The Contract Wife Chapter 04
That weekend, Nathan had a gathering with friends.
Traffic held me up. I was running late.
Before I pushed open the door to the private room, I could hear laughter and voices through the wood.
“Seriously, Nathan—if it hadn’t been for Sinclair Capital, wouldn’t you have married Ruby by now?”
The voice was already slurred with drink. “You two were so perfect together. Ripped apart, just like that.”
“You have to hand it to Evelyn. That was one hell of a move.” Another voice picked up. “I heard your stock was in freefall at the time. She showed up the next day with a contract, practically. Who’s to say her family wasn’t fanning the flames behind the scenes?”
“I’ve been saying it for a while now. She’s spent these three years cashing in. Even landed a husband on the discount rack.”
Someone laughed. Others chimed in agreement.
Then I heard Nathan’s voice, flat, almost cold:
“It’s in the past.”
My hand froze on the doorknob.
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t say she wasn’t that kind of woman.
He didn’t say the speculation was inappropriate.
He didn’t even tell them to shut up.
One weightless “it’s in the past,” and three years of marriage—along with what was left of my dignity—drowned quietly in their sneers.
My fingernails dug into my palm. It hurt a little.
I’d looked into Ruby. When Ashford Holdings hit its crisis, she had latched onto a wealthier, more powerful patron almost seamlessly. If even someone outside the industry like me could dig that up, I refused to believe Nathan couldn’t.
Unless he had simply never suspected her.
I thought suddenly of three years ago. Sinclair Capital hadn’t approved of my marriage to Nathan. My father had said the risk was too great. I’d mortgaged nearly every asset held in my trust and my shares, scraped together the first tranche of capital, and had it wired to Ashford Holdings’ CFO in the name of a bridge loan.
I never told a soul. Not even him.
I’d thought that was love.
Turned out that, in someone else’s mouth, it was just called taking advantage.
The laughter continued inside.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A message from Nathan: “Evelyn, are you here yet? I’m inside, waiting for you.”
I stared at the words “my dear husband” on my screen, and suddenly I laughed.
So the home I’d always believed in had never held a place for me at all.
I let my hand fall. Took a step back. And before the tears could come, I left the club.
…
After Ruby became the global spokesperson for a luxury brand under Ashford Holdings, the media dug up the old stories about her and Nathan.
Gossip accounts began analyzing her letters frame by frame, until the identity of “Mr. A” mentioned throughout was definitively pinned on Nathan Ashford.
The internet erupted all over again.
This time, the tide turned.
Netizens began questioning how Ruby’s “devotion” had been built on someone else’s marriage. Accusations of “knowingly being the other woman” poured in from every direction.
That evening, Nathan came home from the office looking exhausted.
He sat down in the living room and cut straight to it. “Evelyn, the PR team needs your cooperation. We need to issue a statement.”
“What statement?”
“That our marriage was a business alliance, not based on love. That we’ve been privately separated for months and that divorce proceedings began some time ago. It would take Ruby out of the crossfire, get her out of the mistress narrative.”
He paused.
“As compensation, name your divorce terms. Whatever you want.”
I stared. Then I laughed.
“You want me to step forward and tell the whole world that I’m a mercenary businesswoman, just so people will believe the love letters she wrote to a married man were pure devotion?”
He frowned. “That’s not what I meant—”
“Then what did you mean?”
The room was very quiet. Only the antique clock on the wall ticked on. Click. Click.
When he spoke again, his voice had gone softer.
“Evelyn… just—one last favor. Let’s dissolve the contract early. Whatever terms you want.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “And if I asked you to walk away with nothing?”