's elite, to cement crucial alliances, to parade his successes. And I, his wife, was simply another one of his assets, polished and presented, yet I felt as invisible as the highly polished s

gile, precious truth hidden in a world

the chill of his indifference radiating off him like an aura. He was a magnet for attention, his every word a calculated move o

compliment about my dress, felt like a probe, threatening to pierce through the thin veneer of my composure. I saw the veil

nding an immediate hush that then rippled into excited whispers as all eye

ere sh

ssessed the power to steal all light. She was more beautiful than I remembered, more radiant, more utterly right in this o

tined for eclipse. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs, each beat a painful reminder of my own profound insignifi

ark of genuine emotion in his usually impassive eyes-a spark I had never, not once, witnessed directed at me. My stomach clenched,

nt Eleanor, a formidable woman whose approval Arthur clearly sought, and his cous

rm, embracing Sofie with an enthusiasm she'd never shown me. "It's

round her, offering genuin

a, chirped, reaching out to touch her arm. "We were jus

feels brighter with you back, Sofie. Honestly, the

, and her life with a familiarity that

ced my presence at all. Their smiles for Sofie were effortless, their laughter genuine, but for me, I received only a stiff nod, a quick, dismissive glance. It stung deeply; oh, how it stung. Even Arthur's family, the very people whose acceptance I desperately n

tible hesitation occurred before she smiled at me, a smile perhaps of pity, perhaps of triumph,

; instead, he moved directly towards Sofie. His presence, usually so commanding, seemed to melt into hers as he placed a hand o

drive back to the mansion remained a blur, my vision hazed by unshed tears and the crushing weight of

ide Arthur. Not a single member of his family-neither Aunt Eleanor, nor Clara, nor David-had so much as glanced in my direction to o

right to my face? Perhaps this was some cruel spectacle designed for their entertainment, allowing them to watch the wife be so blatantly discarded? I inhaled

of my dwindling composure. I approached Arthur's family, a fo

audible over the din of polite goodbyes. "It was lovely seeing you all.

id merely offered brief nods, their attention already drifting back to Sofie, who was engaged in a lively conversation

heard, but simply didn't care enough to acknowledge me. This proved too much to handle that ni

embered Arthur then-quieter, yes, always focused, but a warmth had existed in his eyes, a gentle hand on my arm, a shared laugh that felt undeniably genuine. He had looked at me with something akin to admiration, even fondness. He loved me then, didn't he? Or at leas

ied me up the grand staircase, towards the forbidden territory of Arthur's private office. A part of me, raw with pain

old paper filling the air. My eyes scanned the meticulously organized room, my gaze drawn to a large, antique desk. Hesitantly, I approached it, my fingers tracing t

ormal, sealed. As I unfolded the crisp pages, the words blurred b

ocument jumped out at me, revealing

rantically trying to reconcile this cold, legal truth with the pretense of our marriage, the charade I was still living, the child growin

s, my own name etched in ink, already legally separated. The realization that he had forged my signature,

h a profound sense of resignation, I slid them back precisely where I had found them

e a death knell in the quiet hall. Then, with a will I did not know I possessed, I w