Jessica
The sun is streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am. The sheets are cool and impossibly soft. Then it all comes rushing back. The church. The courthouse. The cold, silent man who is now my husband.
I sit up. I’m in a guest room that’s larger than my entire old apartment. The decor is the same as the rest of the penthouse: minimalist, gray, and utterly impersonal. On a chair in the corner is a set of clothes, neatly folded. A simple cream-colored cashmere sweater, tailored black trousers, and flat leather shoes. A small, handwritten note sits on top. ‘For your meeting with my grandfather. - X’
There’s a soft knock on the door.
“Jessica?” It’s his voice. Cool and controlled.
“I’m awake,” I call out, my voice raspy.
“We leave in one hour. Coffee is in the kitchen.”
That’s it. No ‘good morning’. No ‘how are you feeling after the most traumatic day of your life’. Just an instruction. I suppose I should be grateful. This is a job, and he’s my new boss.
An hour later, I’m standing by the elevator, dressed in the clothes he chose. They fit perfectly. I feel like I’m wearing a costume.
Xavier looks me over, his eyes clinical. “That will do.”
“I’m so glad I meet your approval,” I say, the sarcasm slipping out before I can stop it.
He ignores it. “On the drive, I’ll brief you on the story. You will memorize it.”
The car is just as silent as it was last night. We glide through morning traffic, two strangers on our way to deceive a sick old man.
“My grandfather’s name is Philip Sterling,” Xavier begins, his gaze fixed on the road. “He built the company from nothing. He values loyalty, intelligence, and family above all else. He is not a fool.”
“I gathered that.”
“Our story is this: We met six weeks ago at a charity auction. I was there for business, you were there with your… former fiancé. We spoke. There was an immediate connection.”
My stomach twists at the mention of Mark. “A connection.”
“Yes. We began seeing each other discreetly. You broke off your engagement because you realized you were with the wrong man. We decided we didn’t want to waste any more time, so we eloped. It’s simple. It’s believable.”
“It’s a complete lie.”
“It is our reality now,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Philip will ask you questions. About your background, your ambitions. Do not lie about those things. He has a way of knowing. Weave the truth into the narrative.”
We drive for another twenty minutes, leaving the city behind. The landscape changes to rolling green hills and stone fences. We turn onto a long, tree-lined driveway that leads to a magnificent stone manor that looks like it’s been there for centuries.
It’s warm and alive, the complete opposite of his penthouse.
A man in a simple uniform opens my door. Xavier is already out, walking toward the large oak entrance.
“Welcome to Sterling Estate, madam,” the man says with a kind smile.
I just nod, my throat too tight to speak. I follow Xavier inside. A woman who looks to be the head housekeeper greets us.
“Xavier. It is good to see you,” she says warmly, then her eyes find me. “And this must be your lovely bride.”
“This is Jessica,” Xavier says. “Is he in the solarium?”
“He is. Waiting for you both.”
She leads us through a series of grand, sunlit rooms filled with antique furniture, worn Persian rugs, and portraits of stern-faced ancestors. It feels like a home. It smells like old books and lemon polish.
We step into a glass-walled room overflowing with plants and flowers. A man sits in a large wheelchair by the window, a plaid blanket over his lap. He’s frail, with thin white hair, but his eyes, when they turn to us, are as sharp and gray as his grandson’s.
“So,” the old man says, his voice a gentle rasp. “This is the woman who finally managed to lasso the wild stallion.”
Xavier’s posture relaxes ever so slightly. “Grandfather. This is Jessica.”
I step forward, my hands clammy. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”
“Philip, my dear. Please.” He gestures to a cushioned wicker chair opposite him. “Sit. Let me have a look at you.”
I sit, acutely aware of Xavier standing stiffly behind me. Philip studies my face, his gaze not unkind, but deeply searching.
“Xavier tells me you two eloped,” Philip says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Not his usual style. He plans everything down to the last decimal point. You must be quite something to throw him off his axis.”
