Chapter 3

The Other Woman

The first time I met Isabella properly, I understood why he chose her.

She was beautiful in a way that demanded attention—confident, polished, effortless. Her long hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, and her red lipstick stood out against her flawless skin. When she walked into the office lobby, heads turned instinctively, as if the room had adjusted itself to her presence.

I stood a few steps behind my husband, clutching my handbag, suddenly very aware of how plain I felt. My reflection in the glass doors stared back at me—simple dress, neutral makeup, quiet posture. I looked like someone who blended into the background. She looked like someone who owned the place.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, her eyes landing on him immediately. Her smile widened when she saw him, warm and familiar.

“Isabella,” he replied, his tone softer than I had ever heard it with me.

That single word hurt more than I expected.

He turned slightly, as if remembering I was there. “This is my wife,” he said flatly, gesturing toward me.

My wife.

No name. No warmth. Just a title.

Isabella looked at me, her eyes scanning me quickly—from my face to my shoes—before offering a polite smile. “Oh,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

I forced a smile of my own. “Nice to meet you too.”

The words tasted bitter.

She stepped closer to him, her arm brushing against his. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said lightly.

“Not at all,” he replied immediately. “I was just heading to a meeting.”

With her.

Of course.

They walked ahead, side by side, talking quietly. I followed behind like an afterthought, my heels echoing against the marble floor. Every step felt heavier than the last. People greeted him as we passed—employees, executives, assistants—but their eyes lingered on her.

She fit perfectly into his world.

When we reached the conference room, he stopped abruptly and turned to me. “You can wait in my office,” he said. “This won’t take long.”

The dismissal was casual. Practiced.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay.”

As the doors closed behind them, I stood there for a moment, staring at the frosted glass. Their silhouettes moved inside, close together. I didn’t need to hear their voices to know she was laughing.

I walked to his office slowly, sinking into the chair near the window. From there, I could see the city stretching endlessly beyond the glass—busy, alive, free. I wondered what it would feel like to walk away from all of this and never look back.

Time passed slowly. Too slowly.

When I finally stood to leave, their meeting still hadn’t ended. As I stepped into the hallway, I heard voices drifting from the conference room. The door was slightly open.

I hadn’t meant to listen.

“I don’t like her being around so much,” Isabella said softly. “It complicates things.”

My breath caught.

“She knows her place,” my husband replied calmly. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

My hand pressed against the wall to steady myself.

“She won’t cause problems?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “She understands the arrangement.”

The arrangement.

My chest tightened painfully. To him, I wasn’t a person with feelings or dignity. I was an agreement. A clause. Something to be managed.

Isabella laughed quietly. “Good. I’d hate unnecessary drama.”

“You won’t have to deal with it,” he assured her. “Everything is under control.”

I stepped back slowly, my heart pounding in my ears. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the air too thick. I needed to leave—now.

Back in the car, I stared out the window as the city blurred past. My reflection stared back at me faintly, eyes dull, shoulders tense. I looked like someone who had just learned an ugly truth she could never unhear.

That night, when he finally returned home, I was already seated in the living room. He paused when he saw me, clearly surprised.

“You’re still awake,” he said.

“I went to the office today,” I replied quietly.

He stiffened slightly. “You shouldn’t have wandered around.”

“I met Isabella,” I continued, meeting his gaze.

Silence stretched between us.

“And?” he asked coolly.

“And now I understand,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “Understand what?”

“Why I never mattered.”

He exhaled slowly, irritation flashing across his face. “Don’t start imagining things.”

“I heard you,” I said softly. “Today.”

Something flickered in his eyes—annoyance, not guilt.

“You shouldn’t have been listening,” he said.

That was it. No apology. No denial.

I nodded slowly, feeling something inside me finally crack. “You’re right,” I said. “I shouldn’t have been listening.”

He turned and walked away, already done with the conversation.

I remained there long after he disappeared down the hallway, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. For the first time since marrying him, I felt something shift deep inside my chest.

I was done pretending.

And if I was nothing more than an arrangement to him, then maybe it was time I stopped acting like his wife.