A gift or an insult ?

ELENA’s POV

The morning after the gala, the sun felt too bright. It felt like it was poking through the heavy curtains of our bedroom.

My head still throbbed. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Julian Vane’s face. I saw the way he looked at me, like he owned the air I was breathing.

I rolled over, my stomach doing a slow, nauseating flip.

‘Don't be sick. Not yet.’

I begged myself.

Mark was already gone. The bed was cold on his side, the sheets barely wrinkled. He had probably bounced out of bed at 6:00 AM, fueled by the ego boost Julian had given him. He truly believed he was one step away from the Managing Director’s office.

I forced myself out of bed and wrapped my silk robe around me. I needed ginger tea.

And I needed a plan too if this morning sickness is what I think it is. And most of all, I needed to figure out how to look Mark in the eye without screaming.

As I reached the top of the grand staircase, I heard voices.

"Careful with that! It’s Italian leather, you idiot!"

Mark’s voice boomed from the foyer. I looked down over the railing. Two men in black uniforms were standing in our entryway, holding a large, wooden crate. Mark was hovering over them, his face flushed with excitement.

"Elena! You’re awake! Come down here!" he shouted, waving his hand frantically.

I walked down the stairs slowly, my hand gripping the banister. "What is all this, Mark?"

"A delivery!" he beamed. "From Vane Industries. Can you believe it? The gala was only last night, and Julian, I mean Mr. Vane is already sending over tokens of appreciation. This is it, Elena. This is the sign."

The delivery men pried open the crate with a crowbar. The sound of wood splintering made me flinch.

Inside, nestled in layers of expensive black tissue paper, was a box. Not just any box. A glossy, midnight blue box with the gold Vane logo embossed on the top.

Mark practically tore the lid off.

He gasped. I felt the air leave my lungs too.

It was a handbag. But calling it a handbag felt like an insult to the craftsmanship. It was made of deep emerald crocodile skin, with a clasp made of solid gold and a single, small diamond embedded in the center.

I had seen this bag in a magazine once. There were only five in the country. It cost a hundred thousand dollars.

"Look at this," Mark whispered, lifting it out like it was a holy relic. "He sent this to you. To my wife."

I reached out, my fingers trembling. I touched the cold, smooth leather.

“For services rendered,” I remembered Julian’s voice in the dark. “We are no longer square.”

"There's a card," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Mark snatched the small envelope tucked into the side. He ripped it open and read it aloud.

“To Mrs. Montgomery. A small token for a memorable evening. I look forward to our future partnership. J.V."

Mark let out a loud, jagged laugh. He hugged me, his smell of stale cologne and coffee overwhelming me. "Do you see? Partnerships! He doesn't just want me for the firm, Elena. He wants us as part of his inner circle. He likes our image. He likes you.”

Well he likes me alright. Probably more than what I expect of him.

I pulled away, clutching the bag to my chest. It felt heavy. "Mark, this is too much. We should send it back. It’s inappropriate."

"Are you insane?" Mark’s face instantly hardened. The fake affection vanished. "You send that back, and you might as well send my career into the trash. You will wear this. You will love it. In fact, you’re wearing it today."

"Today?"

"I just got off the phone with Stefan, Vane’s right-hand man. He’s meeting us for lunch at Le Cirque in an hour. He wants to discuss the transition of the firm. But really, he’s checking us out. He’s Julian’s eyes and ears."

Mark grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight and bruising. "You are going to put an identical dress to that blue one from last night. You are going to carry this bag he just sent to us. And you are going to be the most grateful, charming woman he has ever met. Do you understand me?"

I looked at the emerald bag. It looked like a beautiful trap.

Wearing it would be like signifying an affirmative to whatever Julian was planning.

"I understand," I said.

*

*

An hour later, I was sitting in the back of a black car, the emerald bag sitting like a judge on my lap.

The restaurant was the kind of place where a bottle of water cost twenty dollars. Mark was checking his reflection in every window we passed, fixing his tie, smoothing his hair.

"Remember," Mark whispered as we were led to a private booth in the back. "Don't talk too much about yourself. Ask him about Julian. Ask him what Julian likes. We need to feed his ego."

Stefan was already there. He was older than Julian, with graying hair at his temples and eyes. He didn't stand up when we arrived. He just watched us.

"Mr. Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery," Stefan said. His voice was dry, like paper. "Please. Sit."

Mark sat down, practically vibrating. "It’s an honor, Stefan. Truly. And thank you again for the gift. Elena hasn't put it down all morning."

Stefan’s eyes moved to the bag. A small, knowing smirk touched his lips. "It’s a fine piece. Mr. Vane has excellent taste in things that belong to him."

I felt a chill. Things that belong to him.

The lunch was a nightmare. Mark spent thirty minutes talking about the company and his plans for it, while I sat there picking at a salad I couldn't eat.

