Chapter 6: The Other Mrs. Linden

Throughout the ride, I smoothed down my beige cashmere coat and ran my fingers through my hair. I deliberately took deep breaths, suppressing my innate urge to fly into a rage like the lead character in a telenovela. Back when we were just starting Pandora, I once threw a stapler at the wall because an investor belittled us. 

Zachary was always the one to calm me down. "We play it cool, darling. Don't let them see your emotions," he'd say, kissing my forehead.

So today, I'm going to play it cool. I'll just show up at his office, knock on the door, and Zachary will look up from his stack of documents, smiling in surprise—and happiness—to see me. He'll hug me and explain everything. Then I'll laugh at myself for falling for cheap gossip and that damn tuberose-scented perfume. Yes, that's exactly how it will go.

The taxi pulled up in front of the glass-clad skyscraper that housed Pandora Media.

 I stepped out. Eight years ago, I was the one who mortgaged my parents' inheritance to rent the first server that became the foundation of this magnificent building. Now, thanks to my decision to step aside for Zoe, this building was my husband's empire. Our empire.

I walked into the main lobby. The scent of expensive coffee and niche perfume greeted me instantly. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at the species of Patagonia-vested tech-bros and slim-suited corporate women loudly discussing "synergy" and "market share."

I wove through the sea of ​​executives, heading toward the massive white marble desk in the center of the lobby. Behind it stood a Gen-Z receptionist with a super-tight sleek bun and French-manicured nails as long as pocket-knife blades, typing away ceaselessly.

"Good afternoon," I said, forcing my most elegant, warm smile. A CEO's wife has to be friendly, right? "I'd like to see my husband, Zachary Linden."

The girl didn't even stop typing. Her eyes remained glued to her monitor. "Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment? Mr. Linden's schedule is fully booked until next week. He isn't seeing any visitors."

I let out a soft sigh. Que inferno. Be patient, Rhea. "I don't need an appointment. Please call upstairs and tell Zachary his wife is down here. He'll tell me to come up."

Only then did those fingers—sporting a striking manicure—stop moving. The girl looked up. She scanned me from head to toe, her eyes lingering on my matronly coat, my face with its minimal, natural makeup, and my flat shoes. Her perfectly microbladed eyebrows arched sharply.

Then, the most infuriating thing happened. The corners of her mouth twitched as she stifled a laugh, and she looked at me with an expression that mixed pity with mockery.

"Sorry... did you say you're his wife?" she asked, using that cooing, sing-song tone people reserve for lost toddlers at the mall.

My blood surged. My body temperature spiked. I could feel a fire igniting in my chest, urging me to torch this marble desk. But I swallowed hard, forcing my anger deep down. Zachary hated scenes at his workplace. I also wanted to protect the reputation we had built together.

"Yes. I'm Rhea Linden. Please grant me access to the VIP elevator now," I said, my voice lower and trembling with suppressed emotion.

The girl let out a dramatic sigh. "Ma'am, I don't know if you're one of Mr. Linden's—shall we say—*obsessive* business podcast fans, or if you're just hallucinating. But for the sake of everyone's peace of mind, please leave the building before I call security."

My hand automatically slammed against the marble desk. BAM!

A few people in the lobby turned to look. To hell with playing nice. "Listen here, little girl," I hissed, leaning forward and letting my Latina fire take full control. "I built this company before you even graduated high school. Call your security. Call your entire HR department. Because if that elevator doesn't open in five seconds, I'll make sure this is the last day you ever work here."

Instead of panicking, the receptionist looked at me with a triumphant smile that made my stomach turn. She wasn't intimidated in the slightest.

"Go ahead and make threats, Mrs. Delusional," she replied airily, raising her voice. "But you are clearly not Mr. Linden's wife."

"Oh really? And what makes you so sure of that?!" I snapped, my breathing growing ragged.

The girl stared straight into my eyes with a smug smirk. "Because the real Mrs. Linden wouldn't show up dressed like she's heading to a social club gathering. And most importantly? Mrs. Linden is already upstairs. She went into the CEO's office an hour ago."

My world stopped spinning.

The cool air in the lobby seemed to vanish instantly. My heart, which had been pounding with rage, now felt like it had plummeted to the floor.

Already upstairs?

I stood frozen. My mind, which had been busy scrambling for excuses and justifications for Zachary, suddenly went blank. No surprise meeting. No misunderstanding. 

While I was at home, struggling to suppress my own feelings in order to believe in our marriage... my husband was actually letting another woman sit on the executive floor, use my name, and enjoy my title.

At that very moment, the receptionist's gaze shifted past me toward the VIP elevator doors behind me. Her eyes suddenly lit up with respect, and a beaming smile spread across her face.

"Ah, Mrs. Linden! Good afternoon!" she greeted in a sickeningly cheerful tone.

My breath caught in my throat. My fingertips went numb. Slowly, summoning the last of my strength, I turned around to see which she-devil had dared to steal my life.