The Rival’s Contract Wife

Valerie paced slowly across the spacious dining hall, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she issued calm, precise instructions to the interior decorators.

"The white orchids need to be centered, not angled," she said, gesturing toward the long mahogany table. "And please lower the crystal chandelier lights just a little more. I don't want it too bright. Make it warm."

One of the staff members nodded quickly and adjusted the dimmer. Another reached for the velvet drapes, and Valerie stopped him with a raised hand.

"No, not like that. Pull them back evenly on both sides. Damian notices symmetry."

She clasped her hands together once she was satisfied, scanning the room with careful eyes. The dining hall looked nothing like it usually did. Soft golden lights glowed against deep emerald walls, silver vases filled with fresh eucalyptus and white roses lined the center of the table, and a faint scent of sandalwood and amber lingered in the air. On the table, a candlelit setup waited, untouched, perfect.

She exhaled slowly and glanced at the clock.

7:18 p.m.

Today was her fourth wedding anniversary with Damian Vance.

The thought alone made her lips curve into a small smile. Four years. It still felt unreal sometimes. Their marriage had not been born from romance; it had been rushed, strategic, and kept discreet in its early days but somewhere along the way, Valerie had convinced herself that they had built something real. Something steady.

Damian had never been expressive. He was distant, reserved, always guarded. But he had never mistreated her, and Valerie had learned to interpret his silences, his brief nods, the way he always came home no matter how late it got.

She believed love didn't always have to be loud.

Today, she wanted to give him something unforgettable. Something that reminded him that this marriage mattered.

She was still lost in thought when her phone vibrated in her hand.

Her heart jumped.

She looked down at the screen, and a warm smile spread across her face instantly.

Damian.

She answered without hesitation. "Damian."

His voice came through the line, still cool, composed, and familiar. "Where are you?"

The question made her pause.

"In the dining hall," she replied carefully. "Why?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, just long enough to make her brow crease. She pressed the phone closer to her ear, holding her breath. She didn't want to ruin the surprise by saying too much.

"I see," he said. "What are you doing?"

Her smile widened, excitement slipping into her voice despite her efforts to sound casual. "Nothing much. Just waiting for you."

Another pause.

Valerie shifted her weight, her fingers tightening around the phone. Something about the silence felt... off.

Then, suddenly, a woman's voice echoed faintly through the speaker. Clear. Familiar.

"Damian, come on. The show is about to start."

Valerie's steps halted.

Her smile froze.

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned pale.

"...Who was that?" she asked slowly.

Damian didn't answer immediately. When he did, his tone was flat. "Just colleagues. I'm tied up right now."

Her chest tightened.

She knew that voice.

"Where are you?" she asked again, more firmly this time.

"I said I'm busy," Damian replied. "I'll be home soon."

Valerie swallowed hard.

She clenched her free hand into a fist, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Okay. I'll wait."

Just as she was about to end the call, Damian spoke again.

"There's something important I need to tell you," he said. "So wait up."

Her heart skipped painfully.

"Tell me what?" she asked, unease creeping into her chest like cold water.

"You'll find out when I get home," he replied curtly.

The line went dead.

Valerie stared at her phone long after the screen dimmed.

Petra's voice replayed in her head again and again. "The show is about to start."

She looked up slowly, her gaze drifting to the decorators, who were finishing up and gathering their things. She forced a small laugh, shaking her head as if scolding herself.

"Don't be ridiculous," she murmured under her breath. "Not tonight. Not on our anniversary."

She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and dismissed the staff. Once the door closed behind them, the dining hall felt too quiet.

Two hours passed.

By the time the sound of an engine echoed through the driveway, Valerie was sitting rigidly at the head of the dining table, hands folded in her lap, her excitement dulled by exhaustion and unease.

She rushed to the French windows as headlights cut through the darkness.

Damian's black car came to a smooth stop.

Relief fluttered briefly in her chest.

He stepped out first, tall and immaculate as ever.

Valerie turned away, smoothing her dress, ready to greet him, but then, she froze.

Damian walked to the passenger side and opened the door. A woman stepped out.

Valerie's breath caught painfully in her throat.

The porch light illuminated her profile, the curve of her face, and the unmistakable swell of her stomach beneath a loose, elegant dress.

The world tilted. A chill ran through Valerie's spine as she stood there, frozen, watching Damian close the door and guide the woman forward with a hand resting protectively at her waist.

Petra. His first love.

Her knees threatened to buckle.

Still, Valerie forced a smile onto her face. She adjusted the pearls around her neck, took one steadying breath, and stood firm in the dining area as if nothing was wrong.

Outside, Petra clutched Damian's arm, her voice soft with concern. "Do you think she'll take it well?"

Damian scoffed. "Whether she does or not doesn't change anything. I've already made my decision."

Petra rubbed her stomach absently. "I just think... you should be gentle. It is your anniversary."

"She's strong," Damian replied dismissively. "She's dealt with worse."

Those words struck Valerie like a slap the moment the door opened.

Her heart sank and her hands trembled.

"Maybe they're talking about something else," she told herself desperately.

She stepped forward, smiling. "You're home."

Damian hummed in response, not even looking at her.

Petra's gaze swept the room, her lips curving into a faint smile as she rubbed her tummy. "You've gone through so much trouble. The table setting is lovely."

Valerie couldn't tell if the comment was sincere or mocking.

Before she could respond, Damian brushed past her, guiding Petra to a cushioned chair at the dining table as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You didn't have to stress yourself decorating," Damian said flatly. "It wasn't necessary."

Something inside Valerie snapped into clarity.

Her gaze dropped to Petra's stomach.

She opened her mouth to speak. To demand an explanation...

"Valerie," Damian interrupted, setting his briefcase on the side table. "We need to talk."

Her legs felt weak, but she straightened, crossing her arms to keep them from shaking. "What's going on? Why is she here?"

Petra smiled gently. "Damian, remember to be gentle."

"Gentle?" Valerie laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "Gentle with what?"

Damian exhaled slowly. "You should sit down."

"I'm fine standing."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

For a brief second, hesitation flickered across his face.

Then his jaw tightened. "I didn't want you to find out like this," he said coolly. "But there's no point delaying it any longer."

The clock chimed softly.

Nine p.m.

Valerie's voice came out unsteady. "Find out about what?"

Damian stepped closer to Petra, a file in his hand.

Petra rested her palm on her stomach, intertwining her fingers with his and smiled.

"About us."