Chapter 7
Charlotte's POV:
It was Mason and Qiana.
He was feeding her fruit.
Even from a distance, I could feel the tenderness in his eyes, the unmistakable warmth he reserved only for her. She was curled against his chest like she belonged there.
Anyone who saw them would have called them a perfect match.
And I suppose — looking back — I was the one who never fit.
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh and raised my phone with trembling hands, capturing their sweet little scene in a single photo.
If I wanted a divorce, I needed proof.
Mason had a strange feeling — an urge to turn around — but Qiana spoke first, cutting it off before he could act on it.
"What's wrong? Are you worried about Charlotte?"
She didn't wait for his answer. She dropped her gaze, her expression softening into something that looked almost like guilt. "I shouldn't keep asking you to come. Honestly, the housekeeper can keep me company. Go home, Mason. I don't want to come between you two."
"Don't say that." He closed his hand over hers, his voice gentle. "We're best friends. And you're my sister-in-law — taking care of you is the least I can do."
"You're too good to me." She smiled up at him, sweet and slow.
He blinked, something flickering behind his eyes. Qiana's cheeks flushed pink. She pushed his hand away with a little laugh. "Now stop stalling and feed me my fruit."
The warmth between them settled back into place, easy and unguarded — the kind that leaves no room for anyone else.
Robert's POV:
The CEO's office.
"I honestly don't get it," Damon said, after finishing his report. The confusion on his face was hard to miss. "Ms. York is clearly exceptional — and she's his wife — yet he's done nothing with her. Sidelined her completely."
"And that Qiana? Zero qualifications. The only reason she made director is because of her ties to the Scott family."
"This Mason has terrible judgment. Are we sure we still want to move forward with him?"
I turned another page of Charlotte's file.
The woman who had lit up every room at industry summits — sharp, polished, impossible to ignore — and then, suddenly, gone quiet. All that talent, buried.
She'd put up with more than anyone should have to.
"What did they say?" I asked.
Damon flipped through his notes. "They all confirmed someone paid them to take out Ms. York's hand. As for who — they don't know. Contact came through an internet call with a voice changer. Couldn't even determine if it was a man or a woman."
Couldn't determine.
How many enemies could one woman have made?
My fingers tapped slowly against the file. My eyes narrowed.
"Dig deeper."
If she wanted out of that marriage, the least I could do was clear the road.
Charlotte's POV:
The house was quiet when I got back. The glass I'd left on the coffee table before walking out was still sitting there, exactly where I'd set it.
Mason hadn't come home. Not once.
Of course he hadn't. He was busy with Qiana. Why would he bother coming back to a marriage that existed in name only?
I walked into the closet and stood there for a moment, taking it all in — the couture gowns, the shoes lined up in rows, the handbags, the jewelry.
He'd always been generous with money. I couldn't take that from him.
But none of it had ever filled the space where love was supposed to be.
And how much of it had been his anyway — bought as accessories to whatever he was picking out for Qiana, or offered up as guilt wrapped in a ribbon?
I started pulling things out, boxing them up, and called the owner of a consignment boutique I knew.
"Oh my God." She turned the blush-pink crocodile bag over in her hands, eyes wide. "This color is rare. The resale value on this alone — are you seriously selling it?"
"All of it," I said, and smiled. "One shot. Clean sweep."
She hesitated. "That's... a lot. I'm not sure I can move it all upfront—"
"We can put it in writing. Pay me once it sells."
"Deal." She lit up, already making a mental inventory, and I exhaled for what felt like the first time in weeks.
Some things are only chains in disguise. Let them go, and you cut one more tie.
When every last gift from Mason had been counted and sorted, I went to sign the paperwork — and that's when I saw it.
The ring on my left hand.
Small. Understated. Easy to overlook beside everything else.
But I had picked it out myself.
I'd wanted something that felt real without being showy — something I could wear every day and still mean it. So I'd chosen a yellow diamond, small in carat but brilliant in color. Warm and radiant. The kind of stone that was supposed to mean something.
I signed my name, slipped the ring off, and held it out to her.
"This too."
She looked up. "A yellow diamond this quality—"
"Price doesn't matter," I said. "Just sell it fast."
I just needed this month to be over. This farce of a marriage, done.
The next morning, I went into the office to collect my things and drop off the Windsor Group report.
I hadn't even made it fully through the door before Qiana followed me in.
"You actually have the nerve to show your face here?"
"A diploma from a bottom-tier school got you a director title," I said, watching the flash of embarrassment cross her face. "So yeah, I think I'm fine."
I didn't feel any satisfaction saying it. Just tired.
She wanted a rivalry. I didn't. I'd already seen clearly enough — Mason didn't love me, and I had no interest in fighting over a man who didn't.
Especially not with the woman he actually wanted. That was a headache I didn't need.
Then Qiana's expression shifted. The irritation smoothed into something deliberate and pleased.
She reached up and touched the necklace at her throat. "Do you like it? Mason gave it to me. He said I'd seemed down lately, so he wanted to do something nice."
A yellow diamond star-key pendant from a luxury label. Gorgeous, and not cheap.
Though for someone like Mason, it was nothing. A small gesture.
So why come find me to show it off?
I looked at her — that smug little smile, the practiced flush of faux-shyness — and something wicked flickered through me. My mouth curved before I could stop it.
"It's beautiful." I tilted my head. "I'm just curious — with all the gifts he gives you, has he ever given you a ring?"
I let that land for a second.
"I'm guessing not. That kind of gift tends to mean something."
The smugness evaporated. Qiana's eyes went sharp and cold.
My smile deepened. "Looks like you're not quite as irreplaceable as you thought."
That did it.
She glared at me like she wanted to burn a hole straight through me. "Don't flatter yourself, Charlotte. His heart hasn't been yours for a long time. You're the third wheel in this marriage. You always were."
I didn't flinch. I just nodded along.
"You know what? You're absolutely right."
"So why won't he divorce me?" I let the question hang in the air, light and easy. "Funny, isn't it — if he loves you the way you think he does, you'd think he'd want to make it official."
"Guess he's not quite as devoted as you'd like to believe."
The last line hit somewhere deep. Her face twisted — something ugly and raw breaking through the surface — and she raised her hand and swung at me.
I was ready.
I caught her wrist, turned it, and slapped her back. Hard.
"Don't come at me with that," I said. "Go play the victim for Mason. It won't work on me."
"You hit me?" She pressed her hand to her cheek, staring like she couldn't process it. Then the shrieking started. "You'll regret this. I'm telling Mason — he is not going to let this go!"
She was still crying when Mason walked in.
His gaze swept the room — cold, sharp — and landed on me. Then he saw the red mark blooming across Qiana's cheek.
His jaw tightened. Something dark moved across his face.
"Charlotte." His voice came out low and clipped. "You hit her? What the hell were you thinking?"
His fury didn't scare me.
It almost made me laugh.
"Why not?" I met his eyes steadily. "Maybe you should start by asking what she said to me."
