I stared at the imposing Sterling Group headquarters, a gleaming tower of glass and steel reaching toward the clouds. The confidence I'd felt after slapping Fiona was fading fast, replaced by a flutter of nerves in my stomach.
Victor's information had been shocking but made perfect sense. According to his sources, Arthur Sterling had fabricated a marriage years ago to escape family pressure. Somehow, my name had ended up on those papers. Not a clerical error—a deliberate choice that had tied me legally to one of the most powerful men in Oceanion.
Now I needed to confront him directly.
I smoothed down the courier uniform I'd borrowed from an old friend who owed me a favor. The disguise was perfect—couriers were invisible in corporate settings, faces forgotten the moment they left. Plus, I actually had worked as a courier during my college years, so I knew the routine.
"Here goes nothing," I muttered, shouldering my delivery bag and walking through the revolving doors.
The lobby was sleek and minimalist, dominated by the Sterling Group logo—a silver triangle with a lightning bolt through it. Security was tight, with guards checking IDs at turnstiles, but delivery personnel had their own checkpoint.
"Package for the executive floor," I said confidently, showing the guard my delivery slip.
He barely glanced at it before waving me through to a special service elevator. So far, so good.
When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, I stepped into another world. The reception area was bathed in natural light, with panoramic views of the city below. A stern-faced man sat behind a sleek desk, typing rapidly on his computer.
"Delivery for Mr. Sterling," I announced, approaching the desk.
He looked up with narrowed eyes. "I don't have any deliveries scheduled for today."
I forced a smile. "Last-minute rush order, sir. Needs his personal signature."
"I'm Philip Mercer, Mr. Sterling's executive assistant. I can sign for it."
I shook my head. "Sorry, instructions are clear. Recipient signature only."
Philip's frown deepened. "What company are you with? I don't recognize the uniform."
"Swift Courier Services," I replied smoothly. "We're a boutique delivery company. Specialize in confidential documents."
He raised an eyebrow. "Let me see your credentials."
My heart rate spiked, but I was prepared. I pulled out my old work permit—eight years old but still legitimate. Philip examined it closely.
"This is from eight years ago."
I shrugged. "Company hasn't updated the style. If you'd like to call my supervisor to verify, I can give you the number."
Philip hesitated, then picked up his phone. "Mr. Sterling, there's a courier here insisting on your personal signature." He paused, listening. "Yes, sir."
He hung up and gave me a cool look. "You have five minutes."
I nodded, following him to a set of double doors. He opened them and announced, "The courier, sir."
Then I was face-to-face with Arthur Sterling.
He sat behind an enormous desk, his attention fixed on documents spread before him. Even seated, his presence filled the room. He was more imposing in person than in the photos I'd seen—broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline and eyes that seemed to cut through pretense.
"Put it on the desk and I'll sign," he said without looking up.
I stayed where I was, the door closing behind me.
"I'm not actually here with a delivery, Mr. Sterling."
That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as they assessed me from head to toe.
"Then you have exactly thirty seconds to explain yourself before security removes you."
I took a deep breath. "My name is Elara Dubois. According to legal documents, I'm your wife."
The look on his face would have been comical under different circumstances—pure shock quickly masked by cold calculation.
"Is this some kind of joke?" His voice was dangerously soft.
"I wish it were." I stepped closer to his desk. "I discovered our marriage certificate when applying for my company's IPO. It's dated five years ago, but I've never met you before in my life."
Arthur leaned back in his chair, studying me with those penetrating eyes. "And you thought dressing as a delivery person was the appropriate way to discuss this?"
"Would I have gotten past your watchdog otherwise?"
A flicker of something—amusement?—crossed his face before disappearing. "You're Caleb's ex, aren't you?"
That caught me off guard. "What?"
"Don't play innocent. Caleb Sterling—my nephew. This is clearly some pathetic attempt at revenge because he chose your sister over you."
My blood boiled. "This has nothing to do with Caleb."
Arthur stood, towering over me. "Listen carefully, Ms. Dubois. I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm not married. Never have been. Whatever documents you claim to have are obviously forgeries."
"They're not forgeries. They're registered with the Oceanion Civil Records Office."
"Impossible," he snapped.
"Yet here we are." I crossed my arms. "I need a divorce, Mr. Sterling. My company can't move forward with an IPO while I'm mysteriously married to one of the most influential businessmen in the country."
He walked around the desk, his movements fluid and predatory. "Who put you up to this? What's your angle?"
"My angle is that I want out of a marriage I never agreed to!"
"There is no marriage." His voice was ice. "And if you continue with these absurd claims, you'll find yourself facing a lawsuit that will make your little IPO problems seem trivial."
I stood my ground, though he towered over me. "Threats won't change the legal facts."
We stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The tension between us crackled like electricity.
His phone rang, breaking the moment. With a glare, he answered it. "Sterling."
Whatever the caller said drained the color from his face.
"When? How long has she been gone?" He listened, his grip on the phone whitening his knuckles. "Lock down the estate. I'm on my way."
He hung up and turned to me. "Get out of my office. Now."
"We're not finished—"
"My grandmother is missing," he cut in sharply. "Whatever con you're running will have to wait."
The mention of his grandmother struck a chord—the sweet elderly woman I'd helped at Fiona's engagement party.
"Mrs. Sterling? The one with Alzheimer's?"
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "How do you know about her condition?"
"I met her at the Oceanion Plaza Hotel. She was lost, confused. I helped her find her way back to your family."
Something flashed across his face—concern, confusion, suspicion.
"This conversation is over," he stated, grabbing his jacket. He pressed a button on his desk. "Philip, escort Ms. Dubois out of the building. And make sure security knows her face."
Philip appeared instantly, taking my arm firmly. "This way, miss."
I allowed myself to be led out, knowing I'd pushed as far as I could today. As the elevator doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of Arthur Sterling, phone pressed to his ear, his face a mask of worry and irritation.
The journey down was silent, Philip's grip on my arm just tight enough to be uncomfortable. In the lobby, he handed me off to security.
"This woman is not authorized to enter the building again," he instructed before turning on his heel and walking away.
Outside, I pulled off the courier cap and let out a frustrated sigh. That hadn't gone as planned. Arthur Sterling clearly believed I was part of some scheme involving his nephew Caleb. The fact that his grandmother had gone missing just complicated matters.
I took the bus home, too distracted to notice the scenery passing by. My apartment building came into view—a modest complex in a decent neighborhood, nothing fancy but clean and secure. As I approached my door, fumbling for my keys, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.
"There you are! I've been waiting for hours!"
I looked up to find an elderly woman sitting on the floor beside my apartment door, her silver hair immaculately styled despite her disheveled clothes.
Mrs. Sterling.
Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, her pale blue eyes lighting up with recognition and relief.
"My granddaughter-in-law, you won't leave me behind again!"