The Substitute Wife's Final Goodbye

"I can finally throw you away." On our fifth anniversary, I slid the divorce papers across the table with a smile.

He had loathed me since childhood, yet he couldn't escape the fate of marrying me. As a protest, he abandoned me at the altar to race cars.

After the wedding, he spiraled into a relentless streak of absurd scandals. I became the laughingstock of our circle.

He just watched from the sidelines, malicious and entertained. "You brought this on yourself. Deal with it." Everyone assumed I would chain him down for the rest of our lives.

He thought so, too. Five years. I could finally walk away. But instead of letting me go, he tore our marital home apart in a blind rage.

Chapter 1 The yacht party was hitting its climax right as I stepped on deck. Zachary lounged in the center of the crowd, completely relaxed against the leather sofa.

A girl with an innocent face was straddling his lap, her arms hooked seductively around his neck. People hoisted their champagne flutes in the air.

Chants of "Kiss her" erupted in rhythmic waves. The girl's cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy with naked anticipation. Zachary narrowed his eyes. His gaze lazily swept the crowd.

A careless smirk tipped the corner of his mouth. "Knock it off. My wife is watching." The crowd whipped around. The chanting died instantly. A few awkward voices muttered, "Mrs.

Sinclair." The girl on his lap threw a glance my way. She didn't move an inch.

Instead, she leaned closer, her laugh breathy and deliberate. "Doesn't that make it more thrilling?" A fresh ripple of excitement ran through the onlookers.

They were practically salivating for a show. It was the worstkept secret in our world that the Sinclair marriage was a hollow sham. Zachary paraded his debauchery out in the open.

The women who flocked to him had zero fear of a Sinclair wife whose only power was her last name. I didn't even grant her the dignity of a glance.

I kept my eyes locked solely on Zachary. "The paparazzi are swarming the marina. They're waiting for this boat to dock." "Are you coming back with me?" My voice was perfectly flat.

A line of pure amusement curved on his lips. He stayed exactly where he was. Emboldened by his silence, the girl melted further into his chest, shooting me a triumphant smirk.

Out on the dark water, the roar of an approaching speedboat cut through the music. The blinding strobe of camera flashes exploded against the night. I curled my fingers inward.

My blunt nails dug sharp halfmoons into my palms. They got the shot. A media storm was already brewing with my name on it.

Zachary's mocking drawl sliced through the ringing in my ears. "Sure thing, Mrs. Sinclair." He stood up. Fast.

The girl tumbled off his lap and hit the deck with a harsh thud. "Zach…" she whimpered, wideeyed and pathetic. He didn't even look down.

He closed the distance between us in three long strides. His large hand clamped hard around my waist, his body heat searing right through the thin silk of my dress.

He leaned in low. "Home?" I stared straight into the malicious, gleaming amusement in his eyes. He didn't give a damn about the girl on the floor.

He just wanted the tabloids to get the photo. He knew exactly how this game worked.

Whenever he caused a scandal, the Stratford and Sinclair boardrooms would demand my blood, not his. And he loved watching me bleed. My expression remained entirely blank.

I covered the heavy hand resting on my hip with my own. "Let's go." A harsh, derisive scoff ripped from his throat. I ignored it, turning to lead him onto the awaiting speedboat.

In public, I was the perfect, accommodating Mrs. Sinclair. It was the inescapable curse of this union.

I didn't let go of him until the boat docked and the heavy door of the Maybach clicked shut behind us. He instantly caught my wrist.

He flipped my hand over, threading his fingers aggressively through mine until our palms flushed together. "Stay in character, Vic," he drawled. "If you're going to put on a show, commit to the bit." A tiny crease formed between my brows.

I turned my head to watch the blurred city lights, letting his grip burn into my skin. The silence held all the way to our front door.

The second we crossed the threshold, Zachary's grip turned ruthless. He yanked our locked hands upward, slamming my spine flush against the cool plaster of the entryway wall.

He crowded in. His solid thigh pushed brutally between my knees, trapping me completely in the oppressive heat of his frame.

In the dim, ambient light of the foyer, I caught the dark, feverish obsession dancing in his pupils.

Chapter 2 "Zachary, I'm a little tired today," I whispered, exhaustion seeping into my bones.

The words barely left my mouth before his teeth scraped a punishing bite over my collarbone. "Mrs.

Sinclair," he scoffed against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "You're fulfilling your marital obligations. Play along." I had no right to refuse. Every drawled 'Mrs.

Sinclair' was a calculated reminder of exactly who I was and what I had signed up for. I had willingly locked this collar around my own neck. I didn't get to use a safe word.

