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No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world."Dad, I read the email you sent me. Is it for real or what?"
Freya Walton darted home the instant she landed, her mind reeling with disbelief. In just a matter of days, her mother had fallen gravely ill, slipping into an unconscious state, while the Healthbridge Hospital she founded hit rock bottom.
"Mom poured her heart and soul into that hospital, Dad. We can't let it wither away like this. You must have a solution up your sleeve, right?"
With a frown, Fletcher Walton set aside his newspaper, and sighed heavily. "Listen, Freya, let's take a deep breath and sort things out."
Just as Freya was about to say something more, a sweet, feminine voice cut in. "Don't go giving Dad a hard time. Let's face it. Healthbridge is in a shambles. No amount of money can fix it. It's better to declare bankruptcy and be done with it."
Freya's gaze shifted to the source of the voice.
A young girl, her age perhaps, stood before her, garbed in a flowing dress, exuding an air of haughtiness that made Freya's hackles rise.
Something about the girl gave Freya a sense of foreboding. "And you are?" she asked, her tone guarded.
The girl's lips curled into a smile, but her voice dripped with honeyed venom. "I am your younger sister, Hailey Walton."
Hailey, with her cherubic features, bore an uncanny resemblance to Fletcher in his youth. Her smile was disarmingly sweet.
Yet, her eyes glimmered with malice and repugnance as she leveled a gaze at Freya.
Before Freya could even blink, a middle-aged woman, decked out in a mink coat and heavy makeup, sauntered out of the kitchen, assuming the air of a gracious hostess.
"You must be exhausted, Freya. I've whipped up a little something for you," the woman said, setting the plate on the table.
She then strolled over to Fletcher, seating herself beside him and casting an indifferent look over Freya. "I'm Helen, and I'll be taking care of you and Fletcher from now on."
Freya's mind reeled in shock as she looked to Fletcher for an explanation. But he averted his gaze, clearly avoiding her questioning eyes. In that instant, Freya's worst fears were confirmed.
It was clear that Fletcher had been unfaithful, and his illegitimate daughter, sired from his mistress, was almost as old as her. In his wife's hour of need, he brought his mistress and their love child home.
Freya was overcome with a maelstrom of emotions—grief, sadness, and anger for her mother. She had been living abroad all this time, completely unaware of her family's turmoil. She never imagined things would take such a drastic turn when she returned home.
The urge to march up to them and slap them senseless coursed through Freya's veins, but she knew it wasn't the time to be impulsive. She had more pressing matters at hand.
Freya took a deep, steadying breath and said, "Dad, we can discuss these two women later. But the issue at hand is Healthbridge and it can't wait any longer. You've been in business in Leryport for so long; you must know how to save the hospital."
Fletcher averted his gaze, remaining tight-lipped.
Helen put on a show of faux sympathy and sighed. "Freya, you should think about your father's well-being as well. Healthbridge is in a financial abyss of hundreds of millions. If we don't act soon to sell it, we won't even be able to afford your mother's medical bills."
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