Chapter 2

[Cordelia]

I regain my footing quickly and remove my hands from his well-formed chest. He has always been a handsome man with his classic Hollywood cheekbones, prominent chin, and gorgeous smile. My attraction to him has never been a problem between us. 

“Cordelia,” His brow scrunches in confusion. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at brunch with your parents?”

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure where to start. How do you accuse the person you love, the person who is supposed to love you back, of cheating? It would be easier if he were a mess, but he is as impeccably dressed as always, his three-piece suit still looking fresh and pressed even at midday. 

“Cordelia,” his confusion has been replaced with anger when I remain non-responsive. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here,” I try to stay strong but my body betrays me. I hate crying in front of him. It shows him that I am weak.

"Where did you put her? ” I push on his chest, moving him out of the doorway. “I know that homewrecker is around here somewhere!”

Under the dim light, everything is still in pristine hotel condition. The bed is completely undisturbed. There are papers all over the coffee table, along with a cup of coffee and some cigarette butts in the ashtray. There is no sign of whoever was with him just a moment ago, and if I didn’t have photos to prove she was here, I’d believe I was imagining things. 

There must be something here. As I turn to head in the balcony's direction, I see a bottle of white wine chilling in a bucket with a charcuterie board on the table. 

“Just working? Is that right?“ I grab the bottle of wine and shake it at him, holding it like a club. “You are such a liar!”  

Behind me, the door to the bathroom opens with a small crick. Snapping around, I see a timid blond woman crouched behind my husband, peeking around his arms, afraid of the crazy redhead brandishing a bottle. 

“Why are you acting so stupid?!” My husband screams at me. I wince, shrinking back.

I want to tell him about the photos, about how I’ve seen them in the cafe, but the words die on my tongue. He’ll just twist my words against me like he always does.

“Didn’t you think about how you would be disturbing my work with your melodramatics?” he continues to scold me and I feel all my bravery shrivel as my shoulders begin to sag. “Of course not! You were just thinking about yourself, as always.”

“It’s not like that,” I huff. “Why are you in a HOTEL room with HER?” I cry, pointing at the pretty blonde still trying to hide behind him. I sound a bit hysterical even to myself at this point. 

“This is a BUSINESS suite. It’s a comfortable place for us to relax while working on a stressful day,” he criticizes. “And Sydney is my secretary, which you would know if you spent more time in the office managing our business affairs. She was kind enough to meet me on her day off to help me get ready.”

I slowly lower the bottle. 

He’s right. I am an idiot and a fool. 

"Just leave, ” he growls, pointing at the door, “get the hell out of my room. If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I’ll have security drag you out.”

“But I’m your wife!” I gasp in outrage. I know he hates me, but would he use brute force to have me removed from his presence?

“Then act like it for once and have some fucking dignity,” His face is red as he looks down his nose at me. I can feel myself shrink even more, becoming smaller and smaller under his harsh, judgemental gaze. “Gods you look terrible. What on earth are you wearing? You’d think we couldn’t afford to buy you decent clothing,” he laughs.

With a curl of his lips, he turns away from me and gives all of his attention to the girl hiding behind him. 

“Sydney, are you okay?” he asks in a kind, warm voice. 

I can barely hear her reply, her voice is so soft, feminine, and timid. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Steele. Don't worry about me.”

“I’ve told you before you can call me Atlas,” he places a gentle hand on her shoulder. I watch in shock as he pulls her into a loose hug. As she wraps her arms around my husband, her face turns in my direction and I get a good look at her for the first time. 

The wine bottle almost slips from my hands at the sight of her.

It is like staring at a ghost.

She has the same blonde hair, rosebud lips, and hazel eyes of a face I know almost better than my own because it haunts me every night as I go to sleep. 

She looks like the woman my husband was supposed to marry. The woman he is still in love with, even today.

My husband’s new secretary looks exactly like my missing sister. 

***

With the wine bottle in one hand, and the other hand covering my face, I run from the room, leaving behind my last shred of self-respect. 