And he leveraged that total surrender, pushing me to the very edge with brutal, unapologetic stamina. He finally left my bed somewhere in the desolate hours of the early morning.

I still woke up at dawn, my internal clock too shattered to rest. The other side of the mattress was completely cold. We slept together, but we never actually shared a bed.

Zachary had made his stance brutally clear a long time ago. "I don't want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning.

It ruins my whole day." I stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes before reaching for my phone. I opened X, muscle memory preparing me for the worst.

Sure enough, last night's disaster was already trending at number one. There it was.

The highres shot of the girl straddling Zachary, while I stood frozen in the foreground, watching. The comment section was a literal warzone. [The Sinclair heir is wild for this.

Got his wife standing guard while he cheats.] [He's an icon, honestly. Brought his wife to the boat party. We love a family man.] [The sarcasm is flying over y'alls heads.

It's giving toxic.] [Am I the only one who feels bad for Victoria? Looking at this pic actually makes me sick.] [Lmao please. He never wanted to marry her.

She forced his hand, she deserves it.] [For real, absolutely zero selfrespect. Major doormat energy.

Divorcing him would be a boss move but she won't.] [The funniest part is her PR team always pushing that 'classy old money' aesthetic.

Embarrassing.] [Are we really blaming the woman when the man is a walking, talking red flag?] [It's a billionaire arranged marriage, guys.

We're just peasants watching the circus.] The internet was tearing me apart, but I was entirely numb to it.

Just as I swiped down to close the app, the trending topic completely vanished. [Page not found] Oh. The Sinclair PR crisis team was finally awake. I went for my morning run.

By the time I returned, sweating and breathless, Zachary was up. He leaned lazily against the marble kitchen island, an espresso mug in one hand. His silk robe hung completely open.

The sharp, sculpted lines of his torso and the heavy muscles of his chest were on full, unapologetic display. He dragged his heavy, sleeplidded eyes over me.

A wicked, devastating smirk tilted his lips. "If I knew my wife had this much stamina, I wouldn't have let you sleep at all last night." "Zachary." I cut him off smoothly, knowing exactly where his filthy mind was going. "We leave in thirty minutes." The Sinclairs operated like a mafia cartel when it came to family loyalty.

No matter what continent you were on or how busy your week was, Sunday dinner at the estate was mandatory. It was a rule written in stone.

Even someone as reckless and volatile as Zachary didn't dare break it. "Right." Zachary narrowed his eyes, dark amusement swirling in his irises. "Good luck with that." I knew exactly what he meant.

I didn't say a word, just turned and walked upstairs to shower. The ride to the estate was oppressively quiet. Zachary spent the entire drive scrolling carelessly on his phone.

I stared out the tinted window, bracing myself for the firing squad. The Maybach glided through the massive iron gates of the Sinclair estate.

Zachary pocketed his phone and got out before the driver even fully stopped. He didn't bother maintaining our public charade.

He strode straight up the steps and into the grand parlor, leaving me completely in the dust. By the time I walked in, he was already draped lazily across a velvet armchair.

He had just delivered some punchline that had his grandmother, Millie, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. "Millie," I greeted softly, keeping my posture rigid and polite. "Victoria," she nodded.

Her warm smile shifted into something cool and guarded. "Jonathan and Sylvia are waiting for you in the study.

Go on up." "Of course." I knew exactly the kind of execution awaiting me behind those mahogany doors. And the architect of my total destruction, Zachary, just kept smiling.

He didn't even bother to look up. Chapter 3 I stepped out of the mahogany doors. A vicious, burning handprint branded my left cheek.

The sharp tang of copper pooled in the corner of my mouth. Sylvia was a woman of high society. When she struck, she aimed exclusively for the face.

The second her hand fell, she instantly reverted to the picture of old money elegance. Her words dripped with aristocratic disdain. "Victoria, you severely disappoint me.

You are a woman. You cannot even keep your own husband's attention, and you let him drag you into his public debauchery.

Is this how a Sinclair wife behaves?" "My patience is running dangerously thin." I stood frozen in the corridor.

The heavy oak doors muffled the voices inside, but I could still hear them. Jonathan, who had remained entirely silent during my execution, finally spoke up. "Look at you.

Your son is the one causing these vile scandals.

Why are you putting the blame on her?" "Who else should I blame?" Sylvia sneered coldly. "Before he married her, Zachary was wild, yes.

But he never crossed the line like this." She let out a bitter, exhausted breath. "You forced him to marry a woman he actively despises.

