I lost a party game and had to post this on my social media: 【Two months pregnant. Craving grapes, husband won’t buy them. Craving fancy grapes, husband won’t buy those either. Marriage over, hands parted, baby gone, grapes eaten. This woman no longer has a husband.】 The leading man in my ghost of a marriage was summoned back from overseas overnight by both sets of parents. After a family tribunal, the truth came out. The man who took the fall for my prank came home and bought me three crates of grapes and three crates of premium seedless ones. His face was like thunder. "Since you love them so much," he said, his voice dangerously low, "you can eat them until you've had your fill." 1 After hitting ‘post’, I tossed my phone onto the marble coffee table and leaned back, surveying the room with a lazy smile. "Well? Satisfied?" Everyone gave me a thumbs-up. Leo just swore, grabbing my phone to stare at the screen in disbelief. "Chloe, you're a legend! You didn't block a single person." I waved off their flattery and shuffled the cards for the next round. I’d always lived by my own rules. The tsunami this post would inevitably cause when my parents and in-laws saw it was a problem for future me. As I dealt the cards, my friend Poppy sidled up to me, a knowing look on her face. "No one could force you to post that if you didn't want to," she whispered, evaluating my move. "This was a power play, wasn't it? A brilliant scheme to get Mr. Ford back from overseas." Poppy had read one too many romance novels and her brain was permanently stuck on a "billionaire falls for me" loop. I decided not to argue, offering a placid, "Sure, Poppy. You figured me out." Whenever people in our circle talked about Alex Ford and me, they’d sigh and call our relationship a karmic train wreck. I met him our freshman year of college. I was Chloe Sutton, the untouchable queen bee of Kingsbridge's elite, born with a silver spoon and an ego to match. His family, the Fords, were dismissed by everyone as tacky new money, desperately trying to climb a social ladder they didn't belong on. Naturally, Alex was completely ostracized. I was the ringleader of the freeze-out. But at eighteen, Alex didn't seem to care. He was the polar opposite of the man he is today—brash, flamboyant, and perfectly content in his own world. To knock him down a peg, I decided to make him my project. I put on the performance of a lifetime, pursuing him with feigned devotion for six months. The moment he was well and truly smitten, I dumped him. Publicly. Then my friends and I swooped in for the kill, mocking him for thinking a toad like him could ever land a swan like me. After a betrayal that deep, we should have become strangers for life. But fate has a twisted sense of humor. Three years ago, a financial crisis hit Kingsbridge, shaking the foundations of every old-money family, mine included. Desperate to secure a lifeline, my father swallowed his pride and went to the one family that had weathered the storm unscathed: the Fords. His proposal? A marriage alliance. I never dared to confess what I’d done to Alex all those years ago. I just held my breath, fully expecting my father to be thrown out on his ear. To my utter astonishment, the Fords agreed. At first, I was sure it was Alex’s revenge. The Fords were no longer just ‘new money’; their business empire had expanded at a dizzying pace, making them the untouchable titans of the city. Alex himself, now a high-ranking executive in the family company, was constantly flying all over the globe. Forget revenge; in three years of marriage, I’ve seen him a total of three times. The first year, I walked on eggshells, terrified that one wrong move would anger the man who held my family’s fate in his hands. The second year, flush with a generous allowance and living in a palatial marital home all by myself, I started to let loose. Poppy, of course, was lost in her fantasy. "It's true love, Chloe, I'm telling you! Why do you think he works himself to the bone out there? It's all so you can drop a fortune on jewels without batting an eye and rent out a private island for a party on a whim!" I didn't say anything, but a few cards slipped from my hand and scattered on the floor. "I'm out. This round's on me." If I didn't know that Alex was keeping a beautiful, bright-eyed girl in his exotic South African home, a hopeless romantic like me might have actually believed his tolerance was a sign of lingering affection. But over time, I’d figured it out. This marriage was a convenience for him. He’d married me to be a pretty little trophy on his shelf, a way to silence the gossips and fulfill his family duty. It didn't have to be Chloe Sutton. It could have been Ashley, or Emily, or anyone else. 2 The housekeeper woke me. The price of a night of heavy drinking was a completely wrecked sleep schedule. By the time I surfaced, it was already evening. Twenty-three hours had passed since my infamous social media post. "Ma'am, the main house has sent a car to pick you up. It's waiting downstairs." I ran a hand through my tangled hair, trying to remember if it was some special occasion. After washing up, I finally checked my phone and my heart nearly stopped. It wasn't just the dozens of frantic messages from my parents and in-laws. Even Alex, who I hadn't heard from in five months, had sent me a single, ominous "?". My hand trembled as I typed back another "?". His reply was instantaneous: I'm at the main house. Get over here. My brain