Chapter 2-The burden of an Image

Alexander pov 

The photos are still plastered across my computer screen when I pick up my phone and type out a message to Victoria.

Last night was fun, same time next week? Three dots appear immediately, she's typing, eager, they always are.

Her response pops up with a string of heart emojis and I smirk, toss my phone onto my mahogany desk.

Manhattan can talk all they want, I couldn't care less.

My office at Harrington Global takes up the entire fifty-seventh floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city I practically own.

 This empire is mine now, built on my decisions, my ruthlessness, my refusal to let anyone tell me how to live my life.

 I lean back in my leather chair and scroll through my messages, Victoria from last night begging for more, Simone from last week asking when she'll see me again, Gabrielle wondering if I'm free this weekend.

Three women, three different conversations, all of them wanting more than I'm willing to give, which is exactly how I like it.

Marriage to Elena is a business arrangement, nothing more.

My father's will required it to unlock my full inheritance and stabilize the company after some scandal involving offshore accounts and questionable dealings.

 I never fully understood, he'd called me to his deathbed, gripped my hand with surprising strength and said marry the Martin girl, five years minimum, keep up appearances.

I'd agreed because what choice did I have: lose everything I'd worked for or sign some papers and play house with a desperate orphan?

Easy decision.

I never promised Elena love, never even hinted at it. She knew exactly what she was signing up for, financial security in exchange for playing the devoted wife at public events, it's a fair trade, she gets a mansion, designer clothes, a life most women would kill for. I get my inheritance and a respectable image on the board, everyone wins.

Well, everyone except her apparently, but that's not my problem.

Women like Victoria and Simone and Gabrielle, they're entertainment, stress relief, a reminder that I'm not actually trapped in this sham marriage.

Elena can sit in that cold mansion and pretend to be the perfect wife all she wants. I'll do what I want with who I want. That was never part of the contract.

My office door opens without a knock and James walks in. 

My assistant, twenty-eight, has been with me for three years, knows better than to disturb me unless it's important. 

He's holding his tablet like it might explode, "Sir, we have a situation."

"Define the situation," I didn't look up from my phone.

"Mrs. Harrington is trending on social media," James still holding his tablet like it might explode.

"T*****r, I*******m, TikTok, everywhere, Poor Elena has over a hundred thousand tweets in the last two hours."

"And?" I finally glanced at him.

"And the board is requesting an emergency meeting," James's voice shakes slightly, "They're concerned about the optics, Mr. Chen called three times this morning. 

Mrs. Blackwood sent an email marked urgent."

"Let them request whatever they want," I cut him off, my voice flat, "tell the PR team to make a donation to some children's charity in Elena's name.

Something that makes us look compassionate, problem solved."

James hesitates, shifting his weight, "Sir, with all due respect, this is the third major scandal in two months. The board members are saying your behavior is affecting stock prices. Some of them are questioning your judgment."

"Then the board needs to remember who built this company into what it is today," 

I stand up slowly, and my voice drops to ice, "My private life is mine. If they have a problem with how I conduct myself outside of business hours, they can resign.

I will replace them by the end of day."

James goes pale, "Yes sir, I'll relay the message."

"Good, now get out, I have work to do."

He practically runs from the office, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I pour myself a scotch even though it's only eleven in the morning,

The Bennett Charity Gala is tonight, and I need to prepare myself for the performance; loving husband Alexander, devoted father, Manhattan's golden couple.

 The whole charade makes me want to put my fist through a wall, but it's necessary, the board needs to see stability, investors need to see a family man, so I'll play the part.

I've perfected it over four years, hand on Elena's waist just tight enough to keep her in line.

 Whispers in her ear that look intimate to the cameras but are actually reminders, smile wider, stand up straighter, stop looking so miserable, she plays her role, I play mine, everyone gets what they need.

My phone buzzes on the desk, unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something made me look, the text makes my jaw clench, 

Does your wife know about Apartment 47? Or what  you really do there?

My hand tightens on the phone. Apartment 47 is my Tribeca penthouse, the one registered under a shell company, the one where I take women when I don't want to deal with hotels and paparazzi. Nobody knows about that place except my lawyer and, apparently, whoever just sent this text.

I deleted the message. 

Immediately, I make a mental note to have my security team trace it. Probably some tabloid journalist fishing for a story. It doesn't matter, they can't prove anything.

Another text comes through, this time from Victoria:" Can I see you before the gala? I miss you already, baby."

I consider it for half a second, then respond, "Busy today, but tomorrow works, I'll text you the address."

She responds with more hearts and I toss my phone aside, pull up the marriage contract on my computer.

I've read this thing a hundred times, but I review clause forty-seven again just to reassure myself, if Elena files for divorce seven years away, she forfeits all parental rights to Julian. She gets nothing, no money, no son, nothing, she's trapped and she knows it.

I close the file, satisfied, everything is under control.

I'm reviewing quarterly reports when my office door slams open again. This time without any warning, Cassandra storms in, my sister, thirty-one, beautiful and calculating in equal measure.

 Right now she looks furious and triumphant all at once.

"We need to talk, brother," she says without preamble.

"Make an appointment with James," I don't look up.

"This can't wait," she drops a thick file folder onto my desk with a heavy thud. "It's about your little wife and about Father's real will."

Now she has my attention, I look up slowly, 

"What are you talking about?"

Cassandra's smile is sharp as a knife, "You think you have Elena trapped? You think your contract is ironclad? You don't know half of what Father set in motion before he died."

I stood up, "Cassandra, I don't have time for your games."

"This isn't a game," she interrupts, her voice dropping.

 "Father didn't marry you off to Elena just for appearances or for your inheritance, there was another reason, a bigger reason, and when she finds out the truth about why he really forced you to marry her, your perfect little arrangement is going to explode in your face."

My blood runs cold, "What truth?"

"Open the file," she gestures to the folder on my desk, "Read it yourself. I found it in Father's safe deposit box last month.

Been trying to decide what to do with it, thought you should know what you're really dealing with."

"Cassandra"

"I'm done protecting you," she says, already walking toward the door, "You've been a bastard to that girl for four years. Maybe it's time you learned the consequences of following Father's orders without asking questions. Enjoy your gala tonight, brother. It might be the last time you can pretend everything's perfect."

She's gone before I can respond, the door slamming behind her, leaving me standing there with this file burning a hole in my desk. I stare at it for a long moment, part of me wants to throw it away, pretend this conversation never happened, but curiosity wins.

I open the file and my world tilts on its axis. The first page is a letter in my father's handwriting, dated one week before he died, Alexander, if you're reading this you need to know the truth about Elena Martin. Her parents didn't die in an accident, I had them killed.

My hands start shaking, I keep reading. They discovered my illegal dealings with overseas investors, money laundering, fraud. They were going to expose everything. I couldn't let that happen. I made it look like a house fire, electrical malfunction, but the girl survived. She was at a friend's house that night. I needed to keep her close, control her, make sure she never found evidence her father hid. That's why I made you marry her, not for appearances, not for your inheritance, to keep the only witness to my crimes under our control.

The paper falls from my fingers. There's more in the file, police reports, financial documents, photographs of Elena's parents' burned house, all of it proving my father was a murderer, and I married his victim without knowing it. I've spent four years controlling her, manipulating her, keeping her trapped, all while she had no idea my family killed hers.

My phone buzzes, Elena's name on the screen, probably asking about tonight, I can't answer it, can't even look at it, everything I thought I knew about my marriage, about my father, about why I'm really doing this, it's all a lie.

And when Elena finds out the truth, she won't just leave me, she'll destroy me.