Of course he is lashing out." Jonathan sighed heavily. "Clarence arranged this union. My hands are tied." "Then untie them.

He is my only son…" Her voice suddenly cracked, choking on an unspoken grief. "I just want him to be happy.

I do not want him chained down by a woman he does not love." I turned and walked away. Trailing down the endless, gilded corridor, the memory of Jared suddenly crashed over me.

The stinging physical pain on my lip sank straight into my chest, twisting into a tight, agonizing knot. At the end of the hall, a floortoceiling window stood wide open.

Zachary leaned casually against the sill, his arms crossed over his chest. A halfsmoked cigarette burned between his knuckles.

Spring sunlight filtered through the swaying branches outside, casting erratic, dancing shadows across his sharp jawline.

I kept my eyes forward, intending to walk right past him in total silence. His large hand shot out, snatching my wrist. Zachary raised his free hand.

The rough pad of his index finger, still holding the cigarette, brushed deliberately over the broken skin at the corner of my mouth.

A low, mocking scoff rumbled in his throat. "Tsk. They actually drew blood this time." The toxic curl of smoke stung my eyes. I shoved his hand away.

Zachary brought the cigarette to his lips. His narrowed, predatory eyes watched me through the haze.

A dark, wicked amusement barely concealed the lethal edge underneath. "Victoria, do you not know how to fight back?" His gravelly voice was wrapped in lazy entertainment.

Unreadable. I offered him a hollow, matching smile. "Do I have the right to?" Zachary went dead silent.

He took one last drag before brutally crushing the cherry against the marble ashtray. "Fair enough." His tone went lethally flat, carrying a vicious undercurrent. "You brought this on yourself.

Deal with it." He turned and walked away without looking back. Zachary leaving early guaranteed one thing. The Sinclairs would pile all the blame squarely onto my shoulders.

Under the guise of lecturing me on marital duties, they spent the rest of the afternoon feeding me arrogant, veiled humiliations.

I swallowed every single drop of their poison with a straight spine. Some debts would eventually be paid in full. And some people, I would never have to see again in this lifetime.

I left the Sinclair estate and instructed my driver to take me straight to the private sanatorium. Halfway there, my phone vibrated with a frantic call from the facility. "Mrs.

Sinclair, Sharon's condition is deteriorating rapidly. You need to get here immediately." My fingers clamped around the phone in a death grip.

The floor fell out from under my stomach. I rushed into the hospital room.

The sight of my mother, nothing but skin and bones, sent a searing spike of acid behind my eyes. "What happened?" I demanded, my voice cracking. "She was doing so much better two days ago." The private nurse refused to meet my eyes. "I am so sorry, Mrs.

Sinclair.

I looked away for a moment, and she saw the trending news online…" For the past five years, even if Zachary had just dragged my dignity through the mud seconds prior, I always walked into this room with a radiant, blushing smile.

I fed her perfectly crafted lies about my happy marriage. I had always played the part perfectly. "Vic," she wheezed, struggling to lift her frail hand off the mattress.

I lunged forward, catching her trembling fingers in mine. A harsh sob tore out of my throat. "Mom." She patted the back of my hand weakly.

A glossy sheen of tears welled in her clouded, sunken eyes. "Mom regrets forcing you." Chapter 4 "I thought… since you two grew up together, and you loved him so much… I thought I found you the best home.

I never expected…" The words cost her everything. Her chest heaved with wet, rattling breaths. I wiped the tears tracking through her deep wrinkles.

My voice was a soft, steady hum. "Mom. It's in the past. Let it go." "The Sinclairs never wanted this marriage. And Zachary treats you so poorly.

It must be so hard for you there, isn't it?" The tears spilled faster than I could catch them. "No." I forced my lips to curve upward. "I am Mrs. Sinclair.

I have the title, I have the money. I live more comfortably than anyone." She stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. She couldn't bear it, turning her head away. "Vic.

Mom is so sorry." The silence in the room became a physical weight. It crushed the air from my lungs.

A long time passed before she asked, her voice impossibly fragile. "Can you ask Zachary to come see me?" A thousand needles drove straight into my chest.

The pain was dense, suffocating, with nowhere to bleed out. "Okay." I walked to the door and pulled out my phone. I dialed his number. Again. And again.

Nothing but the hollow, endless ringing of a dead line. I finally called his executive office. "Mr.

Sinclair left the estate and immediately boarded a flight to Africa," his assistant replied over the line. "He is still in the air." "What is he doing there?" "He said… he went hunting." My grip on the phone turned entirely numb.

Sharon drifted in and out of a heavy, feverish sleep.

