers on the table, not one of them believed me.
Not his mother, not the gossips, not Adrian.
They forgot to ask whose nine million saved this family four years ago.
They forgot whose father holds the patent that keeps Hale Industries breathing.
They are about to remember my name without his attached to it.
***
My knuckles rested against the cold mahogany frame, hovering just an inch from the wood.
I did not knock.
Inside the guest bedroom, my husband Adrian remained behind a locked door with the tenth woman my mother-in-law had sent to his bed. He had been in there all night.
"Are you going to stand there all morning, Mrs. Hale?"
I dropped my hand and turned.
Clara, one of the junior maids, stood at the top of the stairs clutching a stack of fresh silk sheets. A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth.
"I was just checking if they were awake," I said.
"Mrs. Vivienne Hale instructed me to change the bedding as soon as they finish," Clara replied, stepping closer. "She said you would want the guest treated well, seeing as you went through all the trouble of inviting her."
"I did not invite anyone."
"That is not what the invitation card said. Your signature was right at the bottom." Clara shifted the sheets in her arms. "Everyone in the circle knows you handpick them to keep Mr. Hale from straying too far. It is very dedicated of you."
My jaw tightened. "Take those sheets back to the laundry room, Clara. Now."
"But Mrs. Vivienne Hale—"
"Does she sign your paychecks, or do I?"
Clara rolled her eyes, making no effort to hide her contempt, and turned around.
Before she could take a step down the stairs, a sharp voice cut through the corridor.
"You will address the lady of the house with respect, Clara, or you will pack your bags."
Avery, the estate head butler, walked down the hall balancing a silver breakfast tray. His stern gaze pinned the young maid in place.
Clara flushed red. "Yes, Mr. Avery."
She hurried down the steps without looking back.
Avery stopped beside me. He glanced at the closed bedroom door, then down at the tray holding two cups of black coffee and a plate of sliced fruit.
"She has no right to speak to you that way," Avery said.
"She only repeats what the rest of the city whispers," I replied, keeping my voice flat. "The desperate wife, clinging to a loveless marriage by feeding her husband a steady diet of beautiful distractions."
"Mrs. Hale, this was not your arrangement." Avery lowered his voice, his eyes full of quiet pity. "I know that. I saw your mother-in-law forge the stationery."
"Knowing the truth does not change the reality, Avery." I gestured to the heavy door. "He has not come out. That is all anyone cares about."
"Should I knock?" he asked, lifting his free hand. "Interrupt them?"
"No. Leave the tray on the console table. If they want coffee, they can fetch it themselves."
"As you wish."
Avery set the silver tray down with a soft clink. He hesitated, smoothing the lapels of his uniform.
"This is the tenth one since the summer began," Avery murmured. "You do not have to endure this."
"I will handle it."
"She wants to break you, ma'am. She wants you to file for divorce so Mr. Hale will not have to take the public blame."
"I know exactly what Vivienne wants." I turned away from the guest room. "Thank you, Avery. Go check on the kitchen."
I walked down the opposite end of the hall and pushed open the door to the master suite.
The room felt vast and empty. The king-sized bed remained perfectly made, untouched for months.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
The caller ID flashed Vivienne's name. I let it ring three times before picking it up.
"Good morning, Vivienne."
"Is Adrian awake?" my mother-in-law demanded. No greeting. No warmth.
"His door is still closed."
A soft, triumphant laugh echoed through the speaker. "Excellent. This one is a former ballet dancer. Very flexible, I am told. Make sure you order a proper breakfast for them. Oysters, perhaps. Something for stamina."
"I told Avery to leave coffee in the hall."
"Coffee? Seraphina, you must play the gracious hostess. You want everyone to think you are accommodating, do you not?"
"I did not invite her into my home."
"But the invitations have your name on them." Vivienne spoke with mock sympathy. "That is the beauty of it. High society pities the pathetic wife who brings strays to her husband's bed just to keep him from throwing her out."
"You went through a lot of trouble forging my handwriting."
"It saves Adrian the trouble of looking like the bad guy. A man has needs. If his wife is too plain, too boring, too utterly useless to satisfy him, he has to look elsewhere. You are just doing your duty by providing options."
I walked over to my vanity and sat down on the velvet stool. "Ten women, Vivienne. Are you not tired of interviewing them?"
"I will stop when you sign the divorce papers and leave empty-handed," she snapped. "Your family is bankrupt. The Quinn name is dirt. You bring nothing to the Hale empire. Leave quietly, and I will stop sending guests."
"I am not signing anything."
"You have no leverage, Seraphina. You are a charity case we took in out of pity. Remember your place."
The line went dead.
I tossed the phone onto the vanity.
Charity case.
I reached under the edge of the dressing table, my fingers finding the small, hidden latch I had installed myself.
A quiet click sounded. A shallow drawer slid open from the bottom of the wood.
Inside lay a single manila envelope.
I pulled it out, unwound the red string closure, and extracted the crisp, neatly folded document inside.
A silent partner debt agreement. Dated four years ago.
I smoothed the paper flat against the glass top of the vanity.
My eyes scanned the dense legal jargon, skipping past the clauses and penalties, landing directly on the bold numbers printed near the bottom.
$9,000,000.
I traced the zeroes with my index finger.
Four years ago, the Hale empire was on the verge of total collapse. Vivienne had begged every bank in the city for a loan and was laughed out of every boardroom. Adrian was facing federal charges for unpaid corporate debts.
They did not know I had liquidated the last of the Quinn family's overseas assets. They did not know the anonymous shell corporation that bailed them out, paid their debts, and saved Adrian from prison was entirely mine.
I had drafted this contract, embedding a clause that required Adrian to marry me to secure the funds.
Vivienne thought I was a desperate gold digger who trapped her son.
Adrian thought I was an opportunist who bought him at his lowest point.
Neither of them knew they still owed me nine million dollars, payable immediately upon the dissolution of our marriage.
I ran my fingertip over the ink at the very bottom of the page.
Seraphina Quinn.
My signature stared back at me, sharp and undeniable.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my bedroom. Heavy, purposeful steps.
Adrian.
He had finally left the guest room.
I did not move toward the door. I did not rush out to confront him.
Instead, I carefully folded the heavy parchment. I placed it back into the manila envelope, sealed the red string, and slid it into the hidden compartment.
I pushed the drawer shut until it clicked flush against the wood.
Raising my head, I met my own gaze in the vanity mirror.
"This is the last one," I said to the empty room. "And the last time."
