The ninety-ninth time Christian’s new assistant mistakenly booked a divorce filing instead of a marriage license appointment, I stormed into his office. “Christian, is this what a master’s degree from a top university gets you?” I snapped, shoving my phone in his face. “If she can’t do this one simple thing, then get rid of her!” Christian glanced up from a mountain of paperwork, his expression unbothered. “I told you, she’s too smart for this kind of administrative work,” he said flatly. “If you’d spent less time complaining to me and just did it yourself, you’d have been done by now.” He didn’t even look at me as he spoke. Without another word, I turned and walked out. I sent a single text. [Dad, I’m done with Christian.] Christian didn’t know that his position as the designated heir to the Pierce family fortune was contingent on our marriage. Once that was off the table, there were plenty of other Pierces ready and willing to take his place. 1 My father sighed on the other end of the line, just telling me to think it through before I made any final decisions. But I knew there was no going back for Christian and me this time. I scrolled through the ninety-nine notifications on my phone, each one a confirmation for a divorce filing. “It was just a mistake. I’ll tell her to be more careful next time.” “She’s got a lot on her plate. It’s normal for things to slip through the cracks.” “Don’t take it out on her. She’s just a kid. I’ve already spoken to her about it.” Every time, an excuse. Every time, a defense of her. Each message was a testament to Christian’s indulgence of his assistant, Valerie Shaw. My eyes burned, and my chest ached as if pierced by a hundred tiny needles. Just as I put my phone away, Christian burst out of his office. “Are you really going to drag our parents into this over something so small?” he demanded, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “Clara, when are you going to get over this spoiled princess act?” His first words were an accusation. I was about to retort when I felt a tug on my arm. I turned to see Valerie, her face a mask of contrition. “Clara, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she whimpered. “The website is so confusing, it kept glitching. I swear I clicked on ‘marriage license’!” “I’ll book it again right now, for you and Mr. Pierce. I promise I won’t mess it up this time.” Her face was a picture of misery, her voice thick with unshed tears. She pulled out her phone and started tapping at the screen, letting out little sniffing sounds. The look of pity in Christian’s eyes was so intense it was almost tangible. Valerie held her phone out to me, the booking page displayed on the screen. “Don’t bother.” My voice was ice. I tried to push her hand away. Her hand trembled, and the phone slipped, the screen flickering to a different app. In that split second, I saw it: a selfie of her and Christian, their cheeks pressed together. I grabbed her wrist, and her grip loosened. The phone hit the floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering. Everyone in the office turned to stare, but no one dared to speak. Valerie’s quiet sobs turned into loud, hysterical wails. “Mr. Pierce,” she cried, “my mom’s last voicemails were on there! It’s the only thing I have left of her… What am I going to do? It’s broken…” Christian’s expression softened into pure sympathy. He pulled her into his arms, murmuring comforting words into her hair. My fists clenched, the image of that intimate photo burning behind my eyes. Christian had a phobia of cameras. We didn’t have a single photo together. He had even refused to take wedding photos with me. And now, here he was, with a collection of them with another woman. I swallowed my rage and turned to leave. But Christian stopped me. “You break her phone, and you think you can just walk away?” “Didn’t you hear her? It had her dead mother’s last messages on it. Clara, can’t you at least pretend to be a decent human being and apologize?” The sympathy in his eyes was gone, replaced by a look of pure disgust. “Apologize?” I scoffed. “To her? Is she even worthy of an apology?” I met his gaze, my chin held high, even as my heart shattered into a million pieces. Christian’s face grew colder, his words like shards of ice. “If you don’t apologize today, then forget about the marriage license.” A collective gasp went through the office as heads popped up over cubicle walls to watch the drama unfold. He had said this before. Many times. Always in defense of Valerie. And every time, I had been the one to back down. Christian and I had been together for ten years. He was the one I had chosen, the one I had loved since we were children. Marrying him was the only thing I had ever dreamed of. But now the dream was over. It was time to wake up. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s not get married.” Christian’s hand dropped to his side, a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned and walked away. “Mr. Pierce, you should go after her, calm her down. I’ll be fine…” “There’s nothing to calm down. She’ll come crawling back in three days, regretting this.” Christian’s dismissive voice followed me out. I took a deep breath, forcing the tears back. He didn’t know. This time, I wouldn’t be the one with regrets. I had already found a replacement groom. A wedding is a wedding, right? Who cares who the groom is? That night, Valerie’s Instagram blew up. Who gets this lucky with their first job out of grad school? The post included a photo of a five-star restaurant, a brand-new phone, and a screenshot of a bank transfer for a very specific amount: $131,452.00. I love you for life. The last photo was of Christian, cutting a piece of steak and placing it on Valerie’s plate. I stared at the three photos, a bitter laugh rising in my throat. Our ten years