Every time her sunken eyes fluttered open, she whispered the same thing. "Where is Zachary?" I stood in the corridor, blindly dialing his number over and over.

I sent text after text into the void. Spring nights were supposed to be short. But the dark dragged on relentlessly. She never got to see him.

In the desolate, suffocating chill of that early dawn, I lost my mother forever. Thanks to my untouchable status as Mrs.

Sinclair, the Stratfords threw her an impeccably extravagant funeral. Right as the service ended, Zachary finally called back. I didn't answer.

I just watched his name light up the screen, listening to the phone ring until it died. Over and over. The next day, I returned to the Stratford estate.

I locked myself in my mother's room to pack up her belongings alone. After years of illness and absence, a thick layer of dust coated everything. The person was gone.

Only ghosts remained. Around dusk, the bedroom door clicked open. Someone stepped inside, standing in complete silence. I didn't bother turning around.

My voice was a flat, lifeless line. "Zachary. I don't want to see you right now." The person behind me didn't say a word. They lingered for a few more seconds, then turned and left.

I disposed of almost everything in the room. The only thing I took with me was a thick, worn photo album. I carried it downstairs.

Passing through the living room, I found the entire Stratford family clustered around a boy no older than ten. He looked sullen.

The adults were practically tripping over themselves to coddle him. They spotted me at the bottom of the stairs. The sickeningly sweet laughter died instantly. Brian waved his hand.

A young, impeccably dressed woman immediately grabbed the boy's arm and dragged him out of the room. "Vic," Brian started, pointing toward the fully set dining table. "Stay and have dinner before you head back." "No." I looked at the man who sired me.

Overnight, even the burning resentment I harbored for him had evaporated into complete apathy. "Dad." The word slipped out soft and weightless. "That is the last time I will ever call you that." His face hardened into a mask of pure ice. "What did you just say?" I ignored his rising temper.

A genuine, hollow smile broke across my face. "My debt to the Stratfords is paid in full." He was too accustomed to my flawless obedience.

The sudden defiance made his brain shortcircuit. "You are cutting ties with this family?" "Yes." I turned my back on him. "Victoria." He roared, pure venom lacing the syllables.

He snatched the heavy crystal ashtray off the table. The sickening swoosh of displaced air whipped toward the back of my head. My vision blacked out.

A brutal, crushing force yanked me forward, slamming my face into a solid, warm chest. The heavy thud of crystal striking bone echoed violently in the room.

I snapped my head up, stunned. I was staring straight into Zachary's eyes.

They were entirely pitchblack, swarming with lethal, unhinged violence. "Zachary, I—" Brian stammered, all the blood draining from his face. Zachary didn't grant him a single look.

He locked an iron grip on my wrist and dragged me out the door. Chapter 5 Back in the car, neither of us said a word.

Intersecting shadows from the night trees bled through the windows. In the heavy silence, Zachary pulled out a pack of cigarettes and clamped one between his teeth.

The metallic clink of the lighter flipped open and shut, but the cigarette remained unlit. He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry.

I kept my phone off after I left." In five years of marriage, this was the very first time Zachary had offered a genuine apology.

Usually, his apologies were drawled out, soaked in mocking sarcasm, engineered purely to gaslight and piss me off.

The billionaire heir had escaped to the East African savanna, letting his reckless, wild streak run free.

A life that vividly technicolor had no room for mundane things like life and death. According to the flawless Mrs. Sinclair script, I was supposed to be understanding.

But right now, my chest was hollow. I didn't want to give him a single syllable. Zachary's brows locked together.

He ripped the unlit cigarette from his mouth and crushed it violently in his palm.

His knuckles turned stark white under the force. "Victoria, can you just—" A sudden ringtone severed his sentence.

The inexplicable, explosive rage rolling off him had nowhere to land.

He snatched up the phone and snapped, "Are you out of your fucking mind?" The confined space of the Maybach amplified everything.

I clearly heard the bright, lively voice of a girl bleeding through the receiver. "Zachary!" She wasn't afraid of him at all.

Her pitched, petulant tone was dripping with entitlement. "What kind of man just dumps me in Africa all by myself?" Zachary raised a brow, irritation rolling off him in waves. "The kind who thinks you deserved it." "Zachary, you literally have no heart," the girl huffed. "I don't care.

Come pick me up right now." "Keep dreaming," he scoffed softly. "Just watch me fly back by myself," she threatened, refusing to back down. "I'll take this straight to your wife.

Don't say I didn't warn you." Zachary's eyes narrowed to lethal slits.

