Marrying My Enemy, I Inherited an Empire

Elena Carter's POV The night I finally accepted that my marriage was over, New York glittered as though the city had something to celebrate. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse overlooking Central Park, thousands of lights stretched endlessly beneath the dark sky, turning the city into a sea of gold. Three years ago, I had stood in this exact spot wearing a white silk robe, unable to stop smiling as I waited for my new husband to come home after our wedding reception. I remembered believing that every sacrifice I had made would eventually be rewarded, that every lonely night would one day become a beautiful memory, and that the man I loved would learn to love me just as deeply in return. I often wondered which part of that dream had been the lie. Was it the promise that love could change someone, or was it the simple belief that I had ever truly been loved? The answer no longer mattered. For months I had tried to save a marriage that had been slipping through my fingers one quiet day after another. I convinced myself Damien Ashford was merely overwhelmed by the enormous responsibility of leading Ashford Global Holdings, a multinational corporation whose influence reached from Wall Street to London and Tokyo. Every magazine described him as America's youngest billionaire CEO, a visionary businessman whose discipline and intelligence had transformed the family empire into one of the most powerful corporations in the world. Investors admired him, employees respected him, and competitors feared him. I was the only person who knew how lonely he could be. Or perhaps I had only imagined that I knew him. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed eleven times, its deep echo travelling through the silent apartment. Dinner remained untouched on the dining table, the candles having burned almost to the bottom without either of us sitting down together. Martha, our elderly housekeeper, had offered to clear everything away nearly an hour earlier, but I asked her to leave it. A foolish part of me still believed Damien might walk through the front door, apologise for working late, and sit across from me like the husband I had spent three years waiting for. Hope could be a dangerous habit. It taught people to ignore the truth even when it stood directly in front of them. I lowered my eyes to the small velvet box resting beside my wine glass. Inside lay the anniversary gift I had purchased for Damien nearly three weeks ago, a handcrafted silver watch engraved with a single sentence on the back. Every moment with you is worth waiting for. The engraving now felt painfully ironic. I had spent three years waiting. Three years believing tomorrow would somehow become different from yesterday. Three years making excuses for a man who never asked me to. The electronic lock finally beeped. A moment later the front door opened. Damien stepped inside, removing his suit jacket with the effortless elegance that seemed to follow him everywhere. His charcoal-grey tie had been loosened slightly, and exhaustion shadowed his striking features, yet nothing could diminish the commanding presence that made boardrooms fall silent whenever he entered. At thirty-two, he had already achieved more than most people accomplished in a lifetime, but success had come at a price I was no longer certain either of us understood. His eyes met mine across the room. "I didn't know you were still awake." His voice carried the same calm restraint it always did, as though every emotion had been carefully measured before being allowed to escape. "I wanted us to have dinner together." He glanced briefly at the dining table before checking the expensive watch already wrapped around his wrist. "I'm sorry. The meeting lasted longer than expected." "The meeting lasted until eleven at night?" "There were international investors involved." I nodded slowly, though I wasn't sure whether I believed him anymore. Excuses had become so familiar that they almost sounded comforting. "I asked Martha to keep everything warm," I said softly. "It only takes a few minutes." Damien hesitated. For a brief moment I hoped he would sit down. Instead, he placed his briefcase beside the sofa and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I've already eaten." The words settled between us like falling glass. I stared at him, unable to hide the disappointment spreading across my face. "You ate without telling me?" "It wasn't planned." "I've been waiting since seven." "I know." He said it quietly, almost apologetically, yet there was no urgency in his voice. No guilt. No attempt to repair the hurt. Only acceptance. That somehow made everything worse. I walked to the dining table and slowly extinguished the candles one after another. Thin streams of smoke curled into the air as the warm glow disappeared, leaving the apartment noticeably darker. "I used to enjoy cooking for you," I murmured without looking at him. "Do you remember our first apartment? It was tiny, the kitchen barely had enough room for two people, and I nearly burned every meal I tried to make." A faint smile touched my lips despite myself. "You still ate everything." "I remember." "You told me practice would make me better." "It did." His answer came so quietly that it almost disappeared beneath the hum of the air conditioner. I turned toward him. "What changed?" He frowned slightly. "What do you mean?" "When did we stop trying?" For several seconds he remained silent. The question lingered between us, demanding an answer neither of us seemed prepared to give. "I've never stopped trying," he finally replied. I looked into his eyes, searching desperately for the certainty those words should have carried. Instead, I found only exhaustion. Perhaps regret. But not love. "I think you stopped a long time ago," I whispered. A heavy silence settled over the room. Outside, rain began falling against the enormous windows, soft at first before gradually becoming a steady rhythm that filled the empty spaces between us. I had always loved the sound of rain because it made the world feel peaceful. Tonight it only reminded me how impossible it had become for us to communicate. My phone vibrated gently on the table. Without thinking, I picked it up. The message had come from an unknown number. There was only one photograph. My fingers tightened around the phone as I opened it. The image showed Damien standing outside the Imperial Grand Hotel less than an hour earlier. Beside him stood Sophia Bennett, Ashford Global's Executive Director of International Operations. She was smiling warmly at him while his hand rested against the small of her back in a gesture that looked far too familiar to dismiss as coincidence. Beneath the photograph was a single sentence. Ask your husband why he looks happier with another woman than he has ever looked with you. The room suddenly felt smaller. My heartbeat echoed loudly in my ears as I raised my eyes from the screen and looked at the man standing only a few feet away. Damien noticed the colour drain from my face. "What happened?" Without speaking, I turned the phone around and placed it in front of him. His expression changed the instant he saw the photograph. Not because he looked guilty. Because he looked worried. And in that moment, I realised the greatest threat to my marriage might not be the woman standing beside my husband. It might be the secret he had been hiding from me all along.