together felt like a joke. He had never once bought me a gift, let alone transferred me a single cent. “What’s mine is yours,” he’d always said. “Moving money around is pointless.” But for her, he’d drop over a hundred thousand dollars without a second thought. When we ate out, he always sat there like a king, waiting for me to serve him before he’d take a bite. Every time I tried to take a picture, he refused. But Valerie… Valerie got everything I had ever wanted. Effortlessly. My vision blurred. The tears finally came. The doorbell rang. It was a delivery man. “Delivery for Christian Pierce,” he said. “Wedding photos.” “I didn’t order any wedding photos.” “This is Christian Pierce’s residence, right?” I nodded. He insisted the address was correct and brought in several large boxes. After he left, I opened one, my hands trembling. The photos were of Christian and Valerie. A full eight-outfit, eight-location photoshoot. Christian, beaming in every single shot, his smile a blinding, painful light. Each photo was a needle, piercing my heart. I looked up, and there he was, standing in the doorway, supporting a drunken Valerie. “Give me a hand,” he said, his voice curt. It was a habit, ordering me around. He had probably already forgotten our fight at the office. I didn’t move. I just pointed to the pile of boxes. “You have five minutes to get this trash out of my house.” “Including her.” I gestured to Valerie, who was leaning against him, her face flushed, a pathetic, wounded look in her eyes. “You don’t have to be so cruel,” he said. “We took these for her mother. It was her dying wish to see her daughter get married. We were just trying to make an old woman happy. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Valerie nodded, her eyes red. “I just wanted my mom to be happy before she passed.” “I gave them my address,” she sniffled. “I don’t know how they ended up here. Please don’t be mad at Mr. Pierce…” She was so good at playing the victim. She made me sound like a monster. “A top university graduate, and you can’t even get your own address right?” I snapped. “What’s in that head of yours, water?” “Fine. If you won’t get rid of this trash, I will.” I grabbed a pair of scissors and started shredding the posters and albums. I smashed the frames, then cut the photos into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. “No!” Valerie cried, lunging forward to stop me. “Clara, please, I can take them with me!” She tried to grab the scissors, and the blade sliced across her hand. Her sharp scream cut through the haze of Christian’s drunkenness. He shoved me, his face contorted with rage. I stumbled backward, landing on a pile of broken glass. Shards dug into my palm. “Clara, what is wrong with you?” he roared. “Always breaking things, hurting people! Can’t you act like a woman for once?” “Valerie’s mother just died. Your mother is dead too. You’d think you’d have a little compassion!” His words were a dagger to my heart. My mother’s death was my deepest regret. Christian and I had been studying abroad, and with travel restrictions, I couldn’t get back in time for the funeral. I said goodbye to her over a video call. To this day, I still woke up from nightmares, crying for her. Christian knew all of this. And he had just used it to wound me, all for Valerie. Without a backward glance, he scooped Valerie up in his arms and left. I stared at the blood welling in my palm, a bitter taste filling my mouth. “Mom,” I whispered to the empty room, “the man you chose for me is rotten.” “I don’t want him anymore.” The silence was my only reply. My mother had adored Christian. She and his mother were best friends, and they had arranged our marriage when we were still in diapers. Getting together was just… expected. It was why my father had risked our family’s entire fortune to help Christian win the succession battle at Pierce Corp. At twenty, Christian had stood on my family’s shoulders and secured a billion-dollar investment. When my mother died, Christian had knelt before the video screen and made a solemn vow. “Auntie, don’t you worry. I will give Clara the happiest marriage in the world.” After we returned from our studies, the wedding plans began. But then, at the beginning of this year, Valerie started as an intern at the company. And the story took a sharp, unexpected turn. As his assistant, Valerie would call and text Christian at all hours. Once, we were in the middle of… something… when his phone rang. He hadn’t even pulled his pants up before he answered it. I had my suspicions. I checked his phone. But it was clean. The first time I saw Valerie, she was in the passenger seat of Christian’s car. It was the day we were supposed to get our marriage license. Before we could even leave the house, a call from her sent him rushing out the door. I didn’t even have time to ask what was wrong. I waited at the courthouse until it closed. When he finally came back to get me, Valerie was with him. The moment she saw me, she had the good sense to move to the back seat. “If Mr. Pierce hadn’t helped me today, my mother wouldn’t have even gotten a hospital bed,” she’d said. “Clara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was your day to get your license. I’ll make the next appointment for you!” I heard her story about caring for her sick mother and my empathy got the better of me. I let my suspicions go. But the repeated mistakes with the license applications forced me to re-evaluate. And Christian’s defense of her became more and more blatant, even to the point of publicly humiliating me. I finally realized that in his daily dose of pity for her, he had given her his love as well. After getting my hand stitched up at an urgent care clinic, I went home. The smell of cooking met me at the door.
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