Every time the smell of the kitchen’s roasted garlic reached me, my stomach cramped. I took tiny sips of water, trying to keep my face neutral.

Stefan ignored Mark almost entirely. He kept his eyes on me.

"You aren't eating, Elena," Stefan remarked. It wasn't a question. It was an observation.

"I’m just not very hungry today," I said, forcing a smile.

"Stress can do that," Stefan said. "Or perhaps a change in... routine. Mr. Vane mentioned you seemed a bit overwhelmed at the gala. He’s very concerned about the well-being of his staff's families."

"He’s a great man! A visionary!" Mark chimed in, oblivious.

Stefan leaned forward, crossing his arms on the white tablecloth. "Tell me, Elena. How long have you and Mark been married?"

"Ten years today," Mark answered for me. "A decade of perfect loyalty."

I felt like I was going to choke.

"Ten years," Stefan repeated. He looked at me, his gaze moving down to my hands, which were clenched together under the table. "And in those ten years, neither you or your husband ever felt... like looking for something better?"

I froze. That word. Something better.

Was that what Julian Vane thought he was?

"I think my husband and I are very happy in our marriage" I said carefully.

Mark surely looked excited to be playing a happy couple as he reached to hold my hand in support.

"If you say so" Stefan finally replied leaning back with a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, the waiter arrived with Mark’s main course, a heavy, buttery steak with truffle oil.

The scent hit me like a physical blow. My vision blurred. The world started to spin. The smell was so thick, so rich, it felt like it was coating the inside of my throat.

"Elena?" Mark asked, his voice sounding far away. "Are you okay? You’ve gone white."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I shoved my chair back, the legs screeching against the marble floor.

"Excuse me," I gasped.

I didn't wait for a response. I bolted for the restroom. I barely made it into the stall before my morning breakfast and all my secrets came up.

I leaned my forehead against the cold metal of the stall door, gasping for breath. Tears stung my eyes.

This was becoming impossible. I couldn't keep this up.

I couldn't stay in this marriage, carrying a baby that didn't belong to my husband, while his new boss hunted me down with emerald bags and his right hand man.

I washed my face with cold water, trying to stop the shaking. I fixed my lipstick. I looked like a wannabe in a designer dress.

When I walked back out to the table, the atmosphere had changed.

Mark was looking at his phone, looking annoyed. Stefan was standing up, buttoning his suit jacket.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"You took forever," Mark snapped. "Stefan has to go. Julian has called an emergency meeting."

"It’s quite alright," Stefan said, his eyes scanning my face with terrifying precision. "I think I have all the information I need."

He reached out and took my hand. Instead of a handshake, he held it for a second too long. "Take care of yourself, Elena. Mr. Vane would be very disappointed if anything happened to... his interests."

He left without another word.

*

*

The ride home was silent. Mark was brooding, probably worried that my little stomach bug had ruined his big impression.

"You need to get it together," Mark muttered as we pulled into our driveway. "If you’re sick, take a pill. We can't have you fainting in front of Vane’s team. It makes us look weak."

I didn't even argue. I just wanted to sleep.

I went upstairs, but I didn't go to our bedroom. I went to the guest room and locked the door. I needed to think. I needed a doctor, one who wasn't on Mark’s payroll. One who could tell me how far along I was and what I was going to do.

I spent the afternoon on my laptop, searching for private clinics. I found one three towns over. It was expensive, anonymous, and they didn't ask for ID if you paid cash.

"I’m going for a walk," I told Mark later that evening.

He didn't even look up from his laptop. "Fine. Just be back for dinner. I’m ordering Thai."

I didn't go for a walk. I got in my car and drove.

The clinic was in a quiet, gray building. The waiting room smelled like lemon cleaner and old magazines. I sat there, my heart hammering against my ribs, using the name Sarah on my form.

"Sarah? The doctor will see you now," a nurse said.

I walked into the small exam room. The doctor was a woman with kind eyes. She did the ultrasound in silence. The only sound was the hum of the machine and the frantic thumping of my own heart.

"Well," the doctor said, turning the screen toward me. "You’re definitely pregnant. About five weeks."

I stared at the screen. At the tiny, flickering dot that was going to change the world.

"Is it... is it healthy?" I asked.

"So far, yes. But your blood pressure is very high. You need to avoid stress, Sarah. Whatever is going on in your life, you need to find a way to stay calm."

I laughed, a dry, bitter sound.

Stay calm? My husband was a cheating bastard, and my baby’s father was someone who wouldn’t let go of me now that he has discovered I exist.

I paid the bill in cash and walked out into the cool night air. I felt a strange sense of peace. The secret was out. It was real. Now, I just had to survive.

Maybe I could tell Chloe and we could find a way for me to leave without drama.

But as I walked toward my car in the empty parking lot, a set of headlights flashed.

A black SUV, the same kind I had seen at the gala, was parked right behind my car.

The driver’s side door opened.

It wasn't a driver.

Julian Vane stepped out.