Chapter 4 - The First Wife
Her name was Marissa Vale.
I learned it in the parking lot because Julian finally said it after I refused to get back into the car with him until he used a full sentence that included the truth.
“She left me,” he said. “It was complicated.”
“Are you divorced?”
His eyes moved toward Margaret.
I held up one hand.
“Don’t look at her. Answer me.”
His mouth worked once.
“No.”
The sound that left me was almost a laugh.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my body did not know where else to put the shock.
“You married me yesterday.”
“The ceremony happened,” he said quickly. “The legal filing can be corrected after—”
“After what?”
Margaret stepped in. “After Julian handles a private matter that should never have involved you.”
I turned slowly toward her.
“You knew.”
Margaret lifted her chin.
“Marissa abandoned him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“She humiliated this family.”
“That is still not what I asked.”
Julian rubbed both hands over his face.
“She won’t sign the final documents unless there is a financial settlement.”
A memory slid into place.
The quick wedding timeline. Margaret pushing for a small ceremony before “another delay ruins the mood.” Julian asking me to sign a prenuptial addendum two weeks earlier, saying it was merely to protect family assets. Margaret mentioning several times that marriage would help “stabilize Julian’s image” with certain clients.
I had thought she meant social image.
I was wrong.
Julian’s career depended on trust. His firm served wealthy families. A messy unresolved marriage, possible misrepresentation, or financial complaint from an estranged wife could damage him. A new bride, respectable and professionally stable, would help overwrite the old story.
If the license had certified.
If the county had missed the document.
If Laura Medina had not called me Mrs. Hart.
“Why did you marry me?” I asked.
Julian looked almost hurt.
“I love you.”
“No. Why yesterday?”
Margaret answered before he could.
“Because Marissa was threatening to make trouble.”
There it was.
The truth, stripped of romance.
May you like
I was not a bride.
I was damage control in lace.