“I think we threw each other off,” I say, finding my voice. It sounds steadier than I feel.
“And how did that happen? Tell me everything. Don’t spare an old man the romantic details.”
I take a breath, remembering the script. “We met at the Franklin Gala. I was… with someone else at the time.”
“Ah, a little drama to start things off. Excellent.” His eyes twinkle.
“We just started talking,” I continue, trying to weave in the truth as instructed. “About architecture, actually. I told him I’d always dreamed of being an architect, but had put it aside. He didn’t dismiss it. He asked real questions. He listened.”
This part is pure fiction, but it sounds plausible. Xavier remains silent behind me.
“He’s a good listener when he wants to be,” Philip concedes. “So, you’re an architect?”
“I hope to be. I studied it in college, but… life got in the way.”
“Life has a habit of doing that,” Philip says softly. “And what is it you see in this grandson of mine? Most people just see the checkbook and the cold shoulder.”
I glance back at Xavier. He looks like a statue, his expression unreadable. I have to make this good.
“I see someone who carries an immense weight of responsibility,” I say, the words coming from a surprisingly honest place. “And underneath the… professional exterior, I think there’s a good man who wants to do right by the people he cares about.”
The silence stretches. Philip’s sharp gaze moves from me to Xavier, then back to me.
“Well said, my dear,” he finally says, and a wave of relief so powerful it makes me dizzy washes over me. “Very well said.”
He reaches out a thin, trembling hand and pats mine. “He is a good man. He just forgets it sometimes. Welcome to the family, Jessica.”
“Thank you, Philip,” I whisper.
Xavier lets out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding.
On the drive back to the city, the tension in the car is different. It’s less hostile. We passed the test.
“You were impressive,” Xavier says, his eyes on the road. It’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s given me.
“I’m a good liar,” I reply flatly.
“You weren’t lying. Not entirely.”
Before I can process that, he’s pulling the car over. “I need coffee. Do you want anything?”
“Just a water, please.”
We step into a small, trendy cafe. It’s busy, filled with the lunchtime crowd. We stand in line, and for a moment, it almost feels normal. A husband and wife stopping for coffee.
“Well, well, look what we have here.”
The voice is like nails on a chalkboard. My blood runs cold. I turn slowly. Chloe stands there, a smug, venomous smile on her face. Mark is right behind her, holding two cups of coffee, his expression a mixture of surprise and pity.
“Jessica,” Mark says, his voice laced with that infuriating, condescending concern. “I didn’t expect to see you out.”
“I live in the city, Mark,” I say, my voice tight.
Chloe’s eyes rake over me, then slide to Xavier, taking in his expensive suit and powerful presence with greedy appreciation. “My, you don’t waste any time, do you? Found a replacement already? I have to say, he’s definitely an upgrade. Financially, at least.”
Her words are a public slap. A few people nearby turn to look. My face burns with shame.
“Chloe, stop,” Mark says, though there’s no force behind it.
“What? I’m just saying. It’s good to see she’s landed on her feet,” Chloe says, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. She turns back to me. “I was so worried about you after… well, you know. But it looks like you found yourself a nice, rich shoulder to cry on. Good for you.”
I can’t breathe. All the pain from yesterday, all the public humiliation, it’s all happening again. I feel small and pathetic, exactly like she wants me to feel.
I look at Mark, my fiancé of ten years, and he just stands there, looking awkward, a useless bystander to my second execution in as many days.
Xavier, who has been silent this whole time, takes a step forward. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to.
“We’re leaving,” he says to me, his voice a low command. His hand finds the small of my back, a firm, grounding pressure. It’s not a gesture of affection. It’s a tactical maneuver, extracting me from a hostile situation.
He guides me past them, his body shielding me from their stares. He doesn’t look at them, doesn’t acknowledge their existence. To him, they are less than nothing.
We get back in the car. The silence is back, but now it’s jagged and raw. I stare out the window, watching the world blur as a single, hot tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away angrily.
I got the blessing. But I also got the curse. And I don’t know which one will end up being more powerful.
