Chapter 2 #2
As he turned to leave, I found my voice. “Wait,” I called out, not entirely sure what I was going to say next. He paused, looking back at me with an expression that was equal parts expectant and wary.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, feeling like a fish out of water. What could I possibly say? Sorry, I seem to have body-snatched your wife and have no idea what’s going on? Yeah, that’d go over well.
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—curiosity? frustration?—passing across his face. “You have something to add, Victoria?” The name rolled off his tongue with a mixture of familiarity and distance.
Before I could formulate a response, a woman appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. “Good morning, Mrs. Everett. I’ve prepared your itinerary for the—oh! Mr. Everett, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. “I need to take this.” His voice was clipped as he answered, “Jason Everett.”
The world tilted sideways. Jason Everett. The Jason Everett. My coffee cup clattered against the counter as my hand went slack.
The personal assistant—whose name badge read Samantha—smoothly stepped forward, either oblivious to or professionally ignoring my minor meltdown.
“Mrs. Everett, you have the charity luncheon at noon, followed by your weekly spa appointment. The party planner also called to confirm details for the Arts she tries to ruin his company using Daddy’s connections; he falls for Sophia, happily ever after… except he’s already told me about the divorce. Great.
“Right,” I announced to the empty room. “Time for some detective work.”
I launched into full investigation mode, starting in Victoria’s private sitting room connected to her bedroom.
The space was elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows and plush furnishings.
What caught my attention immediately was the far wall—a built-in bookshelf that housed what could only be described as Victoria’s Wall of Fame.
Magazines were displayed like precious artifacts, positioned to catch the perfect amount of light on their glossy covers.
“‘Society’s Power Couple: Inside the Wedding that Stopped the City,’” I read aloud, carefully lifting one from its shrine-like position.
Each spread was more elaborate than the last, documenting every crystal, every flower, every carefully orchestrated moment of what appeared to be the social event of the decade.
More covers lined the shelves: “Tech’s Rising Star Weds Society Princess,” “The Wedding of the Decade,” “Power, Love, and Legacy.” Each magazine showcased Victoria and Jason’s perfect life, their perfect marriage, their perfect facade.
I picked up another magazine—Fortune 500: The New Tech Elite—and skimmed the article about Jason.
Unlike those insufferable tech billionaires always making headlines with their vanity projects and public meltdowns, Jason had built something real.
His company, valued at 2.5 billion, focused on innovative tech solutions that actually helped people, not just harvested their data.
The article praised his unconventional approach—prioritizing employee well-being and product quality over quick profits, much to his board’s constant frustration.
While other tech CEOs chased headlines with outrageous stunts and hostile takeovers, Jason was quietly revolutionizing how technology could serve communities.
“Huh,” I muttered, reading about his latest clash with investors who wanted him to cut corners on security features to boost quarterly profits.
“No wonder Victoria’s daddy dearest thinks he can use the board against him.
” Another magazine highlighted Jason’s employee-first policies—full benefits, fair wages, actual work-life balance.
The kind of stuff I’d only dreamed about during my double shifts at the restaurant.
All these magazines, all these perfect moments captured in glossy print—the fairy-tale wedding, the power couple, the successful businessman with a conscience. But I needed more than just magazine articles. I needed something real, something tangible.
“I need to see it again,” I muttered, practically running to the dressing room I’d explored earlier. This time, I wasn’t just looking at an expensive dress—I was looking for proof.
The wedding gown stood in its climate-controlled alcove, exactly as I’d found it this morning. But now, knowing whose dress it was—my dress, Victoria’s dress—it took on a whole new meaning. I approached it slowly, like it might disappear if I moved too quickly.
My fingers trembled as I touched the beadwork again. This wasn’t just any fairy-tale dress. This was the dress from The CEO’s Bargain—the one Victoria wore when she married Jason, before their marriage turned as cold as the crystals catching the light like frozen stars.
“It’s real,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “This isn’t just some crazy dream. I’m actually her. I’m Victoria Everett.” The price tag I’d gaped at earlier now seemed like the least shocking thing about this situation. “I’m the villain in someone else’s love story.”
Back in the sitting room, my eyes landed on Victoria’s phone sitting on an ornate side table. My hands shaking, I picked it up. Time to confirm the final piece of this insane puzzle. The contact list was impressive. Jason’s number sat at the top, followed by “Violet,” “Daddy,” and “Mommy.”
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, pressing Violet’s number. “Time to check if this family drama is as real as that wedding dress.”
Three rings later, a sharp voice answered, “What do you want? Calling to lecture me about my latest scandal?”
“Hi… Um… Violet? Sis?” I tried, my voice squeaking.
“Save it. If this is about me being photographed with that actor, he told me he’s getting divorced.”
“I just… wanted to check how you’re doing?”
The silence on the other end was heavy. “Right. Did you fall and hit your head? The last time you checked on me was to tell me I was embarrassing the family name. Again.” I could practically hear her eyes rolling.
“Or wait, let me guess—Mother sent you to convince me not to attend the charity gala? Afraid I’ll outshine you in front of your society friends? ”
“Nothing like that! I just… remember when we were little, before everything got so complicated.”
“Oh my God.” Violet laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You’re definitely drunk. It’s not even noon. Though I have to say, day drinking might actually make you more interesting.”
“No! I just?—”
“Save your fake concern, Victoria. Some of us actually enjoy life instead of playing perfect princess.” Her laugh was cruel. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to attend. Do give Mother my love—or don’t. I really couldn’t care less.”
The line went dead before I could respond.