Chapter 6: The 5th Marriage Anniversary (Not Hers)

Fedora had long since trained herself not to dwell on the past. But some dates refused to be ignored.

Today marked five years since her relationship broke up, and they married—her ex-boyfriend and her best friend’s anniversary. Five years since she had received that invitation, her heartbreak compounded by the cruel irony of it all. Four years with him, no proposal. Six months with her best friend, a wedding.

She should have been over it. She had built an empire, traveled the world, married and divorced some of the most powerful men in business, politics, and tech. She was the woman people hired to make their marriages happen, yet she had never had one of her own.

She had perfected the art of emotional detachment. But as she scrolled through social media that morning, sipping her imported espresso in her luxury penthouse, the sight of their anniversary pictures hit her harder than she expected.

They were celebrating in Santorini. The blue domes and whitewashed buildings were the perfect backdrop for their love story—a love story she had been written out of. Their two kids grinned up at the camera, the caption reading:

"Five years, two beautiful children, and a lifetime to go. My forever love."

Fedora let out a dry laugh.

Forever. What a concept!

A promise people made with trembling hands and hopeful hearts, only to watch it wither under the weight of reality. A word so easily spoken, yet so rarely fulfilled.

She leaned back against the plush velvet of her penthouse couch, her phone still clutched in her hand, her eyes lingering on the anniversary post. The smiling faces. The picture-perfect family. The life she was supposed to have.

For a fleeting moment, a cruel “what if” wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing tighter with each second. What if things had gone differently? What if she had been the one in that picture, standing beside him, their children laughing between them, their love a decade strong? Would she have been happy? Or would she have been like her sister—the one who had once believed in love so fiercely, only to be abandoned, left to raise two children with nothing but heartbreak and unpaid bills?

Fedora had seen too much to believe in fairytales anymore. She had watched as love turned into resentment, as vows crumbled into legal documents, and as passion soured into cold indifference. She knew the truth: love was never enough.

Marriage was not the promise of forever—it was a gamble, a high-stakes transaction where the odds were rarely in one’s favor. A carefully orchestrated performance, where both parties played their roles until one grew tired, disillusioned, or found a better opportunity.

A calculated risk.

A fragile illusion.

And yet, despite knowing all this, why did she still feel the ache of something lost?

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. A new client. A new contract. A new identity to slip into.

Fedora shut off her phone and went to stare down her window at the nightlife happening just across from her penthouse, exhaling slowly as if she could release the weight pressing against her chest. The past belongs in the past. It was a closed door, a chapter long finished, and she refused to linger in the ruins of what could have been.

She had chosen her path, and regret had no place in the empire she was building.

Love? It was fleeting, unpredictable—an illusion wrapped in sweet words and temporary promises. But wealth, security, and power—those were real. Those were tangible. Love wouldn't have put food on the table when their mother struggled to make ends meet. Love wouldn’t have saved her late father from dying and leaving heavy responsibilities on the shoulders of her mother. In fact, love wouldn't have saved her relationship of four years - nor saved her from being that grossly humiliated. That was the lowest form of human degradation!

But money did.

Fedora had once dreamed of a love story like the ones in the movies—one where she walked down the aisle with a man who cherished her, where she built a home filled with warmth and laughter. But dreams changed. She changed.

Now, she dreamed of something bigger, something more meaningful. She dreamed of having more than enough—not just for herself, but for her family, for the people who needed someone to step in when the world turned its back on them.

She wanted to see her mother smile without worry, to know that she would never have to count pennies or stretch meals just to survive. She wanted to send her niece and nephew to the best schools, to make sure they never felt the sting of abandonment. She wanted to change lives—to quietly pay off a struggling student’s tuition, to cover the hospital bills of a child whose parents had lost hope, to support the dreams of those who only needed a small push to rise above their circumstances.

That was real fulfillment. That was the purpose.

And no illusion—no fleeting romance, no fragile vow—could ever compare to that.

Fedora squared her shoulders and walked to her window, staring out at the city below. She had built herself into something untouchable, unstoppable. There was no space for regrets, no time for pointless nostalgia.

Her life was exactly what she had designed it to be.

Fedora turned away from the window, her mind already shifting back to the business at hand. There were contracts to review, new clients to vet, and a wedding scheduled in two weeks. A real one? A fake one? It hardly mattered anymore.

Her phone buzzed, and out of habit, she reached for it. An unknown number.

She almost ignored it until she saw the message from her ex-boyfriend, Tyler

"Fedora, we need to talk. It's important.

It’s about her."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her?

For the first time in years, Fedora felt something she couldn’t quite name. Dread? Curiosity? Hope?

She swallowed hard, staring at the screen.

And then, with a steadying breath, she typed back:

"Where and when?"