CHAPTER ONE

***CHARLOTTE’S POV***

The moment the meeting ended and the contract was signed, I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet, ready to leave. But just as I reached for my bag,

“Ma’am,” my secretary called. “You still have another meeting in two hours. And you’re scheduled to personally pick up our principal client at the airport.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make that.” I said quickly, already heading for the door.

“But we can’t afford to offend him. This contract means everything to us, and we’re not the only company bidding for it.”

“Then you’ll have to fill in for me. Please.” I replied and didn’t even wait for her response before I rushed out of the boardroom, heading straight for the parking lot, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

As I walked briskly to my car, my eyes kept darting to my wristwatch every few seconds. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I really hope I make it. I can’t afford to miss this.”

I slid into the back seat of the car and immediately ordered my driver to head straight to the airport, rolling down the car window to feel the breeze on my face.

Today, my daughter is having her recital at her school in Yales. I just got a call from her teacher this morning which came as a complete shock to me as Genevieve had never mentioned it—not even once. I just couldn’t understand why she would keep something important like this from me. And yet, a part of me already knew the answer.

I had been too absent.

Three months ago, it was supposed to be a visiting day in which I would spend some time with her but my husband, Clyde Wellington, insisted I take an urgent business trip. I thought it was just something I would sort out quickly and return but what was meant to be a short trip stretched into five months because of ongoing projects. But now, knowing how much she needs me, I knew I couldn’t keep doing this.

The image of her standing alone on that stage—small, nervous, searching the crowd for a familiar face, made my chest ache. I knew Clyde wouldn’t be there for her as he never was. He always sent gifts instead, as if wrapped boxes could replace a father’s presence.

But gifts don’t clap.

Gifts don’t smile back at you from the audience.

She was already struggling enough, living miles away from us as Clyde insisted on sending her to school in another country, arguing that all his friends’ children attended that prestigious school. And like always, I agreed because I knew he always wanted the best for her. He loved her so much but that love didn’t extend to me.

The truth was that Clyde never loved me. To him, I was nothing more than a chain that tied him down, and kept him from the woman he truly wanted. And realizing that, I would have left this marriage a long time ago if not for one memory that refused to let me go.

The day Genevieve was born.

The way his face lit up when he held her in his arms—I had never seen him smile like that before. That smile and holding my own child when I thought it would be impossible, became my reason for staying. My hope.

And also…my mistake. As his coldness still never changed even after welcoming Genevieve into our small family.

Maybe all of this had become too much for my little girl.

That’s why she’d been distant lately. She barely answered my calls, and when she did, she always sounded rushed, eager to hang up. And now, she hadn’t even told me about her recital.

The flight to Yales felt endless, made worse by the persistent calls from a lawyer who had contacted me two weeks ago about my father’s property. Each ring tightened something ugly in my chest. I ignored every one of them.

I wanted nothing from him. Not after he abandoned me at an orphanage. And not after a lifetime of silence. If not for saving Trisha Wellington, Clyde’s grandmother, I had no idea what I would have become today. Because that single act of kindness had altered the course of my life and made me who I was today.

So I didn’t need my so-called father’s inheritance. I didn’t need his pitiful story about how I had gone missing in a fatal accident that claimed my mother’s life. I had built myself from nothing without him and I was more than satisfied with the woman I had become today.

The second the plane landed, I grabbed a cab and gave the driver the address. But when I finally entered the building, I found myself standing in the middle of nowhere, looking around in confusion. The place was massive, with multiple halls and people rushing in different directions. It was obvious several events were taking place at the same time.

Which way am I supposed to go?

My eyes darted around anxiously until they landed on a staff member walking toward my way and I quickly hurried closer to him, gently stopping him.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Where is Clinton school having their recital?”

“Second floor,” he replied, pointing toward the elevator. “And you should hurry, ma’am. It’s about to start.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” I said with a small bow, already moving.

I dashed toward the elevator, clutching the bouquet in my hands tighter and when I finally stepped into the auditorium where the recital was being held, I came to an abrupt stop as the hall was packed—parents everywhere, all gathered for their children. The sight stunned me for a moment as it’s quite bigger than all the ones I had attended.

I pushed past people carefully, murmuring apologies as I tried to move closer to the front. My gaze moved frantically from one row to another, searching for my little girl.

Genevie… where are you?

And then the host’s voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the official start of the recital. Hearing that, parents quickly took their seats, and several phones were raised to record and take pictures, while I just stood in the middle of the room, trying to find a seat as most were already filled up.

And that was when I saw him.

A familiar figure sat in the front row.

His back was to me, but even from behind, I definitely recognized him instantly. At first, I refused to believe it. But how could I not recognize the man I had been married to for eight years? The man whose cold back I had stared at countless nights while lying awake beside him.

