The day my father ushered his mistress and their illegitimate daughter through the front door was the same day a video of me with a stranger leaked online. The headline screamed across every gossip site: “Socialite Scandal: Norah Gates’ Wild Night and Wrecked Home.” Overnight, my reputation was incinerated. I went from the pampered daughter of the Gates dynasty to a pariah, a walking scarlet letter. My father didn’t want to hear explanations; he just wanted me gone. In the depths of that despair, Harrison appeared. He shielded me from the paparazzi flashbulbs, standing like a fortress between me and the world, declaring to anyone who would listen: “From now on, Norah is with me. Anyone who comes for her answers to Harrison Cole.” We dated for two years. Despite the immense pressure from his old-money family and the board of directors, he proposed. I said yes with my whole heart. But that very night, I stood frozen outside the door of his private study, listening to the clinking of scotch glasses and his voice drifting out, talking to his oldest friend. “Harrison, are you serious about marrying Norah? The girl is radioactive. What’s the angle?” “The angle is that she is radioactive,” Harrison replied, his voice smooth and detached. “I thought the family was blocking you from marrying Mallory?” “Decades of bad blood. They’d die before letting Mallory through the front door. So, here’s the play: I marry the most scandalous woman in New York. I force their hand. They either accept Mallory, or they watch the Cole family heir marry a woman who’s the laughingstock of the city.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and fast, but my blood turned to ice. The redemption I thought I’d found was just a long con. From the beginning, I wasn’t a partner. I was a pawn in his pursuit of true love. Fine. If he wants a performance, I’ll give him the show of a lifetime. 1 I heard the flick of a lighter, followed by the sharp inhale of smoke. “Norah is the perfect tool,” Harrison said, the disdain in his voice cutting through the heavy oak door. “She’s foolish, and she’s desperate for affection. Show her a little kindness, and she becomes loyal as a dog.” “Her ruined reputation is exactly the leverage I need to break my parents. Once they cave, I’ll find a reason to cut her loose. Clean break.” His friend sounded hesitant. “But you’ve been… intense with her. You went to war with CEO Zhang over her last month. Are you sure there’s no feelings there? You can lie to me, Harrison, but don’t play yourself.” Harrison exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s called method acting.” “If I don’t sell it, how does she take the bait? How do my parents believe I’m actually crazy enough to marry her?” He paused, his tone shifting to something colder. “Honestly? Being around her… knowing what the internet says about her… it’s nauseating. If it weren’t for Mallory, I wouldn’t look at her twice.” The bento box I was holding slipped from my fingers. Smash. Rice and vegetables scattered across the hallway runner, a messy mirror of my shattering heart. I didn’t storm in. I didn’t scream. I turned around and walked away. Back at the apartment, I moved with mechanical precision. I took every gift he’d ever given me—the jewelry, the bags, the hollow tokens of a fake love—and shoved them into a cardboard box. What once looked like devotion now just looked like a bribe. A tear splashed onto the back of my hand. I wiped it away furiously. I shoved the box into the back of the closet, hidden in the shadows. Then, I opened my laptop and bought a one-way ticket to Europe, departing in a week. I couldn’t breathe in this city of lies anymore. When the front door unlocked, I composed my face into a mask of calm. Harrison walked in, took one look at my swollen eyes, and frowned. He reached out to cup my cheek. “Hey. What’s wrong? Who upset you?” I flinched. It was a reflex. His hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced my voice to sound steady. “Nothing. Just… didn’t sleep well.” He bought it. He assumed I was doom-scrolling, reading the comments about myself again. He pulled me into a hug. “Stop reading that trash. I don’t care about your past, Norah. I only care about you.” He kissed the top of my head. “The wedding is in a week. My bride can’t be crying her eyes out. You need to be beautiful.” I rested my head against his chest. His body was as warm as it had always been. But listening to the steady beat of his heart, I felt nothing. The connection was dead. I shrank into his embrace, playing the part he wrote for me. “I’m so lucky to have you, Harrison.” He patted my back, satisfied. “Silly girl. I’m not going anywhere.” Suddenly, his phone on the counter lit up. A notification. Sender: Mallory. 