His Hidden Wife

Chapter One The Return Rain had a way of making the city look guilty. It washed the streets clean, blurred the lights of passing cars and turned the glass buildings into dark mirrors. From the back seat of the black sedan, Arielle watched Lagos disappear behind a curtain of rain, her fingers tightening around the edge of the envelope resting on her lap. Five years. Five years since she had seen this city. Five years since she had disappeared. And somehow, nothing looked different. The traffic was still terrible. The streets were still loud. The tall buildings still stood over everything as if they owned the sky. But Arielle was different. At least, she hoped she was. She looked down at her left hand. There was no ring on her finger anymore. There hadn't been one for years. Still, sometimes, when she was tired, she could almost feel it. That thin band of gold. The one Damian had slipped onto her finger himself. Her throat tightened. She immediately looked away. "Are you sure about this?" The question came from the driver. Arielle lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror. "Yes." The driver hesitated. "You've been quiet since we left the airport." "I'm always quiet." He gave a small, uncertain smile. "Not everyone comes back to a place they ran away from." Arielle's expression changed. "I didn't run away." The words came out more sharply than she intended. Silence filled the car. She looked through the window again. The driver wisely said nothing. Arielle stared at the rain sliding down the glass. She had repeated those words to herself for five years. I didn't run away. I didn't abandon him. I didn't betray him. But repetition didn't make the memories hurt less. There had been a time when she believed she would spend the rest of her life beside Damian Vale. She had believed it so completely that she hadn't thought to imagine a life without him. Then, one night, everything changed. And by sunrise, she was gone. No explanation. No goodbye. No wedding. No Damian. Just silence. The entire city had decided what happened. Arielle had left him. She had gotten scared. She had changed her mind. She had betrayed him. The newspapers had called her a runaway bride. People had whispered that she had humiliated one of the richest families in the country. Damian never publicly explained what happened. He didn't have to. His silence had been enough. Arielle closed her eyes. She could still remember the last message she had received from him. Where are you? She had stared at those three words until her vision blurred. She had wanted to answer. God, she had wanted to. But she couldn't. Because someone had made sure that if she answered him, Damian wouldn't be the only person who suffered. A sharp turn pulled her back into the present. She opened her eyes. The sedan had left the main road. The buildings were taller here. More expensive. Cleaner. The driver slowed as they approached a massive black gate. A security guard stepped forward beneath a small shelter, rain bouncing off his shoulders. He spoke into his radio. A moment later, the gate opened. Arielle's stomach tightened. She knew this place. She had been here before. Too many times. The sedan rolled through the gates and stopped in front of a towering glass-and-steel building. VALE HOLDINGS. The letters were engraved into a dark stone wall. Arielle stared at them. Her heartbeat became painfully loud. She had imagined this moment so many times. She had imagined Damian screaming. She had imagined him slamming a door in her face. She had imagined him looking at her with hatred. She had even imagined him not remembering her. But she had never imagined walking into his company as if the last five years had never happened. The driver turned around. "We're here." Arielle nodded. She reached for the door. Then stopped. Her hand remained on the handle. For the first time since she had landed in Nigeria, fear crawled slowly through her chest. Not fear of the building. Not fear of the employees. Not even fear of Damian. Fear of what would happen when she saw him. She forced herself to breathe. Then she stepped out. Cold rain immediately touched her skin. Arielle pulled her coat tighter around herself and walked toward the entrance. The glass doors opened automatically. Warm air rushed over her. Inside, everything was exactly as she remembered. Polished marble floors. Gold lighting. Quiet conversations. Expensive perfume. Employees walking quickly with tablets and folders pressed against their chests. The reception area was enormous, with a tall arrangement of white flowers sitting in the center. Arielle stopped for half a second. She remembered those flowers. Damian used to hate white roses. He always said they reminded him of funerals. She almost smiled at the memory. Almost. "Good morning, ma'am." A receptionist stood. Arielle looked at her. "Good morning." "May I help you?" Arielle placed her handbag on the counter. "I'm here to see Mr. Vale." The receptionist's fingers paused over her keyboard. "Do you have an appointment?" "Yes." "What name?" Arielle hesitated. For five years, she had used another name. She had built an entire life around hiding hers. But there was no point hiding now. "Arielle Laurent." The receptionist looked at her screen. Then at Arielle. Then back at the screen. Something flickered across her face. Recognition. Arielle saw it. The receptionist swallowed. "One moment, please." She picked up the phone. "Mr. Vale's office? There's a Miss Laurent here to see him." Arielle's pulse jumped. The receptionist listened. Her eyes widened slightly. "Yes, sir." She hung up. Arielle waited. "Mr. Vale will see you." Of course he would. She picked up her bag. "Thank you." The elevator doors opened behind her. She stepped inside. As the doors closed, Arielle finally allowed herself to breathe. The elevator began climbing. Twenty floors. Thirty. Forty. