Leaving the Divorce Papers After Overhearing His French

The Sterling Estate's fifth-anniversary banquet was halfway through. The crystal chandelier overhead was blinding. I stood by the champagne tower, holding a glass of sparkling water. A steady stream of guests came over to toast us, but Arthur intercepted every one. "Mr. and Mrs. Sterling are as deeply in love as ever." A board member approached, raising his glass. "Happy anniversary. Maybe next year you’ll have an even bigger reason to celebrate." Arthur smoothly took the glass from my hand and clinked it against the man's. "We hope so too." Once the man walked away, Arthur draped an arm over my shoulder and led me away from the crowd to a quiet lounge area. As we sat on the sofa, he took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. He pulled me into his arms. "You've been standing all night. Rest for a minute." He looked down at me. I leaned against his chest. He smelled of fir, familiar and comforting. I rested my hand against the side of my dress. Through the fabric, my fingertips brushed against the pregnancy test hidden in my pocket. I had planned to show it to him during the closing speech. I wanted to tell him, in front of all our guests, that we were going to have a baby. I wanted to see him sweep me up in his arms with joy. Just then, Arthur's assistant wove through the crowd and stopped by our sofa. He shot me a hesitant glance. Arthur didn't move his arm. He looked up at his assistant and switched to French. "Did you bring the papers?" The assistant blinked, quickly catching on that his boss was trying to keep me in the dark. He switched to French too, handing over a thick stack of documents. "Yes. It's the transfer for the 300 million property. It needs your signature." Arthur took it, flipped to the last page, and scrawled his name. "Transfer this penthouse to Chloe," he continued in French. "And that no-limit black card I opened for her in Switzerland last month—tell her to swipe it as much as she wants." He leaned back and let out a low chuckle. "Chloe’s a lot more fun than Elena ever was. Five years with Elena and nothing. Chloe and I have only been together a few months, and she’s already pregnant. Guess that says it all." The assistant kept his head down. "Keep a close eye on this. Don't let Elena find out. Once the baby is born, if it's a boy, I'm leaving him 15% of the group's shares in my will." Arthur handed the signed documents back. I sat quietly in his arms. The warmth of his jacket lingered on my shoulders. His heartbeat drummed against my ear. Arthur thought I only spoke English and Italian. He didn't know my grandmother was French. I understood every single word. The assistant walked away. Arthur lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to my hair. As he moved, I caught a flash of lipstick on the inside of his collar. Bright red. Definitely not mine. He was completely oblivious, holding me tightly against him. Classical music drifted through the hall. A few feet away, some female guests whispered praises about the hand-embroidery on my dress. I slowly pulled my hand out of my pocket. The pregnancy test stayed behind. I sat up straight. The jacket slipped down my shoulders, and I caught the edges. "It's a bit stuffy in here. I'm going to the terrace for some fresh air," I said, looking him in the eye. He grabbed my wrist, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. "It's windy outside. Keep the jacket on." His tone was as warm as when he had been blocking drinks for me earlier. "Don't be too long. We have to cut the cake soon." "Okay." I pulled my hand back and headed for the terrace. I pushed open the heavy glass doors, stepped out, and pulled them shut. The music and laughter died behind me. The night wind bit at my face. I walked up to the stone railing, pulled out my phone, and opened my email. At the top of my inbox sat an email from three days ago. An invitation from a private island in Europe, offering me the lead designer role for their core architecture complex. Before I married, I was a prodigy in the design world, signing all my blueprints with a single letter: "E." After marriage, to play hostess at the Sterling Group's endless banquets, I locked my drafting tubes away. For five years, I rejected every offer. I made myself the perfect Mrs. Sterling. I tapped reply. Staring at the keyboard, I typed my first sentence. Elena: I accept. I will arrive in five days. I paused, then added another line. Elena: However, I require absolute privacy. My real identity cannot be disclosed to anyone, from flight routes to daily operations. I hit send. Email Sent popped up on the screen. I locked the screen and shoved the phone back into my suit pocket. I turned around. Through the glass, Arthur was laughing with someone inside. In five days, Mrs. Sterling would cease to exist.