“All I wanted was for him to love me,” I cry to myself, as I walk alone along the streets of Los Angeles. As my feet move forward, my body numb from feeling too much, I can’t help but think of the first time I met Atlas Steele. 

I was 19 years old. He was my first real crush. 

My parents were hosting a cocktail party in a last-ditch effort to save our family business. We were hoping to make new alliances and secure new investors. As our parents wheeled and dealed, my sister and I were left to greet our guests and make sure they had everything they needed. 

Angelica, with her perfect figure and bright blonde hair, attracted a lot of attention. She always did. Within minutes of us opening our home, she was surrounded by a ring of potential suitors who would be more than happy to lay their fortunes at her feet.  

And while she spent the night reveling in the attention she was receiving, I spent most of the night trying to avoid it. 

Which is how I met him. He was also avoiding the crowd. Sitting alone, slumped in a chair with his hands folded in his lap he watched everyone from a distance. 

The first time our eyes met my heart stopped. 

“Hello,” I smiled in his direction, “My name is Cordelia Greyson.”

His returning smile was hesitant, uncertain, and small. “Atlas Steele.” 

He was beautiful with his golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I could tell he was a little too old for me, in his late twenties, or maybe in his early thirties, but I have always been attracted to older boys. His age didn’t discourage me, if anything I think it made him even more dashing. 

And from that moment on my heart was his. Unfortunately, it was not my heart that he wanted to hold. 

When he raised his gaze to mine a second time, his eyes skipped over my face to focus on someone standing behind me. I turned to look. It was my sister. 

He asked me if I knew her. I could tell he was more interested in her than he was in me, and even though it hurt to do it, I nodded in confirmation.  “That’s my sister, Angelica.”

“Angelica,” he said her name slowly, savoring each syllable.

Seeing the way he was ignoring me and looking at her, I decided to do something kind, something that might make both of them happy.

I introduced them to one another. 

A few months later, they would be engaged. 

And a few months after that, after an unexpected disaster, I would replace her in the wedding to solidify the merger between our two families. 

On our wedding night, even though I was willing, he was unable to consummate our union. His mind was still on my sister, who was lost to us. 

“If you loved your sister as much as you say you do, you’d never try this. You’d respect my wishes and let me mourn in peace.”

He was mourning. I was too. So I gave him his space. 

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Now it seems I have given him so much space that he is finding comfort in another person’s arms. 

Trapped in the darkness of my thoughts I don’t notice it has started to rain until I am half-soaked and lost. Miserable, I pull out my phone and call my mother. It doesn’t matter if she spends the whole call lecturing me, at least I won’t feel so alone. 

I had wanted to be strong, but as soon as I heard my mother’s voice I started to sob, my voice barely intelligible as I told her about everything that happened today after I left her. 

“You need to try harder,” my mom’s voice commands. “You need to fix this.”

“I am trying, I have been trying,” I weep into the phone. “He doesn’t want me! He wants her!”

The phone is quiet. We both know that I’m not talking about the secretary, I’m talking about my sister, Angelica. 

“I just want you to be happy, Cordelia,” my mother sighs. “I love you, my darling, but sometimes you are too stubborn. You need to do whatever you must to give him what he wants. Wear sexy clothing. Dye your hair blonde and wear blue contacts. Speak like her. Be her! If that is what it takes to make him want you, do whatever it takes!”

“But Mom…” She is asking me to become her. To not be me anymore. Aren’t I good enough? “How…”

“You need to find a way to make him want you, Cordelia. If you could give him a child, a baby that joins our two families permanently, not only will you secure our family’s future, but you might also secure his love.”

“But would it be fair to have a baby when the father hates the mother so much?” I demand. “It doesn’t feel fair to any of us.”

“Life isn’t fair,” my mother answers simply. “If it were, your sister would still be alive.”

My mother hangs up. I am left standing there, staring at the phone.

“And I would be dead,” I say to no one in particular. “And Atlas would be happy.”

No longer caring about the rain, I step out into the storm, the bottle of wine under my arm.