Chapter 5
936 Words
Third POV
The morning passed in silence.
Nikolai and Cassidy had left early, dressed for work as if nothing was wrong in the world—as if they hadn’t shattered her soul and replaced it with something cold, brittle, and barely holding together. Quinley didn’t speak a word when they left. She had sat at the breakfast table, her fingers curled tightly around a lukewarm cup of coffee she couldn’t stomach, pretending she was fine, pretending she wasn’t breaking.
The front door clicked shut behind them. The sound echoed in the hollow house like a trigger.
Quinley stood.
She didn’t know what pushed her. Maybe it was the cold dismissal last night. Maybe it was the certainty in Nikolai’s voice when he’d said, “It’s either you live with that fact, or you die with it.” Maybe it was the way Cassidy had looked at her—possessive, victorious, like she already owned everything Quinley once called hers.
But something inside Quinley snapped.
She started to study. Nikolai’s study had always been his domain—neat, methodical, locked whenever he wasn’t around. But today he’d been in a rush. The door wasn’t even shut.
She moved through the shelves like a ghost, heart pounding, fingers trembling as she sifted through neatly arranged files and folders. Contracts. Tax returns. Photographs.
Nothing out of place—until she reached the bottom drawer.
It was stuck. Jammed halfway, as though something had slid behind and gotten caught.
She yanked harder.
The drawer flew open—and with it came a small, old envelope wedged at the back.
She pulled it free. No label. No name. Just aged paper and something stiff inside.
Her breath hitched.
She opened it.
It was a photo—weathered and slightly curled at the corners. A wedding photo.
Quinley stared.
It was Nikolai.
And Cassidy.
Dressed in white and black, hand in hand, smiling at each other beneath a floral arch. Cassidy’s veil blew in the wind, and Nikolai was gazing at her like she was his world.
Quinley’s knees buckled. She sank slowly into the desk chair, the photo trembling between her fingers.
No. No. This had to be a joke. A modeling shoot. A campaign. Something—anything else.
But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.
She turned the photo over.
A date was scribbled on the back.
Six months before she married Nikolai.
Her lungs squeezed tight.
She rose, dizzy, and stumbled to the guest bedroom—Cassidy’s chosen space. The scent of vanilla and expensive perfume lingered like poison in the air. She moved to the side table, pulling the drawers open one by one.
Hairbrush. Lipstick. Receipts. Nothing.
Then she saw the box. A slim, leather-bound box half-hidden under the bed. She reached for it, her heart a jackhammer in her chest.
Inside were documents. Folded papers. IDs. A silver necklace she’d seen Cassidy wear only once.
And then… the marriage certificate.
Quinley’s fingers went numb.
She unfolded it slowly, her breath caught in her throat.
Certificate of Marriage Nikolai Alexander Rutherfield & Cassidy Marie Rutherfield
Married under oath, dated six months before Quinley’s own wedding.
Her vision blurred. The room tilted.
She reached for the edge of the bed, gripping it to stay upright. Her thoughts raced, tripping over each other. No… this can’t be. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
But it was.
Nikolai was already married to Cassidy. Had been. For years.
Which meant… what? That her own marriage was a lie? That she was never legally his wife?
Then why had he married her?
Why go through the vows, the ring, the promises, the anniversaries?
Why let her hope?
Why let her fall in love?
Quinley stumbled back, dragging herself into the hallway, her pulse thundering like war drums in her ears. She sank to the floor, the documents clutched to her chest.
The silence in the house mocked her.
Was she the other woman all along?
A mistress playing wife while the real one lived in the shadows?
She thought of the stares she’d sometimes caught between Nikolai and Cassidy. The long hours he spent at the studio. The trips he never let her join. The odd slips of the tongue—times when he’d accidentally called her by a different name and brushed it off with a kiss.
It all made sense now.
Too much sense.
But then—why bring Cassidy into the house so boldly now?
Why parade her around as the surrogate?
Unless…
Unless he knew she’d eventually find out. And he no longer cared.
Quinley pressed her hand to her mouth, trying not to scream.
None of it made sense. Why would Nikolai marry her if he was already married to Cassidy? Was it love? Pity? Control?
Or something darker?
And how could no one have known? Not her family. Not the registrar. Not even the media who had once praised their wedding as picture-perfect?
She was in the photo albums. She had a ring. She had witnesses.
So why?
Why was she in the picture?
Why had Nikolai done this?
Why had Cassidy agreed?
The questions piled higher than the pain.
Quinley sat there, trembling, the certificate spread out beside her like a curse. Her whole world had been a beautifully constructed lie. One she had walked into willingly. Blindly.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, only that the air had turned still. Heavy.
Her body shook as realization dawned like a slow, cruel sunrise.
She wasn’t the wife.
She was the secret.
And the truth?
The truth had only just begun to reveal itself.
- Writer