2 My peripheral vision caught the preview text: “Harrison, I’m back in the city. We need to talk.” Harrison’s body went rigid against mine. His hand, resting on my waist, clenched instinctively. He pulled away, grabbed his phone, fired off a quick reply, and locked the screen before tossing it onto the sofa. He stood up, smoothing his suit jacket. “Norah, something urgent came up at the firm. I have to go in.” I watched him rush toward the door, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a giant, cold hand. “It’s ten o’clock at night,” I said softly. “Can’t it wait?” I held onto one last, pathetic shred of hope. Just stay. Choose me for one second. He didn’t even stop walking. He threw a look over his shoulder, impatient and annoyed. “I’m working late to close this deal so I have leverage when I tell my family we’re getting married. Can you be a little more understanding? Stop being so needy.” “Needy?” I whispered. I looked at him, tears threatening to spill, but I willed them back. “Harrison, are you hiding something from me?” He grabbed his coat, his voice hard. “No. Stop overthinking. I’ll be back when I’m done.” The door slammed shut. Bang. The sound severed the space between us. I sat on the sofa, staring at the empty, luxurious room, feeling the chill settle into my bones. Harrison didn’t come home that night. No texts. No calls. The appearance of Mallory—the “White Moonlight,” the one who got away—had turned my fragile peace into a hurricane. I didn’t sleep. Early the next morning, a text from an unknown number buzzed on my phone. “Ms. Gates, it’s Mallory Kent. We need to clear the air. Southside Café, 3 PM.” When I arrived, Mallory was already there. She was wearing a pristine white dress, hair cascading over her shoulders, makeup flawless and barely there. She looked innocent. Pure. But her eyes were sharp, filled with an undisguised sneer. “Norah. Thanks for coming.” I tossed my bag onto the chair, clinging to whatever dignity I had left. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Ms. Kent. What do you want?” She took a delicate sip of her latte, then set the cup down. The mask dropped. “I want you to leave Harrison.” I let out a dry laugh. “Excuse me? I’m the fiancée. You’re the ex. Aren’t you overstepping?” She laughed, a harsh sound that didn’t match her angelic face. “Oh, honey. You don’t actually think he loves you, do you? You’re a bargaining chip. He’s using you to terrorize his parents into accepting me.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know why he picked you? Because you’re ruined.” “Your reputation is trash. You’re the girl from the video. The girl everyone whispers about. He needs someone unacceptable to make the family desperate. He’s showing them: ‘Accept Mallory, or watch the heir marry the town pariah.’” Her words were precise, surgical strikes. “You don’t belong next to him. You’re not even fit to hold my purse.” She smiled, cruel and sweet. “Do yourself a favor. Leave now, save yourself the embarrassment. If you wait for him to dump you, it’s going to be ugly.” I looked at her face—beautiful and rotton—and felt… nothing. Just a profound sense of absurdity. I took a sip of my black coffee. “Ms. Kent, if you want me to leave, fine. Have Harrison come tell me himself.” Mallory’s face darkened. She slammed her hand on the table. “Don’t be delusional! You think you’re actually Mrs. Cole? You’re a tool for his revenge against his father.” “Whether I am or not,” I stood up, “isn’t up to you.” I turned to leave. “Norah Gates!” she screamed after me, losing her composure. “I will run you out of this city! Once he’s done with you, you’ll be nothing but a joke!” I didn’t look back. I walked straight out into the afternoon sun. But as soon as I got home, a wave of nausea hit me. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was retching. A sinking feeling settled in my gut. I bought a test. Two red lines. 3 I was two months late. I had been so stressed I hadn’t tracked it. A child. I used to dream about this. But now? A baby born into a marriage built on lies? A baby with parents who were playing a sick game of chess? No one knew better than I did what that kind of trauma does to a kid. I didn’t hesitate. I called the clinic and scheduled the surgery for the next morning. I hung up the phone and turned around to find Harrison standing there. “Who were you talking to?” he asked, stepping closer. “Surgery? Are you sick?” I slid the phone into my pocket, keeping my face blank. “It’s nothing. My dad needs an operation. The housekeeper called to let me know.” Harrison visibly relaxed. He pulled me into a hug, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Oh, thank god. I thought something was wrong with you.” I closed my eyes, fighting a bitter laugh. “You’re worried about me?” “Of course. You’re my priority. I don’t know what I’d do if you were hurt.” I pushed him away gently, looking him in the eye. “If I’m so important, tell me where you were last night.” His jaw tightened. “I told you. The office.” “The office? Or with an old friend?” He stood up abruptly, defensive. “It was a friend. She just got back to the States. I picked her up. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get jealous over nothing.” He reached for me again, his eyes pleading. “Norah, trust me. Everything I’m doing is for our future.” “I trust you,” I whispered, exhausted. “See? You’re just stressed about the wedding.” I closed my eyes as he held me. A tear slid down my cheek, unseen. I used to think his silence was protection. Now I knew it was just indifference. At midnight, another text from Mallory summoned him. He crept out of bed and left the apartment. I opened my eyes in the dark. This time, I didn’t ask him to stay. The next morning, the sky was grey. I walked toward the clinic entrance, only to find my path blocked. Mallory was there. Flanked by two large men in dark suits—private security. “You really are like a cockroach,” she spat. “You know the truth, yet you’re still clinging to him? And now you’re pregnant? You think a baby trap is going to work?” “This is none of your business,” I said, trying to step around her. The bodyguards moved to block me. “Ms. Gates,” one grunted. “Ms. Kent thinks you should reconsider the pregnancy. We’re here to help you make the right choice.” I stepped back, adrenaline spiking. “What are you doing?” Mallory smirked. “Helping Harrison clean up his mess. A woman like you doesn’t get to have his heir.” Suddenly, the screech of tires tore through the air. A delivery truck had jumped the curb, careening straight toward us. I tried to dive out of the way, but Mallory lunged at me, grabbing my arm in a panic. “Norah, help me!” She anchored me to the spot. In that split second, a blur of motion slammed into us—Harrison. He had been following her. He shoved Mallory out of the path of the truck, wrapping his body around hers to shield her as they hit the pavement. But the shove sent me stumbling backward. Right into the grill of the truck. The impact was a dull, bone-shattering thud. I flew through the air. