Chapter 7: A Scandal & A Quick Exit

The reply came almost instantly.

"Tomorrow. The Skylight Hotel. 8 PM. Please."

Fedora’s fingers hovered over the screen. She had built her life on precision and control, never letting emotions dictate her actions. But this? This was uncharted territory.

Still, she found herself typing back:

"I’ll be there."

***

The Skylight Hotel was a place for the elite—business moguls, celebrities, and politicians. Fedora had been there before, always as someone’s wife, never as herself.

She walked in with the quiet confidence she had perfected over the years. But the moment she saw him sitting in the dimly lit lounge, something shifted inside her.

Tyler.

The man who had once held her heart. The man who had shattered it.

He looked different—tired, worn down. His once perfectly tailored life now had visible creases.

Fedora sat across from him, keeping her expression unreadable. “You have five minutes.”

He exhaled, rubbing his hands together before looking at her. “I messed up, Fedora.”

She let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “That’s obvious.”

Tyler swallowed hard. “Cynthia and I—our marriage—it's over.”

Fedora tilted her head slightly. “What a shame. Didn’t even make it past the five-year mark.” “Wait, was it not your 5^th anniversary update I saw on social media days ago?”

Tyler’s jaw tightened, his fingers clenching around his glass. “I was a fool. I thought I was choosing stability, but I only ended up with regret.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Cynthia ... she was never you.”

Fedora raised an eyebrow, but she said nothing. She had no intention of making this easy for him.

Tyler exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He looked different—tired, like a man carrying a weight too heavy to bear. “She cheated, Fedora.” His voice was raw, laced with something between anger and exhaustion. “For years. Not just once. Not just a mistake. It was deliberate.”

Fedora’s expression didn’t change, but inside, she wasn’t surprised. Cynthia had always been the type who played the long game. She never believed one man could satisfy her at all, except if the man had money, then she could pretend for a while. But the pretense hardly passes the 6-month mark. Fedora was surprised she managed her pretense for five years. With two kids? Wow! That's worthy of Guinness World Records.

“She had an entire relationship behind my back,” Tyler continued, his voice tightening. “A man she met at one of those charity galas. My wife, slipping off to hotel suites while I was busy making deals and securing our future.” His hands trembled slightly as he set his drink down.

Fedora tilted her head, studying him. “So, what do you want from me, Tyler? Sympathy?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. He hesitated before continuing, his voice quieter now. “I’m scared, Fedora. Of the truth.”

She frowned. “What truth?”

Tyler’s eyes darkened. “The kids.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t know if they’re mine.”

For the first time, Fedora felt something other than detached amusement. A flicker of something colder. Disgust? Pity?

“You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, “that you’ve spent all these years raising children who might not even be yours?”

Tyler exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want to know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if I take that test and find out they aren’t mine? What happens then?”

Fedora let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Then you’ll finally understand what it feels like to have your entire world rewritten in an instant.” Hmmm, if karma is a person ..., she reminisced.

Tyler looked up at her then, his expression heavy with regret. “I should have chosen you.”

Fedora met his gaze, unblinking. “No,” she said simply. “Thank God you didn’t, because I wouldn’t have wanted to end up with an indecisive and unfocused man like you in my life.”

She leaned forward, her voice calm but firm. “You chose her, Tyler. You built a life with her. Now, you want to come crawling back to me because it didn’t work out?”

Tyler’s eyes darkened. “That’s not fair.”

Fedora smiled, but there was ice behind it. “Fair? I dated you for four years. Not a single proposal. Then six months with my best friend, and suddenly you’re picking out a ring and wedding venues.”

Tyler looked away, shame flickering across his face. “I was scared.”

“Of what?” Fedora’s voice was sharp now. “Of marrying the wrong person? Or of marrying the right one?”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Tyler sighed. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I had to tell you—I regret everything.”

Fedora studied him, feeling something unexpected—pity. Not for herself, but for him. He was trapped in his own mistakes, and she had long since freed herself from them.

“You’re right,” she said finally. “You don’t deserve my forgiveness. But I’ll give it to you anyway.”

Tyler’s head snapped up. “You will?”

She stood, smoothing down her dress. “Yes. Because you don’t matter to me anymore.”

And with that, she walked away.

***

Fedora barely had time to process Tyler’s unexpected return before another storm hit. This one, however, had nothing to do with past lovers and everything to do with the empire she had built.

A client’s ex-wife had gone public.

Not fully—she didn’t have names or undeniable proof—but she had suspicions. And she was relentless.

“I know these women exist,” the woman ranted in an explosive online interview. “They slip in and out of marriages like ghosts. My husband’s wife—I never met her. She was just… gone, like she was never real.”

The clip spread like wildfire. The media loved a good mystery, and soon, speculations ran rampant. Who was this woman? Could it be true? Was there an underground network of ‘brides’ helping powerful men manipulate the system?

Fedora’s phone buzzed nonstop. Her legal team assured her they were handling it, but she knew better than to rely solely on assurances. This was dangerous territory. A single mistake, one careless slip, and everything she had built could crumble overnight.

The ex-wife, furious at being discarded and replaced so easily, became obsessed with finding the truth. She hired private investigators and tracked financial records, and combed through transactions that didn’t add up. She contacted other wives who had similar stories—marriages that seemed real on paper but hollow in reality.

The problem? There was no trail to follow.

Bridal Fix had been built for discretion. No leaked documents, no digital fingerprints, no loose ends. Each transaction was handled through layers of legal and financial safeguards, ensuring that no connection led back to Fedora.

Still, the woman refused to let go.

She appeared on podcasts, fueling rumors. She dragged her ex-husband through court, demanding explanations he couldn’t give without implicating himself. She even went as far as tracking down a former housekeeper, hoping for a slip-up—a name, a location, anything.

Fedora monitored everything. Every interview. Every article. Every whisper.

And when the story got too close for comfort, she acted.

She met with her most trusted circle—her lawyers, her fixers, and the silent players who kept Bridal Fix running.

“We need to be ahead of this,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

Her lawyer nodded, adjusting his cufflinks. “We’ve silenced worse.”

True, but this wasn’t just any scandal. This woman was determined. And determination, unchecked, was dangerous.

Fedora took no chances.

First, the media. A smear campaign was launched. Soon, the ex-wife was being painted as unhinged, a bitter woman spinning conspiracy theories. A few well-placed articles highlighted her past erratic behavior, planting seeds of doubt.

Then, the legal side. A lawsuit for defamation was prepared—just enough to intimidate, to make her think twice before speaking further.

Finally, a direct warning. A subtle but unmistakable message reached the woman through an anonymous source: Drop it. Or things could get very difficult for you.

It worked.

Slowly, the noise began to die down. The woman’s credibility was eroded. People moved on to the next scandal.

But Fedora wasn’t foolish enough to relax.

The next morning, Fedora boarded a flight.

Destination? Undisclosed.

For now, she needed distance. Time to reassess, rebuild, and prepare for whatever came next.

She stared out of the airplane window, fingers tapping lightly against her armrest. This wasn’t the end.

Not even close.

Because Fedora Smith always had a plan.

And when she returned?

She’d be unstoppable.