A custom order arrived on our wedding anniversary. When I saw my husband’s name on the form, a knowing smile crossed my lips—another of his signature surprises. People try to trap forever in jewels, forgetting forever often changes. Just like now. One second, I was looking at photos of the anniversary venue Marc had set up. The next, a young woman with hopeful eyes walked into my office, shyly handing me a sketch. My pen dug sharply into the paper. That order… wasn’t from Marc after all. “Are you Sierra? I booked online,” she said. “I want to commission wedding rings. My boyfriend’s free at month’s end—I need them ready then.” I relaxed my clenched fist and gestured for her to go on. “His name’s Marc. I want it engraved inside the band,” she added, blushing softly. “Bellflowers are his favorite—they mean eternal love. Can you add them?” Staring at the familiar details, I let out a bitter laugh. I’d learned my own husband’s preferences from a stranger. Turns out, my anniversary surprise was designing wedding rings for him and his new love. 1 I set the sketch down, my gaze lingering on the girl across from me. She had a gentle, almost timid air about her—the complete opposite of my own bright, assertive presence. She was young, radiating a naive innocence that suggested she hadn't yet been hardened by the world. And yet, she clearly had a grasp of right and wrong. When she mentioned the delivery date, her voice faltered, and her eyes flickered away, a clear sign she was wrestling with how to phrase what came next. Perhaps sensing my scrutiny, she rushed to explain, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "Miss Hayes, please don't get the wrong idea." "My boyfriend… well, his situation is complicated. His ex-wife is in prison for financial crimes. He didn't want to kick her while she was down, you know, being married and all, so he's waited until now." She spoke with such heartfelt sincerity, her every word dripping with adoration and sympathy for this man. Prison? What a convenient excuse. If it weren't for the pity in her tone, I'd almost think she was mocking me. I nodded slowly, a cold smile tugging at my lips. "Miss… Chloe, was it? Would you mind telling me a bit about your love story?" She looked bewildered, clearly not understanding my request. I sighed internally. Was this what Marc liked? This doe-eyed, easily manipulated innocence? I tapped the drawing on my desk. "These elements alone will make for a rather generic design," I explained, my voice smooth and professional. "If you can share some of your most cherished moments together, I can weave those personal touches into the rings." Understanding finally dawned on Chloe's face, followed by a shy smile. She began to recount her story, listing their memories like precious treasures. I listened, my face frozen in a professional mask, punishing myself with every word. "Tomorrow will be our two-year anniversary. We met at a police station. His family was in some trouble, and he was there filing a report, so nervous his hands were shaking. I just happened to be there and said a few words to calm him down." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the tip of it glowing red. "We ran into each other a couple more times after that. It felt like fate. Within a week, I confessed my feelings, and he said yes." Her sweet memories were poison-tipped needles in my heart. "Tomorrow is the anniversary of when you met?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "How did you know?" Her eyes widened in disbelief. I lowered my gaze, hiding the raw pain that threatened to spill out. How could I not know? Two years ago, the day after my wedding anniversary, I was kidnapped on my way to the airport. While they were having their fated meeting, I was likely bound and gagged in some abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, engulfed in a darkness so profound it felt like it was eating me alive. Marc had made enemies—powerful, ruthless people who chose to take their revenge out on me. I barely survived. I lost the child I was carrying. My agony had become the romantic backdrop for their love story. My blood and tears were the water that nourished their precious bellflowers. My knuckles turned white from the force of my grip. I looked up at her. "Chloe, your story is very moving. But at that point, his wife wasn't in prison yet, was she?" "Well…" Her smile froze for a split second before she rushed to defend herself. "No, but their relationship was already broken. They just hadn't gotten around to the paperwork." "Miss Hayes, you must understand. In love, the one who isn't loved is the real third wheel." I forced my lips into a semblance of a smile. "Of course." So, you're not so innocent after all. My apparent agreement seemed to embolden her. "Besides," she continued, her voice gaining confidence, "he's always wanted children, but his wife… she couldn't get pregnant." "Can you imagine how selfish a woman has to be? To not be able to be a mother herself, but still cling to him, robbing him of his right to be a father. Thank goodness he has me now. I can finally give him the one thing he's always dreamed of…" As she spoke, she instinctively cradled her stomach. My eyes were drawn to the gesture. "You're pregnant?" I heard myself ask. She offered a bashful, triumphant smile. "You can tell? I'm two months along. Could you please keep it a secret? We want to wait until after the divorce is final to announce it. I don't want my baby to be born with any… labels." "Of