A dark, frozen smile crept onto his face, turning his entire aura bonechillingly cold. "Be my guest," he drawled.

The girl faltered, her fiery attitude dialing down as she failed to read his mood. "I'm not threatening you, I just…" Zachary shoved the car door open.

He stepped out into the night, trapping the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he finally lit a fresh cigarette. His voice faded.

The chill of the night wind flooded in through the cracked window. My own phone vibrated. It was my assistant, Rachel. "Ms. Stratford, Mr.

Sinclair is trending again." The phone call Zachary just took explained everything. He had spent the last two weeks in Africa with another girl.

A leaked scandal was practically scheduled programming. I opened X. The highres photo loaded instantly. Zachary was casually handling a hunting rifle.

A gorgeous, fiery girl was helping him support the barrel, their bodies pressed intimately together. I recognized the girl in the picture. Stephanie.

She was reckless, vibrant, and a massive red flag. She and Zachary were cut from the exact same cloth. I had met her twice before. The first time was years ago, in London.

I had flown thousands of miles just to see him.

One night, thoroughly drunk, Zachary had pinned me against the floortoceiling windows with lazy, predatory grace. "Do you know how to kiss?" he had murmured, a wicked, intoxicating smirk playing on his lips. "Relax.

Part your lips." My clumsy, naive resistance had only sparked a dark, nameless hunger in his eyes. His pupils dilated.

The kiss he brought down on me quickly spiraled into brutal, devouring territory.

Right as the tension reached a breaking point, a girl in heavy smokey eyeliner and a micromini skirt burst into the room. "Zachary, what are you doing?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

Zachary wasn't annoyed by the intrusion in the slightest. He just flashed a careless, infuriating grin. "Teaching my fiancée how to kiss." The girl looked at me.

Then back at Zachary. Chapter 6 Like a wounded animal, she snatched a bottle of expensive scotch off the bar and hurled it at the hardwood floor. It shattered instantly.

She glared at Zachary, her eyes burning bright red. "You are a bastard." She spat the words, spun around, and slammed the heavy penthouse door behind her.

Through the entire spectacle, Zachary sat on the edge of the sofa, watching like a detached patron at a theater. He leisurely lit a cigarette, thoroughly entertained by the chaos.

The drama spiked and vanished. The room sank into a heavy, dead silence. A disjointed thought crossed my mind. She had a keycard to his penthouse.

The wet heat of his brutal kiss still lingered on my lips. I looked at him. "Do you like her?" Zachary tilted his head.

A dark, amused scoff slipped past his teeth. "Trying to put a leash on me?" I pressed my lips together, entirely devoid of words.

Seeing my hesitation, the wicked smirk on his face widened into something cruel. "Victoria. Do not be greedy." In Zachary's world, our relationship was a sterile corporate merger.

A transaction completely void of affection. Demanding the limitless wealth of the Sinclair name while expecting physical loyalty was a laughable overreach.

I lowered my gaze in total silence. I didn't waste my breath defending myself. The second time I saw Stephanie was at our wedding.

Zachary abandoned me and a ballroom packed with elite guests, walking straight out of the reception. I chased after him into the courtyard, dragging my heavy gown.

A fleet of deafening, milliondollar sports cars and superbikes idled loudly near the entrance, driven by his reckless inner circle. Zachary shrugged off his tailored suit jacket.

He ripped off his silk tie and tossed it casually against my chest. A vicious, mocking grin curved his lips. "Congratulations, Mrs.

Sinclair." He swung a long leg over a matteblack Ducati. The engine roared, vibrating straight through the pavement. Stephanie straddled the back seat.

She pressed two fingers to her temple, gave me a mock salute, and flashed a radiant, triumphant smile. "Bye, Victoria." I stood completely frozen in the warm spring sunlight, watching the motorcycle tear down the avenue.

The hem of her dress whipped violently in the wind, blooming like a crushed flower. Stephanie had chased him relentlessly for years.

That kind of unhealthy obsession was practically a brand on her soul. The Sinclair heir trending for his playboy antics was nothing new.

But dragging a girl on an African safari while his motherinlaw was actively taking her last breaths… That wasn't just careless. It was sheer, chilling cruelty.

I stared blindly at my phone screen. The last trace of warmth bled out of my chest, leaving pure ice. The heavy car door clicked open and shut.

The crisp, clean scent of bergamot washed over the bitter trace of tobacco clinging to his coat. I didn't look up.

But I couldn't ignore the heavy, piercing weight of his stare burning into the side of my face.

