One Night Trade: From Ex to CEO

Vera's POV

I stood before the mirror in our Beverly Hills mansion, smoothing down my cream silk dress for Idris's birthday celebration. After nearly three years of marriage to Idris Ashford, the Ashford Corporation CEO, I'd learned the delicate art of dressing for his family's approval.

"I hope he likes this watch," I murmured, looking at the small gift box on the bed. I'd saved for three months to buy it.

My phone rang with Idris's name on screen. Once, that sight would have brought excitement. Now it only brought dread.

"Remember, tonight is just for show," he said coldly. "Don't let my grandmother see anything's wrong. Just smile and play your part." He hung up before I could respond.

I stared at the dark screen, a familiar emptiness settling in my chest. His cold tone no longer surprised me. We had become nothing more than business partners.

The luxury sedan arrived precisely at seven. Thomas, the family driver, offered a sympathetic smile through the rearview mirror.

"Beautiful evening, Mrs. Ashford," he commented, breaking protocol by speaking first.

"Yes, Thomas. Perfect for a celebration," I replied automatically, the social smile I'd perfected slipping into place.

As we drove through the exclusive neighborhoods, I mentally prepared for the evening ahead. The Ashfords were Los Angeles royalty—old money, enormous influence, and expectations higher than their hillside mansion. I'd never quite measured up.

At the Ashford estate, security waved us through iron gates that opened to reveal a sweeping driveway.

Idris waited at the door, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit. When he saw me, his expression shifted briefly—something like guilt, quickly masked by his practiced smile.

"You're here," he said, taking my arm with mechanical precision. No kiss, not even on the cheek.

Patricia, Idris's mother, approached with a radiant smile for her son. "Darling, happy birthday! You look marvelous tonight." Then her expression cooled as she turned to me, eyes sweeping critically over my attire. "Vera. That dress is... quaint. Even the finest packaging can't elevate inferior contents."

I bit the inside of my cheek and tightened my grip on the crystal champagne flute, knuckles whitening. Three years of these jabs had taught me that responding only invited further cruelty.

Charles, Idris's father, intervened: "Let's keep things civil. It's Idris's birthday."

Edith Ashford, Idris's grandmother and the family matriarch, observed the exchange with narrowed eyes. She stepped forward, placing herself between Patricia and me.

"That's quite enough, Patricia," Edith said firmly. "If you can't be gracious to Vera in this house, perhaps you should check on the kitchen arrangements."

Patricia's mouth tightened to a thin line. She shot me a venomous glare but remained silent.

When Patricia finally walked away, Edith took my hand. "Vera, come sit with me, dear." She whispered, "Don't let her bother you. Idris was luckiest the day he married you, even if he's too foolish to realize it."

Edith was the only Ashford who showed genuine kindness since our wedding. As the widow of the corporation's founder, her opinion still carried weight, which explained why I hadn't been discarded yet.

At dinner, I found myself seated with Idris beside me as protocol demanded, with Edith on my other side. Despite his physical closeness, the emotional distance between us stretched miles. He barely acknowledged my presence, turning instead to engage with his mother across the table as she regaled everyone with stories of her latest charity board meeting.

Patricia's toast drove the knife deeper: "A man of his caliber deserves someone truly worthy of the Ashford name. Perhaps someday you'll have everything you truly deserve."

The implication was clear to everyone at the table.

Edith countered firmly, rising with her glass: "To Idris and Vera. She is the best thing that happened to this family, whether some of us are wise enough to see it or not."

I caught Idris's eye across the table. For a moment, something like regret crossed his face before he looked away.

After dessert, Edith took both our hands. "Why don't you two stay in your old room tonight? It's getting late, and I hardly see you anymore."

"Thank you, Grandmother, but we should get back home," Idris replied smoothly. "Vera has an early morning tomorrow."

I opened my mouth to contradict him—I had nothing scheduled—but a subtle pressure from his fingers on my arm silenced me.

"Some other time then," Edith said, disappointment evident in her voice.

The ride home was silent. Idris stared at his phone the entire time, not once acknowledging my presence. When we pulled into our driveway, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, then quickly silenced it. But not before I glimpsed Raven Hill's name.

As we reached our front door, his phone rang again. "You go ahead in," he said, already turning away. "I need to take this."

"Where are you going?" I asked as he began walking back to the car.

"The office. Something came up that needs my immediate attention," he replied without looking back.

"At eleven? On your birthday?" I questioned.

"Business doesn't keep regular hours, Vera," he said impatiently, then turned away. The car's engine roared to life, and he drove off without a backward glance.

At home, alone in our massive bedroom, I checked Instagram and saw it—a photo posted on Raven's profile showing candles, champagne, and Idris's watch in an intimate private dining booth. Caption: "Thankful for the one who makes every night special. Some people are simply meant to be in your life. #PrivateDinner #SpecialNight"

Time stamped 11:47 PM.

Raven, Idris's college girlfriend, his first love, the one who got away to pursue her acting career before returning to Los Angeles as a star. Patricia had made it abundantly clear on multiple occasions that Raven would have been the "right choice" for Idris.

And now, it seemed, Idris had finally returned to his perfect match.