course," I replied smoothly, a chilling glint in my eyes. Marc and I were childhood sweethearts, betrothed from a young age, but we fought like cats and dogs. Just when our families had given up hope and were about to call off the engagement, we somehow, inexplicably, fell in love. We stumbled into marriage, much to everyone's surprise. They all worried our forced union would end in disaster. But after the wedding, Marc transformed. He became the perfect husband: devoted, attentive, always putting me first. Our friends even joked that marriage had turned him into a completely whipped man. After the kidnapping, after the miscarriage left me unable to have children, Marc held me in his arms, his voice thick with emotion. "Sierra, we don't need kids. Just the two of us, growing old together." The words were a balm to my shattered soul, but I never truly believed them. Marc was the sole heir to his family's fortune. But the next day, he went and had a vasectomy. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive, that I had truly found my soulmate. I never imagined that some things are a lie from the very beginning. It wasn't that Marc didn't want a child. He just didn't want a child with me. With every ounce of strength I had, I pulled my lips into a passable smile. "Understood, Chloe. I have a clear picture of your needs now. The rings will be designed and crafted by your deadline." She beamed at me. "Thank you so much, Sierra. But I have one more small request." "Please don't mention any of this to anyone. Even though my boyfriend is getting a divorce, it would just cause unnecessary trouble if our story got out before it's official." "From what he's told me, his ex-wife is…" I cut her off with a reassuring nod. "Don't worry." As her figure disappeared down the hall, I pulled out my phone and dialed my best friend. She was a partner at a top-tier law firm and the legal counsel for my mother's company. "Marc is cheating. I want a complete trace on his whereabouts for the past two years." "And tell my mother to pull all funding from any project he's involved with. Effective immediately." Hanging up, I gently stroked the wedding band on my finger. Marc, you chose this betrayal. So don't blame me for destroying everything you've worked so hard to build. 2 My best friend, Olivia, worked with terrifying efficiency. Less than three hours later, an encrypted file landed in my inbox. The subject line contained only two words: "Brace yourself." I clicked it open. The first document was a log of Marc's travel records for the past two years. My eyes scanned the dense list of flights and immediately locked onto a familiar date. Last Christmas. The record showed Marc had indeed flown out of state that day, but he had taken a return flight that same night. He had used a business trip as a cover to see another woman. On that very day, Chloe had posted a picture on her social media: a romantic, candle-lit dinner. The bouquet of roses decorating the wall in her photo was the same one he had given me the next day. The second file was a breakdown of his bank statements. Multiple large sums had been transferred under the guise of "project investments" to a studio named "Chloe's Designs." The owner of that studio was, of course, Chloe. The most bitter irony was the dates of these transfers. They corresponded perfectly with Valentine's Day, my birthday, and even our wedding anniversary. So, after every celebration with me, he would turn around and wire money to his little mistress. The "future" he claimed to be investing in was never ours. A numbness spread through my chest. I emotionlessly clicked on the next file, a video. It was security footage. Marc was with Chloe in a high-end baby boutique. He was gently guiding her by the elbow, a look of tender adoration on his face that I had never seen before. I checked the date. It was the day I had a follow-up appointment at the hospital. Too busy with work to come with me, he had said. But not too busy to shop for baby clothes with her. The final document made my blood run cold. It was a copy of a high-risk venture capital agreement, signed with my name. The signature date was the day he told me the company needed a cash infusion and that he needed my signature to secure it. The "rough patch" he was navigating was actually him using my name to sign me onto a deal with catastrophic risk. If the project failed, I would be saddled with a nine-figure debt. He, meanwhile, had already been transferring his assets to Chloe, securing his own escape route. After all our years together, he had used my trust to weave this intricate web of deceit. What a brilliant plan. I closed the file and called Olivia. "Seen it? What's your next move?" she asked, her voice tight. I watched the sun sink below the horizon, my own voice so calm it felt alien. "Compile all the evidence of his asset transfers. I'm planning a little surprise for him." "And one more thing," I added after a pause. "Dig into Chloe's background. I need to know if she's an unwitting pawn or if she was in on this from the start." Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Marc. "Happy Anniversary, my love. A last-minute work dinner came up. I'll be home late." Attached was a photo from a swanky restaurant. I zoomed in. In the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could just make out a familiar figure. It was Chloe. Looking at the picture, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Thank you, Marc, for playing your part so convincingly. Since you're so eager to remarry, how could I, your soon-to-be ex-wife, not prepare a lavish gift? This "wedding gift," I promise, will be one you'll never forget. 