Taking that phone call seemed to have completely extinguished his erratic, violent temper. He spoke with an infuriatingly casual drawl. "I am going to the cemetery tomorrow.

Come with me." My thumb paused over the glass screen. "That is unnecessary." Zachary dragged out the syllable, his tone dropping into a dangerously soft register. "Are you mad?" I finally lifted my head.

I met the dark, calculating scrutiny swirling in his eyes.

He was actively hunting for a crack in my composure, desperate to pull a reaction out of me. "I just think there is no point." I locked my phone and set it face down.

A missed deadline was a missed deadline. When the timeline expired, no amount of retroactive performance meant a damn thing. Zachary narrowed his eyes.

The temperature in the Maybach instantly plummeted. "What if I say it is necessary?" He was pushing it. Staking a claim on a completely irrelevant battle. It threw me off.

Zachary operated on pure, selfish apathy. He rarely wasted energy demanding things he didn't care about.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. "Do whatever makes you happy." When Zachary Sinclair wanted something, absolutely no one could stand in his way.

We arrived at the private cemetery the next morning. I reached to unbuckle my seatbelt.

Zachary's large hand instantly clamped down over my wrist, trapping my fingers against the buckle. "I will go alone." I watched his broad, imposing frame disappear into the endless rows of shaded headstones.

Sometimes, Zachary's brand of chaos was entirely incomprehensible. A shrill ringtone suddenly shattered the dead silence in the car.

Zachary had left his phone sitting right on the leather center console. I threw a sideways glance at the screen. Stephanie. The line rang out, died, and immediately lit up again.

She was relentless. The grating noise bounced off the acoustic glass, desperate and obnoxious. My patience snapped.

I shoved my noisecanceling earbuds in, leaned my head back against the leather headrest, and closed my eyes. I never heard the heavy thud of the car door opening.

The sudden, ghosting glide of a man's freezing fingertips brushed against the sensitive shell of my ear. A sharp shiver spiked down my neck. My eyes flew open.

Zachary was leaning over the console, pulling the earbud completely out of my ear.

Chapter 7 "Your phone was ringing for a while." I offered the explanation reflexively. "Oh." Zachary lowered his gaze, his long fingers absentmindedly twirling my earbud.

His mood was entirely off. I didn't bother filling the silence. The Maybach fell dead quiet.

Zachary fished out his cigarette pack, tapping one out and catching it between his teeth.

He rolled the window down and turned his head to shield the lighter flame. "I remember when we were kids. I was always running over to your house to eat." I shot him a rapid glance.

It was genuinely bizarre that the Sinclair heir remembered a simple meal. The memory of my mother dragged at my chest. I gave a faint hum. "Yeah.

You used to down three plates in one sitting." Zachary raised a disdainful brow. "Who else was as picky as you?

You ate two bites and called it a meal." I pressed my lips together, entirely lacking the energy to argue. Back then, my mother's culinary skills were practically nonexistent.

The only thing she could make without burning down the kitchen was a simple plate of spaghetti.

I grew up so sick of it, I used to pray for literally anything else before every dinner. But the first time Zachary had it, he praised her to the high heavens.

My mother beamed, eagerly inviting him over to eat whenever he wanted. Zachary never hesitated to take advantage of it.

He showed up constantly, and spaghetti became a permanent fixture on our dining table. I was miserable. I couldn't stomach another bite.

Zachary rested his long arm against the open window, flicking his ashes into the wind.

A ghost of regret laced his low voice. "Can't eat it anymore." The raw, crushing grief of losing her swelled in my throat. I stared out the window, completely robbed of words.

It had been years since Zachary and I shared an atmosphere this effortless and completely devoid of venom.

Maybe because he missed her funeral, he was temporarily shelving his reckless, playboy persona. The phone on the center console lit up, violently shattering the fragile peace.

Zachary leaned back into the driver's seat. He pressed the phone to his ear, navigating the steering wheel with one hand.

The car barely rolled forward before a bright, feminine voice blasted through the surround sound.

She was furious, her demand bold and utterly entitled. "Zachary, where the hell are you?" His phone was still paired to the car's Bluetooth. He forgot to switch the audio output.

I knew exactly who it was. Stephanie. He didn't even pretend to hide it from me. "Where are you?" he drawled lazily.

She snapped the name of a luxury hotel, her tone instantly melting into a pathetic, whiny pout. "I just flew for over ten hours. I am exhausted." Oh.

Stephanie was back in the country. I shoved my earbuds back in and cranked the volume to the absolute max. The call ended quickly.

Zachary caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his thin lips moving. I read the shape of his mouth. "Home?" "Yes." I closed my eyes and gave a clipped response.