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Harrison. He was on the ground, cradling Mallory’s face, screaming her name. He didn’t look at me once. When I woke up, I wasn't in a hospital. I was in a damp, freezing warehouse. My kidnappers were business rivals Harrison had destroyed the previous month. They saw an opportunity. They filmed videos—me, disheveled, bleeding, humiliated—and uploaded them. The internet exploded. Hashtag: #NorahGatesFakeKidnapping The comments were vile. “She’s such an attention whore. The sex tape wasn’t enough, now she’s faking a hostage situation?” “Probably sleeping with the kidnappers. Anything to get Harrison to marry her.” For three days, I lay on a dirty mattress, burning with fever. Sharp cramps tore through my abdomen, and I could feel the warm, sticky blood soaking my jeans. When the police finally raided the place, I was barely conscious. I woke up in a sterile hospital room. The doctor’s voice was grim. The baby was gone. And because of the trauma and the infection, the damage was permanent. I would never carry a child again. I stared at the white ceiling tiles. I had no tears left. Just a vast, arctic numbness. Harrison showed up on the second day. He walked in holding a binder—wedding plans. The performance continued. “Norah! Oh my god,” he rushed to the bedside, his face twisted in performative anguish. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The company… the wedding prep… I just heard. I should have protected you.” I watched him like I was watching a bad movie. “Don’t worry,” he said, gripping my cold hand. “I’ll make the people who did this pay.” The doctor walked in for rounds. He glared at Harrison. “You’re the partner? Do you have any idea about the pregnancy complications—” I caught the doctor’s eye and shook my head slightly. A silent plea. Harrison frowned. “Pregnancy? What complications?” “My stomach,” I interrupted, my voice raspy. “The kidnappers kicked me. Internal bruising. The doctor says I need rest.” The doctor sighed, shook his head in disgust, and walked out. Harrison opened his mouth to speak, but his phone rang. He looked at the screen, glanced at me, and answered on speaker. 4 It was his mother. Her voice was shrill, panicked. “Harrison! The wedding is in two days! I am hearing about this kidnapping nonsense from TMZ! Have you lost your mind? You cannot marry this girl!” “The stock is tanking. The internet says she staged it herself. She is trash, Harrison! If you marry her, the board will vote you out. We will disinherit you. Choose. Her, or the legacy.” Harrison looked at me, feigning conflict. “Mom, she’s innocent… she’s a victim…” “She’s a liability!” his mother screamed. “Her own father threw her out. That tells you everything. Get rid of her.” Harrison hung up. He looked at me, eyes filled with "regret." “Norah… I…” “I know,” I said. My voice was flat. “Family comes first. I understand.” He blinked, surprised by how easy it was. Then, relief washed over his face. “You’re amazing, Norah. You truly are.” He leaned in, conspiratorial. “I have a plan. We keep the wedding date. But… Mallory will stand in for you. Just for the ceremony. Just to calm the family down. Once the dust settles, I’ll bring you back. I’ll marry you properly.” He squeezed my hand. “I know it’s unfair. But it’s for our future. Can you just… bear with it for a little while?” I looked at his handsome, lying face and felt physically ill. But I nodded. “Okay. I’ll listen to you.” He kissed my forehead, ecstatic. “Thank you, baby. You’re so understanding. As soon as the wedding is over, I’ll come straight here.” He rushed out, eager to prep his real bride. I lay there, a cold smile touching my lips. On the day of the wedding, the news cycle shifted. It was all about the "Fairytale Union" of Harrison Cole and Mallory Kent. The grandeur, the history, the "true love." My kidnapping scandal was swept under the rug, forgotten news. I checked myself out of the hospital against medical advice. I asked the nurse for the box. I placed it inside a gift bag, along with the ultrasound photo. I addressed it to the grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel. A wedding gift. I was sure he’d remember it. I packed my life into a single suitcase and went to JFK. As I sat at the gate, a text from Harrison popped up. “Norah, I’m sorry I can’t be there today. But know that no matter who is standing next to me, you’re my wife in my heart. Just wait for me. I’ll bring you home soon.” I laughed until tears blurred my vision. He was still acting. Even now. I didn’t reply. I popped the SIM card out of my phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the trash can. “Flight 802 to Zurich, now boarding.” I grabbed my handle and walked down the jet bridge. I didn’t look back. Harrison, I give you these last two years. Keep them. We will never meet again.
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