Part 1Stood Up on Our Wedding Anniversary

On our wedding anniversary, Julian Marriott—a man meticulous in all things—stood me up for the very first time.

He was at a welcome-home party for his ex-wife.

In a video that was already circulating, Julian, a notorious germaphobe who loathed physical contact, was seen embracing everyone in the room. When he reached his ex-wife, he paused for a moment before pulling her into a tight, lingering hug. A smile touched the lips of the man whose face was usually a mask of perfect composure.

It was then I realized with a sickening lurch that in five years as his wife, I had never once seen a real, unguarded emotion cross his face.

But I am Elara Vance, the sole heiress to the Vance fortune.

I get what I want.

And I would never stoop to the clownish drama of fighting another woman for a man.

* * *

A photo of their embrace, snapped by some socialite, quickly found its way online.

Rumors of a rift in the marriage of the Marriott empire’s crown prince shot to the top of every major newsfeed.

Before I could even react, the trending topic, which had been marked with a blazing "EXPLODING" tag, vanished. The Marriott Corporation’s official account released a crisp statement. The most rabid posters were served with court summonses.

The entire affair was sterilized from the internet in less than ten minutes.

Julian Marriott would never allow anything to threaten the alliance between the Marriott and Vance families.

Just as I shut my phone, my name was splashed across every billboard in the city. A grand, public display, affirming my status and the respect due to Mrs. Marriott.

But I just stared at the neon lights, lost.

In five years, this was the first time.

The first time the ever-punctual, ever-organized man had missed our anniversary.

The next morning, as I was about to leave, I saw Julian’s car pulling into the driveway.

He stepped out, a child's brightly colored backpack—a stark contrast to his usual refined elegance—in one hand. In the other, he held the hand of a little girl.

He knelt, pulling the child into a hug, his eyes filled with a softness I had never seen before.

Following behind them was a woman in a simple white dress. I recognized her. Julian's ex-wife.

He saw me standing by my car and froze for a second before stopping.

"Elara," he began, his eyes downcast as if in explanation, "Lily has to attend school here in the city. It's an issue with her records."

Before I could speak, the woman beside him cut in. "Mrs. Marriott, I'm so sorry. I'm raising her on my own, I really had no other choice."

I looked down at her from the slight advantage of my heels, my voice dripping with scorn.

"My husband and I are speaking. Who gave you permission to interrupt?"

Julian frowned slightly but said nothing.

As the woman’s face flushed with humiliation, I turned to my husband, my expression hardening.

"Because of this morning's photos, the joint Vance-Marriott enterprise has already dropped ten percent."

My cold stare was enough to make the little girl in his arms burst into tears.

"Go away! He's my daddy!"

Julian’s frown deepened, and he quickly patted Lily’s back to soothe her. He looked at me with a weary sort of helplessness.

"Elara, it was just a hug. And I've already had my team handle the crisis with the company." His tone was exasperated, but it was a familiar one, and it made my chest tighten.

It was the same as it had been for the past five years.

He would always protect my public dignity as Mrs. Marriott.

But he seemed to forget that I needed to be loved, too.

I had once tried to teach him how to make me happy. But now I realized that if a relationship needed to be taught, it was already a failure.

"Have them gone by the time I get home tonight," I said, turning my back to him, and drove to my office.

As the Vance heiress, I had little time to waste on intruders.

I worked until midnight. When I finally returned home, I was certain that the ever-pragmatic Julian would have handled the situation.

That certainty shattered the moment I opened the door.

"Mrs. Marriott," Mona said, having changed into a rather provocative silk nightgown. "You're back. I'll have the butler prepare dinner for you."

My eyes narrowed. Was she playing lady of the house?

I walked towards her, a mocking smile playing on my lips. I hooked a finger under the strap of her nightgown. "A fan of hand-me-downs?"

Mona's face stiffened, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction to her provocation.

"Can you just give him back to me?" she pleaded, her voice suddenly trembling. "There's no love between you. But my child needs her father."

I paused on the stairs and turned, one eyebrow raised.

"A family heiress needs profits, not love," I said, my smile turning derisive. "Your worldview is rather limited, isn't it?"

The disdain in my eyes was a direct hit to her fragile pride. The color drained from her face.

I was about to turn away when she lost control and blocked my path.

"You know he was with me last night, don't you? But do you know what we did?" She flashed her phone screen at me. A picture of a rumpled hotel bed filled the display. "Are you really that tolerant, Mrs. Marriott?"

I glanced down. I recognized Julian’s hand instantly.

The ring on his finger was the one I had placed there myself.

My own fingers curled into a fist, just for a second.

But on the surface, I was still the cool, untouchable Elara Vance.

"After a steady diet of caviar, I suppose even he craves something... common."

Mona gasped, her face turning crimson with humiliation.

Back in my room, I looked at the man already asleep in our bed. His usually perfect hair was mussed, falling softly across his forehead. I unconsciously touched the ring on my own hand. My fingers traced the line of his brow, down the bridge of his nose, and came to rest on his thin lips.

Julian, don't let me down.