Support her husband.
Produce heirs.
Aleric had looked into my eyes and said,
“I just need you to turn our house into a home.”
So I did.
For five years, I organized dinners, galas, household staff, travel schedules, family events, and everything else expected of Mrs. Aleric Sterling.
And for five years, Eleanor rewarded me with the same cruel joke.
“My daughter-in-law is lovely. It’s simply tragic she doesn’t seem to possess the ability to give us children.”
My eyes were red in the reflection.
But I refused to cry.
I opened an encrypted notes application and typed:
*Aleric Sterling has brought his biological son, born to Rowan Carmichael, into my home.*
Then I deleted the sentence.
Our devices shared cloud services.
I wasn’t going to leave evidence on a system Aleric could access.
When I returned to the living room, he had come downstairs.
He was bending over Julian’s bassinet.
The expression on his face stopped me.
Tenderness.
Pride.
Complete adoration.
I had never seen him look at me that way.
“Aleric.”
He glanced up.
“Are the adoption papers finalized?”
“They’re being handled.”
“Do I need to sign anything?”
“No.”
“What about health insurance? Guardianship paperwork?”
“The family firm is taking care of everything.”
He finally looked at me properly.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with legal details.”
That phrase almost made me laugh.
Legal details.
As if he had forgotten who I used to be.
“Just focus on your health,” he continued.
Eleanor waved dismissively from her chair.
“Julian is here now. He will be your son. Treat him kindly. That’s all anyone expects from you.”
Aleric nodded.
“Mother is right.”
I offered a small smile.
“All right.”
That night, Aleric didn’t come to our bedroom.
He said Julian might cry throughout the night and that Estelle couldn’t be expected to handle every feeding alone.
I lay awake listening through the adjoining wall.
Julian crying.
Aleric soothing him.
Eleanor’s footsteps moving through the nursery well after midnight.
Around two in the morning, I got up to use the bathroom.
The nursery door was partly open.
Through the narrow gap, I saw Aleric holding Julian while Eleanor sat in the nursing chair.
Then her voice dropped.
“Have you settled everything with Rowan?”
“Yes.”
“You need to make absolutely sure no one finds out.”
“Relax, Mother.”
Aleric rocked Julian gently.
“Rowan is already in Bermuda. Julian is three months old. Once she finishes recovering, I’ll arrange permanent residency for her there and set up a blind trust.”
Eleanor nodded.
“And Saraphina?”
Aleric gave a quiet laugh.
“She won’t suspect anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“She’s been living under my roof for five years.”
His voice was indifferent.
“She depends completely on me.”
My fingers curled against my palm.
“She hasn’t worked in years,” he continued. “She has no independent life anymore. She’s clueless.”
I stepped away from the door before either of them could see me.
Back in our bedroom, I locked myself inside.
Then I searched for Rowan Carmichael.
Eventually, through a mutual connection, I located her private Instagram account.
Her latest post had been uploaded three months earlier from Hamilton, Bermuda.
The photograph showed a newborn’s tiny feet.
The caption read:
*Welcome to the world, my little prince.*
I scrolled backward.
Five years.
Our wedding day.
There was Rowan in her champagne dress, standing outside my bridal suite.
A friend had commented:
*The man you love just married someone else. Aren’t you devastated?*
Rowan had responded with a single winking emoji.
I turned off the screen.
In the darkness, I listened to my own heartbeat.
Then I made myself a promise.
I would never cry over Aleric Sterling again.
At four in the morning, I downloaded a new encrypted application.
This time, I wrote everything down.
One: Aleric and Rowan had been involved for years.
Two: Rowan became pregnant, and Julian was almost certainly Aleric’s biological son.
Three: the adoption story was a cover designed to place Julian inside the Sterling household and establish him as an heir.
Four: Eleanor knew the truth.
Five: Estelle might know more than she admitted.
Six: I needed DNA confirmation, financial records, phone evidence, and documentation of Rowan’s offshore life.
Seven: I needed an excellent divorce lawyer.
And finally:
No emotional reactions.
No accusations.
Play the obedient wife.
Buy time.
By six in the morning, I had showered and gone downstairs.
Estelle was already in the kitchen.
She jumped slightly when she saw me.
“Mrs. Saraphina, you’re awake early. I can make breakfast.”
“I’ll do it.”
I opened the refrigerator and took out eggs and butter.
“Aleric likes his eggs sunny-side up.”
Estelle stared at me.
Five years earlier, just after our honeymoon, I barely knew how to fry an egg.
Aleric once mentioned casually that he liked the yolks perfectly runny.
I practiced for weeks.
I burned my wrists with hot oil because I genuinely believed that if I became the perfect wife, I could make our marriage perfect too.
The memory almost made me smile now.
What a ridiculous woman I had been.
When Aleric finally came downstairs, he had dark circles beneath his eyes but seemed unusually satisfied.
He sat at the island.
“Why are you up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
I poured his coffee.
Then I sat opposite him.
“I received my medical results yesterday.”
His fork slowed.
“My doctor says everything is normal.”
He looked at me.
“My reproductive health is excellent.”
Silence.
I held his gaze.
“I can conceive.”
He put down his fork.
“I want a baby, Aleric. A child of our own.”
For a moment, I expected him to fake happiness.
Instead, he leaned back.
“We have Julian now.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means another child is not a priority.”
“But my doctor confirmed I can get pregnant.”
“Saraphina.”
His tone became impatient.