Clyde.

He sat there in a black coat, one leg crossed over the other, his hands clasped neatly on his knee—as composed and distant as ever.

I was supposed to be happy that he was here. Attending Genevieve’s recital for the first time but what I felt was anger because he knew about this and didn’t inform me.

I almost missed it!

How could he hide such from me when he was the one that sent me on a business trip and he knew I didn't joke with anything about my baby. I always want to be there for her.

My grip tightened around the bouquet, my knuckles whitening. But for Genevieve’s sake, I swallowed my anger and decided to take the seat beside him for now. I could confront him later.

But just as I took a step forward, my eyes landed on the woman seated next to him. Smiling.

And I froze.

The color drained from my face.

How could this be possible?

"Wh…why is she here?”

Before my mind could process the shock, the host’s voice echoed through again,“And next to perform is Genevie Wellington!”

The name slammed into me, snapping me out of my daze and my head jerked toward the stage.

It’s Genevie’s turn?

Panic rushed through me as I was momentarily lost because of the woman I just saw, my body trembled so violently that I had to clasp my left hand around my right just to steady myself, and reciting to myself;

I’m here to support my daughter. I needed to be there for her.

So I forced myself to breathe, grounding my feet just as Genevieve stepped onto the stage.

Genevie looked radiant—happier than I had seen her in a long time. She took the microphone confidently, her smile lighting up the entire hall and my heart swelled at the sight of this.

She waved at the crowd before giving a small, graceful bow, drawing a soft comment from someone nearby about how polite she was.

Of course she is.

She’s my precious little girl.

My chest swelled with pride and I lifted my right hand to wave at her and cheer her up, but it froze mid-air when I heard her little voice saying;

“I dedicate this song to my beautiful momma.”

The word felt as if something struck me, almost making me lose my balance.

First, Genevieve doesn’t call me momma but mommy. And second, she wasn’t looking at me when she was saying that. She was looking at someone else. At Flora. The woman seated beside Clyde.

Flora Blair—Clyde Wellington’s first love… and my daughter’s surrogate.

My breath hitched violently, air refusing to fill my lungs as a chilling numbness spread through my body. It felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Yes, I was Clyde’s wife.

But his heart had always belonged to another woman.

And that woman had carried my child.

I had been too weak to conceive. And Clyde had never wanted to have sex with me, not after fainting on our wedding night. So a year after our marriage, we decided to make use of a surrogate and he did all the arrangements while I just followed the guidelines.

I never knew that the surrogate was Flora until she was four months pregnant. I was so angry about it because I recently found out that she was the one he loved. But Clyde and his family assured me it was nothing more than repayment for an old debt her family owed theirs. They promised she would disappear after the birth. They swore she would never return.

But now…

Here she was.

Sitting beside my husband.

Smiling at my daughter.

Trying to steal the only thing that had ever truly been mine… after already stealing Clyde’s heart.

The next few minutes felt like pure torture as I watched Genevie sang beautifully—emotion pouring from every note. She smiled at Flora the entire time, and Clyde watched her with pride.

How could he do this?

He promised me!

By the time the song ended, my hands were clenched into fists, my acrylic nails digging painfully into my palms that I barely registered the host asking Genevie to say a few words or to share the inspiration behind such an emotional performance.

And of course it was me. I taught her everything about music and didn’t even hire a teacher for a private lesson.

But when my daughter spoke,

“It’s my momma,” she said proudly. “She’s the inspiration behind this song. I want to thank my momma for bringing me into this world and letting me experience all the beautiful moments in life.”

My knees buckled and I staggered backward, almost losing my balance.

What?

They told her?

How could he introduce her surrogate to her… behind my back? How could…

Tears burned my eyes, threatening to spill as my heart shattered into a million pieces.

“And I’m so happy Daddy came to my recital this time,” Genevie added cheerfully. “It’s always a huge gift sitting at his seat!”

The crowd laughed warmly and Clyde smiled—wide and genuine, whispering something to Flora who covered her mouth as she burst into laughter. Then he stood up, adjusting his custom-made suit, and turned to Flora with a gentle, almost priceless smile. He reached for her hand and she placed hers into his without hesitation. And together, they walked up to the stage and wrapped Genevie in a warm embrace.

“Daddy is so proud of you honey,” he said and applaud erupted across the hall and right beside me, I heard some people saying;

“What a lovely family.”

“They raised such an amazing child.”

And at last, the tears I had been holding back slid down my cheeks, my vision getting blurred. My throat felt painfully dry.

As I stood there, watching another woman, filling my role as a mother and a wife, one question echoed painfully in my mind;

If they are such a perfect family of three…then what am I?