exploded. The holidays were still five months away. What in the world was Alex Ford doing back in the country? On the way to the family estate, I scrolled through my messages and finally remembered the game, the dare, the post. Alex’s time was so valuable that his assistant once timed his wedding vows. And now, because of my stupid, joking post, both our families had summoned him back from halfway across the world? When I stepped out of the car, my legs felt like jelly. The Alex I knew best was the arrogant, wild kid from college. The day he got his license, he wrecked a priceless supercar and didn't even flinch. He just kicked a shattered headlight and sneered, "What a piece of junk." He wasn't this person—the formidable Mr. Ford everyone revered, a man so impeccably tailored from his cufflinks to his hair that every polished, executive movement seemed ingrained in his DNA, as if he were born to it. Right now, that polished executive was occupying a sofa all by himself. Opposite him sat our four parents, their faces grim, like an inquisition. The moment I walked in, my mother-in-law's expression softened. She rushed over and took my hand, her voice full of warmth. "I've been so thoughtless. I had no idea you were going through such a hard time, Chloe, dear." My own mother followed behind her, her eyes darting nervously toward my stomach. The man at the center of it all, Alex, remained perfectly composed. His gaze drifted over me, cool and detached, showing none of the emotion you’d expect from a husband seeing his wife after a long separation. "How many months along are you?" my mother asked. Thanks to my frequent globe-trotting vacations, which they’d mistaken for visits to see Alex, our families were blissfully unaware of the true state of our marriage. In their eyes, we might not have had a whirlwind romance, but we were a stable, harmonious couple. I opened my mouth, then closed it, before finally mumbling, "Mom... I'm not pregnant..." My mother, who knew me far better than my in-laws, immediately got a look on her face that said, I knew you were up to something. She crossed her arms, waiting to see how I’d dig myself out of this one. Three other pairs of eyes were now fixed on me, waiting for an explanation. I'd never faced a firing squad like this. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, I looked to Alex, silently pleading with the male lead of this farce to throw me a lifeline. He'd been dragged across the planet to take the fall for my prank, yet he showed no sign of anger. And from the looks of it, he hadn't sold me out yet. The silence stretched on, so long that I’d given up hope and was starting to formulate an apology. Then, Alex finally spoke. "It was my fault," he said, his voice calm and steady. "I've been buried in work and haven't had time for Chloe. She was just acting out to get my attention. It was a misunderstanding. I apologize for making you all worry." Alex was so brilliant and successful that his word was law in the family. As soon as he spoke, the four elders visibly relaxed, nodding in understanding. "Well, I suppose we did overreact," my father-in-law said. "But since you're back, son, make sure you spend some quality time with Chloe." Alex nodded obediently. "Of course." 3 I didn't dare say a word the entire ride back to our apartment. Apologies swirled in my head but died on my tongue. My face was a mask of misery. When Alex strode toward the master bedroom, dragging his suitcase with one hand and loosening his tie with the other, I snapped out of my stupor and blocked his path. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. I forced a sheepish smile. "The room's a bit of a mess. Why don't you go shower first? I'll bring your luggage in." A "bit of a mess" was the understatement of the century. There wasn't a single trace of Alex in the master suite. He only ever came home for one night a year. The last time, on New Year's Day, the moment his car was out of sight, I’d packed up all his belongings and unceremoniously dumped them in the guest room. "I just need to change. I have a meeting later." Of course he did. Even at nine o'clock at night, after being dragged across the globe, the man still had business to conduct. He sidestepped me with ease and opened the bedroom door. Before I could stop him, he was standing at the entrance to the walk-in closet, staring in stunned silence at the mountains of women's clothing that had completely taken over the space. "Where are my clothes?" I offered a weak laugh. "I sent them out for professional cleaning and care. When they were returned, the delivery service mistakenly put them in the guest room. I haven't had a chance to move them back yet." I didn't expect him to believe such a pathetic lie. He just gave me a long, searching look, then slipped off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. As he shed the cold, corporate armor, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the old Alex, the boy I once knew. The doorbell rang. A moment later, Alex's secretary was directing movers into our apartment, carrying crate after crate. When I saw what was inside, the room started to spin. My day of reckoning had finally arrived. Alex appeared behind me, nodding his chin toward the six massive crates of grapes. "Go on," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "You love them so much. I thought I'd let you eat your fill." I was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. I was wrong." His face