Accidental Mrs. Ciaran

The air hung thick with the smell of wet concrete and ozone. Petrichor. That was the word for it. Nicole breathed in deep, trying to shove her nerves down where they couldn’t claw at her throat. It was going to rain. The forecast had said so and judging by the sky, it wasn't bluffing. Ma had pleaded with her to stay home, had laid out a dozen excuses she could use to bail on the interview. Even Nina had urged her to stay back. “Why are you so desperate for this job anyway? Ma needs us. We’ve got the store right here. We can keep it running.” Simple. Practical. That was Nina. But Nicole felt something tighten in her chest. Because Nina didn’t understand. Keeping the store running wasn’t the point. Staying wasn’t the point. Nicole loved Ma. Loved her sister. But every day behind that counter felt like pressing repeat on a life she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore. Wake up. Open shop. Smile at customers. Count change. Close up. Sleep. Start over. Again. And again. And again. Maybe for everyone else, that life was enough. But Nicole wanted more. Anything was better than the life she'd spent the last twenty-four years trapped inside. Maybe that’s why losing Eddie cut so deep. Eddie Scaforth wasn’t just a boyfriend. He was the plan. In Nicole’s head, their story was already written in small, ordinary things. Nothing extravagant. Nothing complicated. Just a life that felt safe, certain, hers. For a while, it had felt like heaven. Like a dream come true. Until it didn’t. Until he said it wasn’t working anymore. Said he needed space. Fine. As much as it hurt, Nicole gave him space. What else was she supposed to do? She didn’t argue. Didn’t beg him to stay—not at first. She only wanted answers. Wanted to understand where all of this had suddenly come from. Days passed. Then weeks. And eventually Nicole realized something painful: Space had never really been about space. Because what he actually meant was that he needed room for something—or someone—else to fill the gap. It was Ivy Barker. Of course it was. Who didn't know Ivy Barker? MBA from some ridiculously expensive international business school. Master's in Corporate Strategy and Brand Management because apparently one degree wasn't enough suffering. Certifications in public relations, leadership, hospitality management—God knew what else. Fluent in French, Spanish, probably the language of rich people too. Nicole tipped her head back, blinking rapidly, forcing the tears to retreat before they could betray her. No. Absolutely not. She refused. Because Because crying over Eddie Scaforth had become exhausting. And maybe that was the cruelest part of heartbreak: One day you stop crying because you’re healing. And another day you stop because you're simply tired of hurting. “Miss—" The voice pulled Nicole from her thoughts. She turned. An older woman stood beside her, maybe in her mid-fifties, with soft laugh lines gathered at the corners of her eyes. A gentle smile rested on her face as she held out a raincoat toward Nicole. “There you go. Looks like you’re gonna need this." Her eyes were striking, a clear grey that seemed almost silver in the dim, overcast light. They were bright, piercing, warm, as though they’d seen every kind of storm and decided they liked the rain anyway. “Thank you.” Nicole said it softly A small smile touched her lips, though it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. She took the raincoat, hesitated, then slid into it. It was too big. The sleeves swallowed her hands, and when Nicole shifted to put it on properly, the raincoat draped all the way past the hem of her black pencil skirt, falling to her calves. It carried a faint scent of lavender mixed with old bus fumes. She adjusted it quietly, pulling it closer around herself before sliding the hood over her head. “Lord, if You’re listening, get that bus here quick. Please. Amen.” Nicole heard the woman pray. Every word of it... And for some reason, it grated against her nerves. Just then the bus lights cut through the rain. It would’ve come whether the prayer got answered or not. That was the thing about buses. They ran on schedules, not miracles. Still, Nicole got to her feet and climbed on. Inside, it was warmer, but not by much. She flexed her fingers, rubbing her palms together quickly, trying to force some life back into them. No use. Her hands were stubbornly numb. Her feet were worse. Cold—deep, biting cold—like they’d been dipped in ice water and forgotten there too long. *** With every step, her shoes made a soft squish, pushing out trapped water with each movement. Nicole could feel it more than she could ignore it. “Miss Hayes.” A blonde woman stepped forward, looking too put together for a day that had drenched Nicole from head to toe. Her eyes flicked to the raincoat still hanging from Nicole's arm then offered a helping hand, gesturing toward the elevator with a warm tilt of her head. “Up to the ninth floor. Mr. Clyde’s waiting for you in his office. Your jacket too—may I? It looks rather damp from the rain.” Nicole nodded as he woman helped ease the jacket off her shoulder. Her eyes drifted, taking in the lobby of Vesper Hotels and Suites. Gleaming marble, soft lighting, silence that felt expensive. The whole place gave off rich, curated wealth without saying a word. Nicole took a slow breath, steadying herself as if that alone could ground her in a place that didn’t feel like it had room for her. Afterwards, she stepped into the elevator, reaching out to tap the button marked 9. A soft beep. Then the doors slid shut with a gentle chime, sealing her inside. Silence. Nicole swallowed. Then quickly straightened, rolling her shoulders back and adjusting her posture like she could physically pull herself together. Chin up. Stand properly. Look confident. People always said confidence mattered. Even if it was fake and her shoes were... soaked. Bad enough? Sure. But she kept her chin level anyway. She smoothed her damp shirt unconsciously before tucking a loose strand of her auburn locks behind her ear. The movement was small, nervous. Automatic. No distractions. Just the interview. Just getting through it. The lift gave a soft beep and the doors slid open. Nicole barely had time to lift her head. Then— Bump. Hard. Her shoulder slammed into someone stepping in at the exact same moment. The apologies spilt out before Nicole could even think. She bent almost immediately, reaching for the papers scattered across the polished floor. “Wanted a young woman to play the role of a wife… but also one who could see properly.” The voice came rather cold. Not loud enough to echo, but with enough irritation behind it to stop Nicole’s hands for a second. She ignored him. Or at least pretended to. Just pressed her lips together and continued gathering the papers scattered across the floor. “Just leave this to me. Hurry, get dressed," he added, sharper now. "There’s a nun, a priest, two grandmothers, a great-grandmother, and some distant cousin arriving in thirty minutes—"