3 "Did you get the cake and flowers I sent over?" The notification snapped me back to the present. Marc was checking my location. I let out a cold laugh and typed back. "Just got them. They're beautiful." "By the way, the studio is organizing a landscape painting retreat. I'm heading out for a few days to find some inspiration." He replied almost instantly: "That's great, honey. I've been so busy lately, I feel terrible I can't be with you. Be safe." I had to give him plenty of room to perform. Over the next few days, he personally packed my bags for the "trip." Watching his bustling, concerned act filled me with a wave of nausea. If I didn't know the truth, I might have actually been moved by his touching display of affection. When he dropped me off at the airport, he barely waited for me to go through security before rushing off. I lowered my eyes to the new message on my phone. It was from Chloe. "Sierra, change of plans. We're meeting his parents today for a small engagement party. Is there any way you could deliver the rings today?" The address she sent was for the most luxurious hotel in the city. My fingers hovered over the screen. "Of course," I typed back smoothly. "I wouldn't miss it. Glad I can be there to share in the joy." I arrived at the hotel just in time to see Marc's parents walking in. I pulled my hat down low and followed them at a distance. His mother pulled him into a corner, her voice laced with anxiety. "Marc, I don't mind you finding someone to have a baby with, but a whole engagement party? This is too much." "Her family and ours go back generations. There's business involved. Burning this bridge won't do anyone any good." "I won't let Sierra find out. Don't worry, Mom." Listening to their exchange, a storm of emotions churned inside me, finally settling into a quiet, bitter laugh. It was a laugh of self-mockery, of despair, of pure contempt. Growing up, Marc's mother had treated me like her own daughter. I remembered her sitting by my bedside all night when I had a fever, her panic when I got a scar, greater even than my own mother's. She never forgot to bring me a gift from her travels, and whenever Marc and I argued, she was always the first to scold him. My own mother used to joke, "Are you sure she's my daughter and not yours? Maybe they got switched at the hospital." Even my father, a man hardened by years in politics, had once said, "The Harts are good, loyal people. I feel safe entrusting Sierra to them." And now, all she cared about was not "burning a bridge." How utterly pathetic. Just then, Chloe came skipping over, and Marc's mother's face instantly transformed into one of warm concern. "You must be Chloe. What a lovely girl. My Marc is so lucky to have found you." "Oh, my dear, you're carrying precious cargo now. You must be extra careful when you walk." Even Marc's usually stoic father had a hint of a smile in his eyes. It was clear how much they valued an heir. All those previous assurances of "it doesn't matter" and "we can always adopt" were just empty words to placate me. Chloe snuggled into Marc's arms, a smug look of triumph she barely tried to hide. "The morning sickness was so bad, I was worried. But the doctor said it might be a boy, that the reaction is stronger with boys." At this, Marc and his parents lit up, immediately ushering her toward the private dining room. His mother chattered on about the prenatal supplements and gifts she'd prepared, every detail meticulously planned. As they pushed open the door, I saw who was inside. The room was filled with familiar faces. Marc's relatives, his closest friends, our business partners... Every single person in that room was connected to me, and almost all of them had benefited from my help at some point. They rose to their feet, offering congratulations. Marc's cousin was holding Chloe's hand affectionately. "Chloe, you're so beautiful! You and Marc are a perfect match! How far along are you? You have to take care of yourself." I had funded her failing salon. I had designed her wedding ring. One of our mutual friends clapped Marc on the shoulder. "Congratulations, man! Finally going to be a dad!" Last year, when his child was critically ill, I was the one who pulled strings to get him an appointment with the top pediatric specialist in the country. The room buzzed with cheerful chatter, but to me, it was a grating, hypocritical cacophony. The same faces that had looked at me with such sincerity when they accepted my help were now twisted into masks of flattery for another woman. After the greetings, Marc led Chloe to the center of the room. "Thank you all for coming. Today is a small, informal engagement ceremony for Chloe and me." In the midst of the applause, his mother stood up, holding a gift box. It contained a jade bracelet. Identical to the one she had given me. "Chloe, this is a family heirloom, for our daughter-in-law." "And now that you're engaged, you can start calling me Mom." Chloe blushed, shyly murmured "Mom" and "Dad," and threw her arms around Marc. The atmosphere in the room hit its peak. I had seen enough. I shoved the door open. As every head turned and stared, a half-smile played on my lips. "Sorry I'm late." "Chloe was in such a hurry for her engagement rings, I decided to deliver them myself."
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