All Chapters of Once Upon a Marriage : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Lucian I leaned back in the leather chair, staring out at the skyline of the city. The view from my office always gave me a sense of power, as if I could control the world with the snap of my fingers. And I could. Or at least, I could control the ventures of Eloise. The thought of her made my jaw tighten. I couldn't believe the audacity of her, thinking she could stand up to me like this. All these years, I’d held the reins, guided her, shaped her into who she was. And yet, since the divorce, she’d changed. Or maybe she hadn’t changed at all. Maybe I had just missed it. Eloise had always been strong-willed. It’s one of the reasons I’d married her. She wasn’t like the others, docile, eager to please. She had a fire in her, a determination that I thought I could tame, bend to my will. She didn’t care for all the things I could give her—money, power, prestige, although her family was quite wealthy then. Or maybe she was after something deeper. That’s what made her different. And it

JenniferThe camera flashbulbs were dizzying. A soft buzz of admiration followed me as I stepped onto the platform, wearing the limited-edition sapphire choker from my “Blue Flame” line, crafted, of course, with no real artistry of my own. But the press didn’t know that. Hell, Lucian didn’t even care.They wanted the image. And I was damn good at wearing it.A reporter leaned forward, voice syrupy-sweet. “Jennifer, how does it feel knowing your collection has outsold every luxury brand in the quarter?”I offered the practiced smile I’d honed in the mirror a hundred times. “It’s humbling,” I said, lacing my fingers over my lap. “We didn’t set out to compete, we just wanted to create pieces that tell a story.”What a joke. The only story I’d told was Eloise’s, repackaged under my name, bathed in neon lights and sold back to the world like it had never belonged to her.Behind the press seats, Lucian stood near the edge of the stage, arms folded. He looked so proud. His nod told me I’d hi

Mike I didn’t want to be right. When Eloise confided in me about Jennifer possibly copying her new designs, again, I told her I’d look into it just to calm her down. I figured maybe it was coincidence, maybe a stylist with a big mouth, or hell, maybe Jennifer was just that good at stealing from the past. But the way Eloise’s hands trembled the first time Jennifer stood her designs, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I just wanted to start fresh,” I knew I couldn’t write it off. I made a few calls. Quiet ones. The kind that don’t leave digital footprints or blow back to Eloise. The atelier she was working with was a modest one located into a narrow building on Rue Saint-Honoré. It was a normal underground building, exactly the kind of place that made it easy for someone like Jennifer to get their hooks into. My gut told me where to start, and sure enough, it didn’t take long to find the loose thread. Her name was Elise, one of the interns. She looked harmless enough. Big br

Eloise The night before the launch, I couldn’t sleep. I sat by the window in my small apartment, legs curled under me, nursing a mug of chamomile tea that had long since gone cold. The quiet sound of the city below did little to ease my nerves. My dress form stood in the corner, clothed in one of my favorites, textured linen stitched with raw seams, the lines purposeful, almost confessional. It was the kind of piece you could only make after you’ve fallen apart a few times and stitched yourself back together. Max was asleep in the next room, finally, after asking one too many questions about his father again. I’d deflected with vague answers, promises I didn’t know if I could keep, Maybe soon. We’ll see. Let’s talk about it later, honey. But later always felt like a threat. Tomorrow was supposed to be my rebirth. Quiet, yes, an indie event located in a forgotten wing of the city’s old garment district. But it was mine. My story. My designs. My voice. So when my phone buzzed at 6 a

Mike I watched the lies go viral from the quiet corner of my office. The glossy headline blinked at me from my phone screen. Jennifer’s painted smile, all high cheekbones and glinting malice, stared back at me. “She and Eloise were once creative partners,” the article claimed. “Eloise left bitter, jealous, and has been trying to sabotage Jennifer’s success ever since.” Bullshit. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my face with both hands. The truth wasn’t even in the same galaxy as that headline, but the public didn’t care about truth. They cared about performance. Pageantry. And Jennifer? She performed like her life depended on it. I scrolled further. There were comments, thousands of them, many siding with her. “Jealousy is ugly,” one wrote. “Team Jennifer,” another said. And yet, buried in the noise, were a few signs of doubt. A few people asking, If Eloise was such a villain, why isn’t she speaking out? Because she’s exhausted. Because the woman never wanted a war, just pea