My husband, Julian Vaughn, was a star architect.
One day, he was drugged by a new intern at his firm, which led to a one-night stand.
The next morning, he called me, his voice hoarse from a hangover and filled with an unfamiliar panic.
"Clara, I messed up. But don't worry, I gave her more than enough money to get her out of the city for good."
After ten years of marriage, I believed it was a momentary lapse in judgment.
Six months later, Julian's firm was in the final, critical stages of bidding for a landmark project.
I rushed over from my art gallery, only to be met with a shocking scene at the door of the model room.
Julian stood before the massive architectural model, a weariness and guilt so profound it felt foreign on his features.
The doctor said the intern, a woman named Chloe Jensen, was three months pregnant. She'd been matching his grueling hours in the model room and was now at risk of a miscarriage.
Later, Chloe gave birth to a pair of fraternal twins, a boy and a girl.
The entire Vaughn family was ecstatic.
My fingertips ice-cold, I slipped the Cartier wedding band from the finger where it had rested for ten years.
I sent a text to a number saved only by a last name: "Sterling."
"I accept your offer."
A moment later, my phone vibrated.
A single phrase lit up the screen: "Awaiting your command."
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1
I stood at the end of the corridor in the VIP obstetrics center of New York's best private hospital, my nails digging deep into my palms. The expensive white tea aromatherapy couldn't mask the cloying scent of milk that permeated the air, nor the cheap cherry blossom perfume clinging to Chloe.
I had spent my life working with color and composition, and at this moment, the two scents swirled into a discordant mess that grated on my senses.
Through the glass, I watched Julian's parents, Eleanor and Harrison, beaming with joy, each holding a swaddled infant.
And Julian—the man who was always so calm and self-possessed, who'd always said the structure of a building was more reliable than human emotion—was now gazing down at his daughter with a tenderness I had never witnessed, gently kissing her forehead.
How ironic. They looked like the perfect family, while I was the unwelcome intruder.
Julian looked up and saw me, his smile freezing instantly. "Clara, you're… you're back from the Hamptons."
I said nothing. His mother, Eleanor Vaughn, holding her newborn grandson, shot me a sidelong glance, her voice laced with an icy disdain that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
"So you remembered to come back? Did all that painting by the sea make you forget who you are? Staring at the ocean all day. Planning to achieve enlightenment out there?"
"It's good that you're back." Julian's father, Harrison Vaughn, tried to smooth things over, though his eyes never left the baby girl in his arms. "The children will be a month old soon. You're Julian's wife, you should help manage things."
Eleanor's expression softened. "The situation with the children needs to be sorted out. You and Julian should discuss it. Don't worry, we Vaughns aren't unreasonable. As long as you play your part, your place as Mrs. Vaughn is secure."
I looked at the patronizing pity on their faces, nodded, and said only one word.
"Okay."
After the two elders handed the babies back and left, Julian's phone rang. He glanced at me and stepped out onto the adjacent balcony to take the call.
Only Chloe and I were left in the room. Her complexion was rosy, her face glowing with a maternal radiance, and even her hair was impeccably styled. It was clear the Vaughns had spared no expense on her these past few months.
"Mrs. Hayes," she began timidly, like a frightened fawn. "I know I was wrong. You can punish me however you want, I just beg you not to be angry with Mr. Vaughn anymore. He only has you in his heart. While you were away, he had the housekeeper clean your studio every day, paranoid it would get dusty."
"Chloe," I cut her off, my voice sharp. "There's no need to act in front of me. The money Julian gave you was enough to buy a penthouse in any major city and never work another day in your life. You could have vanished without a trace, but you chose to show up six months later, pregnant, in front of him."
"Don't think I can't see through your little tricks."
Her face turned deathly pale. Suddenly, Chloe snatched one of the babies from the bed and thrust him into my arms. The sudden weight of the warm, soft bundle, thick with the scent of milk, made my entire body go rigid. The next second, she raked her nails quickly across the infant's face.
A heart-wrenching wail pierced my eardrums. Julian burst in like a gust of wind and shoved me away.
I staggered back against the wall, watching him shield the child as if it were a priceless treasure. When he turned to look at me, his eyes were filled with crushing disappointment and fury.
Chloe sobbed breathlessly beside him. "Mr. Vaughn, I just wanted Mrs. Hayes to hold the baby, to like our children, but she…"
Julian's voice was glacial. "Clara, Chloe is being discharged tomorrow. Since you can't tolerate the children, I want you to go to the Hamptons house. Take some time to cool off."
I bit my lower lip until I tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
I sat in that tomb-like villa from dusk until dawn. It was for the best. At least I wouldn't have to see their happy family of four or smell that nauseating mixture of scents.
Memories flooded back like a relentless tide. I had been with Julian since the beginning, watching him grow from a talented young architect into a superstar in his field. For ten years, we were known as the model couple in our circle.
The first time, he was drugged by a business rival and slept with Chloe, who was then just an intern. He called me immediately, his voice trembling. "Clara, I was set up! I swear on my honor, it was just this once! I've handled it, she'll never appear in front of us again!"
I believed him. But six months later, a pregnant Chloe reappeared, using her father's unemployment and desperation as an excuse to find Julian while he was out drunk at a social event.
He knelt before me, weeping and clutching my legs, but I gave him one last choice.
"Julian, either we divorce, or you make her disappear."
"I won't divorce you!" he roared, his eyes red, like a trapped beast. "Clara, I can't live without you! But… but I have to be responsible for her, too…"
He wanted me, but he also wanted to uphold his "responsibility."
Shaking off the memories, I took out my phone and pressed send in the darkness.
It was a text I had composed long ago: "Let's get a divorce."
Less than ten minutes later, the villa's smart lock alarm blared as it was forced open. Julian rushed in, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. "Clara! I don't agree to a divorce!"
I sat silently on the sofa, watching his loss of control, and sighed softly. "Let go, Julian. I'm tired."
"I told you, she won't affect our relationship, and she won't affect your position!" he said desperately.
Just then, his phone rang shrilly. Chloe's tear-choked voice came through the receiver, loud and clear.
"Mr. Vaughn! The baby won't stop crying! He's burning up! I think Mrs. Hayes scared him! The doctor said it's serious, we might need to go to the ER!"
Julian's expression froze. He looked at me, then at his phone, his eyes filled with an agonizing struggle.
Finally, he spoke with great difficulty. "Clara, I… I have to go check on them…"
I watched his hasty retreat and suddenly let out a low laugh. So this was my marriage. A divorce negotiation, forced to take a backseat to another woman and her children.