was stone. "I'll be back in two hours," he said, the threat unspoken. "You can finish them by then, right?" When Alex returned from his meeting, our home was in a state of chaos. The housekeeper was busy moving his things back into the master bedroom, and I was squatting on the living room floor, frantically stuffing my face with grapes. I had given it my all. I’d managed to finish half a crate. I thought my show of sincerity might earn me a sliver of forgiveness, but when he saw my chipmunk cheeks, his expression grew even colder. He’d clearly had a few drinks; his usual ironclad composure was slightly frayed. He strode over and looked down at me. "Chloe," he said, his voice laced with something I couldn't quite decipher, "where is your brain?" Honestly, for the past three years, no matter how much of a hell-raiser I was behind his back, I turned into a complete coward the second I was in front of him. A guilty conscience does that to you. "But I really tried," I whimpered, my voice shaking. "I can't possibly eat all of this." Pathetic! So pathetic! He reached down and pulled me to my feet, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. "Get up. Go wash up and get ready for bed." He was letting me off the hook. I let out a huge sigh of relief and practically skipped to the bathroom. But just as I settled into bed, my real punishment began. In the span of a single hour, I made three desperate trips to the bathroom. Alex, who had been sleeping beside me, was finally roused by the commotion. With a sigh of weary resignation, he got up, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it tightly around my flimsy pajamas. "Get up. We're going to the hospital." I was in a state of utter misery, so weak and dehydrated I could barely stand. I waved a limp hand at him. "No, it's fine. I'll just find some medicine." Alex's patience had finally run out. Ignoring my protests, he swept me up into his arms. The last time we had been this close was on our wedding day. 4 My in-laws had planned the wedding. The Fords had a taste for tradition, so every part of it, from the groom's procession to the banquet, was a grand, boisterous affair. At nine in the morning, the auspicious hour, I sat drowsily on my bed, the weight of the priceless tiara on my head feeling like a ton of bricks. The celebratory noise grew louder as Alex, surrounded by his groomsmen, expertly navigated the series of challenges my bridesmaids had set for him. He was smiling that day. For a fleeting moment, it made me feel like our marriage was more than just a cold business transaction. When he found the hidden wedding slipper, he lifted me into his arms with a tenderness that felt shockingly real. As the room erupted in cheers, a suspicious blush crept up his neck. For a moment, I forgot all our bitter history. I rested against his chest, my heart pounding like a drum. It was the only moment of genuine warmth in our three-year marriage. By the time the driver arrived, he had already been holding me at the entrance of our apartment complex for a good ten minutes. Miraculously, my churning stomach had settled down. I was surprisingly warm in his arms. After holding the same position for so long, I shifted slightly. He glanced down at me. It was too dark to see his expression, but I felt the hand on my waist pull me tighter against him. Emboldened, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder. "When is the driver getting here?" "Soon." His voice was a low rumble, right next to my ear. His breath was a warm whisper against my skin. And just like that, my reckless, youthful heart was stirred by feelings it had no right to have. That ill-timed flutter of my heart lasted until the next day. The following afternoon, I woke up blushing as I replayed a rather explicit dream from the night before. When I opened my bedroom door, I froze. The man from my dream was sitting in the living room, dressed in casual clothes, a laptop balanced on his knees, his expression focused. "Why are you still here?" The surprise in my voice made it come out sharp and shrill. "Chloe," he said without looking up, "my name is on the deed to this house too." I flushed, realizing how that sounded. "No, I didn't mean it like that," I stammered, trying to calm my racing heart. "I just meant, aren't you going back?" "Back where?" "To South Africa." In three years, I had never woken up to find Alex Ford still in the house. He continued typing, his voice casual. "I'm on vacation. For a month." I was speechless. Alex was the head of a massive corporation, working around the clock. He was at the peak of his career. Taking a month-long vacation seemed impossibly extravagant. When I told Poppy, she valiantly defended him. "Even a machine needs maintenance, Chloe, but Alex never takes a break. He deserves this." "You don't understand what this means!" I lamented. "It means no more all-nighters! It means I have to be home for three meals a day, playing the part of the perfect, doting wife." I glanced at the latest text from my mother-in-law and groaned. "It also means I might actually have to make a baby with him!" The text was a string of cheerful emojis, encouraging us to "get to work" and that she had "full faith in Alex." I put down my phone and met Alex's gaze. He had clearly just replied to a similar message from his own parents. For the first time, there was a flicker of something unreadable, almost awkward, in his eyes.
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