3. The Wife in Everything But Name

Claire's POV

The next morning, I left the penthouse before Damien not because I had an early meeting and not because my schedule demanded it but because I couldn't bear the thought of sitting across from him at breakfast while pretending his words from the night before hadn't lodged themselves beneath my skin.

We will need to discuss the divorce arrangements this week.

The sentence had followed me into my dreams and it had been waiting for me when I woke up and it was still there now as I stepped into Laurent Group headquarters with a coffee in one hand and a carefully constructed smile on my face.

Work has always been my refuge before I became Damien's wife, I had been his executive assistant even after our marriage, old habits had a way of lingering. Organization made sense, schedules made sense, spreadsheets and meetings and deadlines made sense.

People were far more complicated, especially when you happened to be in love with one of them.

The executive floor was already buzzing with activity when I arrived.

Emma looked up from the reception desk and smiled. "Morning."

"Morning."

She narrowed her eyes immediately. "You are too cheerful."

"I wasn't aware there was a limit."

"There is when it's before eight o'clock."

I laughed despite myself.

Emma studied me for another second then her expression softened. "You okay?"

The question caught me off guard and for a moment, I considered lying but then I remembered Emma had worked with me for years and she could probably identify my emotional state more accurately than some therapists. "I'm fine."

The look she gave me suggested she didn't believe me for a second but thankfully, she didn't push, instead, she handed me a folder. "Your husband forgot he had a breakfast meeting."

Of course he did. I accepted the folder. "What time?"

"Seven-thirty."

I checked my watch. Seven twenty-two.

Perfect, just enough time to save him from himself again. The realization should have annoyed me but instead, it felt strangely familiar, comforting, even because for four years, this had been our rhythm.

Damien charged forward at full speed while I quietly made sure he didn't collide with anything important. Sometimes that thing was a meeting or it was an investor or it was lunch. The man had an extraordinary talent for forgetting basic human needs whenever work became involved.

I headed toward his office and the door was slightly open through the gap. I found Damien standing by the window with his phone pressed to his ear and his suit jacket draped over a chair. A half-finished cup of coffee sat abandoned on his desk and judging by the untouched breakfast tray nearby, he hadn't eaten again.

I wasn't even surprised.

I knocked once before entering and Damien looked over the moment he saw me, he ended the call immediately the small gesture sent an entirely inappropriate flutter through my chest. "Good morning."

"Is it?"

I set the folder on his desk. "That depends. Have you remembered your breakfast meeting yet?"

His expression remained blank and then he looked at the folder and then back at me. "No."

I sighed. "Seven-thirty."

A pause. "What time is it now?"

"Seven twenty-three."

Another pause and then he reached for his jacket with no concern whatsoever as though forgetting important meetings was perfectly normal. "Claire."

"Yes?"

"Coffee."

I stared at him. "Are you asking or ordering?"

"The first one."

"You sounded very confident for a request."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Coffee, please."

"There, much better."

To anyone else, the exchange might have seemed insignificant but to me, it was normal, comfortably normal. The sort of conversation that happened when two people had spent years sharing the same life.

I turned toward the door. "Your usual?"

Damien looked offended. "When have I ever ordered anything else?"

I didn't bother answering because we both knew the answer.

Never.

The day passed in its usual blur of meetings, phone calls, presentations, and crisis management. The strange thing was that once I started paying attention, I noticed just how often Damien relied on me not consciously and that was what made it worse. It was instinctive and automatic. The kind of dependence people only developed after years.

At eleven, he called me because he couldn't remember which restaurant one of our investors preferred. At eleven fifteen, he needed the name of the investor's wife. At noon, he forgot lunch. At twelve ten, I delivered lunch to his office. At twelve twelve, he thanked me without looking up from his laptop and at twelve thirteen, he actually started eating because I remained standing there until he did.

The pattern repeated itself all afternoon.

By three o'clock, I was beginning to wonder whether Damien would remember how to function if I disappeared entirely. The thought wasn't comforting, it was heartbreaking because there was a difference between needing someone and loving them and I wasn't sure Damien understood that.

The board meeting began shortly after four. I took my usual seat near the end of the conference table while Damien occupied the head.The room filled quickly with directors, executives and investors. People who had worked with us for years.

The meeting progressed smoothly until discussion shifted toward the annual Laurent Foundation charity gala.

One of the directors adjusted his glasses. "What are the final attendance numbers looking like this year?"

Damien opened his mouth but then stopped and without even thinking, he turned toward me. The movement was so natural it was almost unconscious.

I already had the answer. "Three hundred and eighty confirmed guests. Twelve are still pending responses. The Whitmans requested a vegetarian menu. Senator Brooks will arrive thirty minutes late because of a fundraising event. The auction catalog goes to print on Friday."

The director blinked. "So exactly as last year?"

"Almost," I replied. "Last year we had three hundred and seventy-one guests."

The room laughed and another director shook his head. "Incredible."

I smiled politely. Damien had already moved on to the next agenda item as though there was nothing unusual about any of it as though his wife remembering every detail of his life was perfectly ordinary.

Across the table, one of the older directors leaned back in his chair. "What are you going to do when your wife leaves?"

The question landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water and several people laughed, a few exchanged knowing looks and someone muttered, "Good luck."

I felt my stomach tighten.

The contract even here, even now the reminder followed me everywhere. Damien looked up from his notes and for a moment, his expression remained unreadable then he said simply, "Claire isn't leaving until the contract ends."

The room moved on immediately. Someone changed the subject and another director asked a question. The meeting continued but I barely heard any of it because for the first time, something about Damien's answer felt wrong, not cruel and not dismissive, just wrong.

Claire isn't leaving until the contract ends.

The words sounded less like certainty and more like a deadline as though both of us had suddenly become aware of a clock ticking somewhere in the background.

When the meeting finally ended, everyone filed out, everyone except me. I remained seated for a moment longer, staring at the empty chair across the table then I gathered my things and left.

That evening, the penthouse felt unusually quiet. Damien was still at the office which wasn't unusual. I changed into comfortable clothes and wandered into the kitchen and for several minutes, I stood by the window looking out at the city.

The lights stretched endlessly into the distance; it was beautiful and lonely at the same time. I slipped a hand into my purse and pulled out the ultrasound photograph. The image looked exactly the same as it had that morning, yet somehow it felt more precious now and more real.

I traced the edge of the paper carefully, my child, our child. The tiny heartbeat hidden within that grainy image represented an entirely different future. One I had spent years convincing myself not to want.

A future where Damien chose me not because of a contract, not because of an obligation and not because I was useful but because he loved me.

The thought felt foolish and dangerous, yet I couldn't stop it. I pressed a hand lightly against my stomach then whispered the words before I could talk myself out of them. "Maybe he will want us."

The confession disappeared into the silence of the apartment. No one heard it, not even me, really.

My phone vibrated and my heart jumped immediately.

Damien.

I opened the message.

Dinner tonight.

For one glorious second, happiness exploded through me. Dinner just us no meetings, no obligations and no business. A smile spread across my face then I noticed there was more the rest of the message loaded.

We need to discuss what happens after the divorce.

The smile vanished and suddenly dinner felt a lot less like a date.