Zachary slammed his foot on the gas. The car lurched forward with terrifying speed. Caught entirely off guard, my body jerked violently against the seatbelt.

I flew forward, my eyes snapping open in panic. The rearview mirror reflected Zachary's arrogant, sculpted face.

He kept his eyes locked on the road, but the wicked, deliberate smirk pulling at his mouth gave him away completely. Asshole. He dropped me off at the front door.

He whipped the steering wheel around and vanished down the road in seconds. I stood on the pavement for a long moment before finally turning to go inside.

I spent the last few days sending my mother off in absolute, numb silence.

But when the dead of night hit, the grief seeped into my bones like freezing water, suffocating and inescapable.

Before, even with her locked away in that sanatorium, I still had an anchor. Now, I stared into the empty space and realized I had absolutely nothing left.

This sprawling, multimilliondollar estate was nothing but a gilded cage. My ingrained biological clock woke me up precisely at six.

The skin of my cheeks felt tight, crusted with the salt of unconscious tears.

I sat completely still, forcibly locking every stray emotion back into its rigid box before getting out of bed. I started down the stairs. My foot froze midstep.

A tall silhouette was standing by the massive living room window. Chapter 8 The spring nights were stretching longer.

The hazy, predawn light fractured through the swaying tree branches outside the window, casting a shifting mosaic of shadows across his frame. He had just woken up.

He was still wearing his silk sleepwear. "Your expression…" Zachary tilted his head. "Is incredibly fascinating." I walked straight to the marble island and poured a glass of warm water.

My tone was perfectly level. "I just assumed you were not coming home last night." Seeing him here was genuinely unexpected. Didn't he have a girl in a hotel room to entertain?

A wicked, lethally amused smirk curled Zachary's lips. "What, Mrs. Sinclair? Were you planning to raid the hotel and catch me in bed?" The warm water caught in my throat.

I nearly choked. Usually, no matter how toxic his behavior got, I turned a blind eye as long as he did not cross the absolute line.

But his malicious streak was a chronic, deeply ingrained sickness. He paraded his debauchery out in the open, feeding the tabloids an endless supply of redflag scandals.

Just as he designed it, my role as Mrs. Sinclair had become a walking, breathing punchline. He was the one acting completely unhinged.

Yet the Sinclair family boardroom always dropped the guillotine on my neck. I knew dragging him out of his neonlit VIP booths only fueled his resentment toward me.

But what other choice did I have?

As long as I wore his ring, I was contractually obligated to clean up his messes. "I have no such plan." I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth with another sip of water.

I offered a flat reminder. "Just keep a low profile. Do not let the paparazzi catch you." Zachary narrowed his eyes through a fresh cloud of cigarette smoke. "Apologies.

I am naturally highprofile." The conversation hit a dead end. I had nothing left to say. I finished my water and went out for my usual morning run.

After showering and changing into my corporate attire, I bumped into Zachary in the massive underground garage. He was heading to the executive tower as well.

He frowned slightly, his gaze dropping to my suit. "Victoria, the corporation offers bereavement leave." "I know." I gave a brief nod. "Fifteen days.

It officially ends today." Zachary lowered his heavy eyelids, pinning me with a scrutinizing stare. He suddenly closed the distance between us.

His large hand dropped onto my shoulder, the smooth back of his knuckles brushing deliberately against the sensitive skin of my neck.

A terrifying, electric itch spiked under my skin.

I immediately reached up and pushed his hand away. "We are going to be late." Zachary let out a lazy, mocking drawl. "The Sinclairs really hit the jackpot landing a wife as utterly devoted as you." I completely ignored the biting sarcasm.

I slid into the driver's seat and pulled out of the garage. Barely a mile down the road, a blindingly loud blue sports car tore past my window.

Zachary had his elbow propped casually against the doorframe as he vanished into the chaotic morning traffic. I kept my hands steady on the leather steering wheel.

A crease formed between my brows. Did this psychopath treat public highways like a Formula 1 track?

The second I stepped into my office, I buried myself under the overwhelming mountain of documents that had piled up over the last two weeks.

My assistant, Rachel, pushed the heavy glass door open and peeked her head in. "VP Victoria, Mr.

Sinclair requested you in his office immediately." I instantly knew he was orchestrating another disaster.

Even though I braced myself on the elevator ride up, a nauseating wave of discomfort still hit my chest the second I pushed his double doors open.

Zachary was lounging arrogantly in his leather executive chair. A woman was perched right on the edge of his massive, custom desk.

