All Chapters of Stolen By His Rival: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I learned to recognise the sound of silence in a marriage.It was not loud. It did not shout or accuse. It settled quietly between us, like dust on untouched furniture, gathering day after day until it became impossible to ignore.Chris Robinson and I had been married for three years. Three years of shared dinners that went cold, conversations reduced to logistics, and a bed that felt larger every night. To the world, we were perfect. Powerful husband. Elegant wife. London’s most polished couple, photographed at charity galas and business summits, always smiling, always composed.Behind closed doors, we barely touched.Chris was not cruel. That would have been easier. He was distant, absorbed, constantly elsewhere. His mind lived in boardrooms, negotiations, and quarterly profits. When he spoke to me, it was polite, measured, almost professional. As if I were a responsibility he had already checked off his list.I used to wait for him.I used to believe things would return to how they

Anger is a strange thing. It sharpens the senses.I woke the next morning with it still sitting heavy in my chest, replacing the guilt that had haunted me the night before. Chris had already left. A note sat on the kitchen counter, brief and impersonal.Working late. Dinner meeting.I crumpled the paper and dropped it into the bin.Something about last night had broken a quiet agreement I had been keeping with myself. I had tried. I had offered him closeness, vulnerability, desire. And he had refused it without hesitation, without curiosity.For the first time, I allowed myself to ask a question I had avoided for months.How long had I been alone while still married.I dressed carefully that morning, choosing structure over softness. A fitted blazer, heels sharp enough to remind me of my own weight against the floor. I wanted to feel composed. In control. I needed the world to see me before I forgot how.The day unfolded predictably. Meetings. Calls. Polite smiles. Yet beneath it all,

The invitation had arrived a week ago.A corporate gala. The kind of event where champagne flowed in crystal, and men in suits measured each other with polite smiles and sharper agendas. Chris insisted I attend, and for once, I did not argue.Because Sebastian Cross would be there.I told myself, as I dressed, that my choices were about professionalism. About looking the part. But the truth lingered beneath my thoughts, whispering through every brush of fabric and hairpin.I left my wedding band and engagement ring in the jewellery box. A subconscious decision, though I refused to admit it even to myself.I put on a dress that skimmed my curves just enough to feel confident without asking for attention. A deep navy, silky and light, paired with understated heels. My hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders, and my makeup was deliberate enough to sharpen my cheekbones, darken my eyes, make my lips a little more curious.Chris noticed none of it.He arrived before me, as usual, focused

The arrangement had always been simple.Chris Robinson owned Robinson Capital. Sebastian Cross owned Cross Holdings. Separate companies, separate ambitions, both operating under the same sprawling conglomerate that controlled half the city’s financial pulse. It was why they were forced into the same rooms, the same board tables, the same quarterly reviews. Proximity without friendship. Competition without open war.Chris had always made sure I stayed away from Sebastian.Not explicitly. Not in words. Just in subtle redirections. A hand at my back steering me elsewhere. A quiet request that I join another conversation. A habit of placing himself between us whenever Sebastian entered a room.I had not noticed how deliberate it was until it stopped.The first meeting after the gala was unremarkable on paper. A monthly strategy briefing at the conglomerate headquarters. Long glass table. Neutral walls. Coffee that tasted like anything but coffee. I sat beside Chris, tablet in hand, prepar

The meeting ended with polite smiles and practiced handshakes.On the surface, it was successful. Numbers aligned. Projections were approved. The board seemed satisfied. Sebastian had left first, pulled away by another director, offering me nothing more than a brief glance that lingered just long enough to be deliberate.Chris noticed that glance.I felt it the moment his hand tightened around my wrist as we stepped into the private elevator.He said nothing on the way down. His jaw was set. His silence was sharper than any accusation. I watched, my heart steady in a way that surprised me. I had expected nerves. Fear. The old instinct to brace myself.Instead, there was only a dull readiness.The drive home passed in a haze of restrained tension. Chris kept both hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead. He did not look at me once. That, too, was familiar. The calm before the correction.The house greeted us with its usual quiet. Soft lighting. Immaculate surfaces. A space curated