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirrored walls. She barely recognized the woman looking back. Her hair was longer now, falling in dark waves around her shoulders. Her face had become sharper. Older. Not old. Just tired. She touched the small scar near her collarbone. Another reminder. Another thing she had never explained. The elevator stopped. The doors opened. Arielle stepped into the executive floor. It was quieter than downstairs. The walls were made of dark wood and glass, decorated with abstract paintings and photographs of buildings belonging to Vale Holdings. A woman in a black suit approached her. "Miss Laurent?" "Yes." "I'm Mr. Vale's assistant. You can come with me." Arielle followed her. Every step felt heavier than the last. They stopped in front of a large black door. The assistant knocked once. "Come in." That voice. Arielle froze. Five years. She had spent five years trying to forget that voice. It hadn't worked. The assistant opened the door. Arielle walked inside. Damian Vale stood with his back toward her, looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His office was enormous. Dark wood. Black leather furniture. A long glass desk. A wall lined with books. And beyond the windows, the city stretched beneath the rain. Damian didn't turn around immediately. He was taller than she remembered. Or maybe she had simply forgotten how intimidating he could be. His black suit fit perfectly against his broad shoulders. His hair was slightly longer than before, neatly pushed back. One hand rested inside his trouser pocket. The other held a glass of water. He said nothing. Arielle stood near the door. The assistant glanced between them. "Sir, Miss Laurent is here." "I know." The assistant left. The door clicked shut. Silence. Arielle's heart pounded. Damian still hadn't turned around. Then, slowly, he placed the glass on the table beside him. He turned. Their eyes met. And the world stopped. For a moment, Arielle forgot how to breathe. His face had changed. There were faint lines near his eyes now. His jaw was harder. His expression was colder. But his eyes— She remembered those eyes. The same dark eyes that once looked at her as though she was the only person in the world. Now they looked at her as though she were a stranger. Damian stared at her. His expression didn't move. Not shock. Not anger. Nothing. That somehow hurt more. "Arielle." Her name sounded different coming from him. She swallowed. "Damian." His eyes travelled over her face. Her hair. Her hands. Then back to her eyes. Five years of questions seemed to sit between them. Finally, he walked toward his desk. "Sit." Arielle remained standing. "I'm not here for a conversation." His eyebrow lifted. "Then why are you here?" She pulled a folder from her bag and placed it on his desk. "I've been appointed as the legal representative for Laurent International." Damian glanced at the folder. Then at her. "And?" Arielle's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "Your company is acquiring a controlling interest in Laurent International." "I know." "The merger requires my approval." "I know." She stared at him. He hadn't changed. Still calm. Still impossible to read. "Then you know why I'm here." "No." His voice was quiet. "You've always been terrible at explaining yourself." Arielle's chest tightened. She looked away. Damian walked around the desk. He stopped only a few feet from her. "You disappeared five years ago." She said nothing. "You didn't call." Silence. "You didn't write." Her eyes burned. "You didn't even have the decency to tell me why." "Damian—" "Don't." His voice remained controlled, but something underneath it cracked. "Don't say my name like nothing happened." Arielle looked at him. "I didn't come here to talk about the past." "Then why did you come back?" She couldn't answer. Because the truth was too dangerous. Because the reason she had returned was sitting somewhere inside that building. Because someone had contacted her three weeks ago with a single photograph. A photograph of Damian. And beneath it were six words: He doesn't know you're still alive. Arielle had known immediately that something was wrong. But she hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected to stand in front of Damian again. He stepped closer. "What are you afraid of?" Her heart skipped. "I'm not afraid of anything." He gave a humorless smile. "You still lie badly." Arielle's eyes hardened. "And you're still arrogant." For the first time, something changed in his expression. A flicker. Almost amusement. Almost. Then it disappeared. His gaze dropped to her left hand. His eyes narrowed. "Where is it?" Arielle went still. She knew exactly what he meant. "The ring." Her breathing stopped. Damian looked at her empty finger. "The ring I gave you." Arielle slowly curled her fingers into her palm. "I lost it." His expression became unreadable. "No." She looked up. "I didn't lose mine either." Arielle's heart slammed against her ribs. Damian reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small black box. Her eyes widened. He opened it. Inside was the ring. The exact ring he had given her five years ago. Arielle stared at it. Her lips parted. "You kept it?" Damian's eyes remained fixed on hers. "I kept a lot of things." He closed the box. Then his voice dropped. "But I stopped keeping explanations for you." Arielle couldn't speak. Damian walked past her toward the door. Then he stopped. Without turning around, he said, "One more thing." She looked at him. "Yes?" "You're staying in this city." It wasn't a question. Arielle frowned. "That's none of your business." He finally turned. His eyes were colder now. "You're right." He paused. "But if you think you can walk back into my life and disappear again..." His gaze hardened. "...you're mistaken." Arielle stared at him. He opened the door. "Welcome back, Arielle." She didn't move. Damian's expression remained unreadable. Then he said the one thing she had spent five years trying to forget. "Welcome home, wife."