Her long, bare legs swung back and forth with careless, brazen entitlement. Her back was to me, so I could not see her face.

But based entirely on the hyperrevealing, fiery outfit, I knew exactly who it was. Stephanie. I shifted my gaze squarely onto my husband. "You wanted to see me, Mr.

Sinclair?" Zachary jutted his chin in my direction. He raised a lazy, insolent brow. "Look.

My wife is here." The calculated drawl and that specific title immediately triggered a migraine behind my eyes. He was weaponizing me again.

I genuinely did not expect Stephanie to follow through on her threat and crash my workplace. Stephanie spun around.

Her eyes dragged up and down my body, inspecting me with completely unrestrained arrogance. "Nice to see you again, Victoria." Her smile was radiant and blindingly aggressive.

She did not display a single ounce of embarrassment or guilt. She sat on that desk like she was the one legally married to him.

A sudden, hollow urge to laugh bubbled up in my throat. In the past, running into her used to twist a vicious knife in my gut.

I used to agonize over the tormenting thought that Zachary treated her differently. That she meant something to him. Seeing her right now, the entire illusion just shattered.

She was no different at all from the endless, disposable line of women he kept around for his own amusement. My mindset had simply, fundamentally changed.

Chapter 9 "Hello." I returned the greeting with sterile politeness.

She spun around smoothly, propping her chin in her hands and resting her elbows on her bare knees. "Not even five years, and Victoria is already playing the ruthless corporate elite." She blinked innocently. "I heard they are calling you VP Stratford now." A blatant, transparent jab at nepotism.

I offered a placid smile. "Nepotism has its perks." Stephanie froze, her brain clearly shortcircuiting at my utter lack of shame.

A low, gravelly laugh rumbled from Zachary's chest. He leaned sideways into his leather chair, resting his jaw against his knuckles. He shot me a look of pure, dark appreciation.

I lowered my eyes. "Zachary." Stephanie scowled, hating the sudden shift in his attention. "I want to use nepotism to work here, too." "You are not Mrs. Sinclair," he drawled.

She choked on her breath. "Whose side are you on?" Zachary just smirked, a vicious, silent amusement. "Zachary!" "Drop it." He casually pulled a cigarette from his silver case and trapped it between his teeth. "You spend your nights in clubs and your days in bed.

You want a desk job?" "I can just come home earlier," she pouted. "Why do you not just move your bed into the VIP lounge?" "You are making fun of me." They pingponged back and forth, entirely wrapped up in their own private world.

I was nothing but a piece of furniture to them. "Mr.

Sinclair." I kept my voice perfectly flat. "If that is all, I have work to do." Zachary swept a heavy, calculating gaze over me. "Go." I turned on my heel.

Stephanie was not finished. "Hey, wait." I did not stop.

She hopped off the mahogany desk and chased me straight out the double doors. "Victoria." Her sickly sweet voice trailed right behind my shoulder.

I angled my body slightly. "Was there something else?" She wanted a show. Zachary accommodated her, summoning me like a prop for her entertainment.

Was that not enough? "Nothing major." Stephanie painted on a radiant, victorious smile. "I just wanted to make sure you knew. Those two weeks Zachary spent in Africa?

He was with me." A wave of dark irony washed over me. Her phrasing was incredibly familiar.

Years ago, shortly after the wedding, a text from an unknown international number had lit up my screen. The message was short. [I was the one beside him for four years in London.

What exactly are you?] The words were brief. But the time I spent staring at them, reading them over and over until my vision blurred, was agonizingly long.

Time had eroded the memory. I could barely remember the chaotic thoughts that ran through my head back then. All I remembered was the physical sensation.

A serrated blade twisting slowly in my chest. I had not replied then. But now, looking at her, I felt absolutely nothing. What was I? A childhood friend?

A corporate merger contract? I gave a sterile nod. "Yes. I know." "Is Victoria really this generous?" She tilted her head, dripping with fake sympathy. "Makes sense.

It is a billionaire arranged marriage. It is just a business transaction. Who would be stupid enough to actually fall in love?" Her subtext was practically screaming at me.

I was the corporate tool. She was the one he loved. In this modern era of dysfunctional romance, the narrative was always that the unloved wife was the real homewrecker.

I had been there first, but somehow, I was the villain standing in the way of their epic love story. Wow. Shame on me.

A genuine, amused smile broke across my face. "You are completely right." Stephanie's triumphant grin instantly faltered.

She had thrown her absolute best punch, desperate to draw blood. Landing a blow on a brick wall left her utterly humiliated. I did not spare her another second of my time.

I turned around and buried myself back in my office