He Married Me Just to Please Her

The emerald dress felt perfect against my skin as I stepped out of the taxi in front of Seb's exclusive Wall Street club.

The fabric caught the light from the towering glass buildings around us, and I couldn't help but smile at my reflection in the club's polished entrance doors.

Tonight was going to be magical—our first New Year's Eve as husband and wife, watching the ball drop in Times Square together.

The doorman recognized me immediately, his face lighting up with that practiced warmth reserved for VIP wives. "Good evening, Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne is in the VIP lounge."

"Thank you, Marcus." I smoothed down my dress, excitement bubbling in my chest.

Seb had been working late again, but he'd promised we'd leave by ten to make it to our reserved spot overlooking the square. I could already picture us wrapped in each other's arms as midnight approached, the city's energy pulsing around us.

The club's interior was all dark wood and crystal, filled with the low murmur of Wall Street's elite unwinding after another profitable year.

I made my way through the maze of leather chairs and marble tables, nodding politely at familiar faces. Some of these people had been at our wedding just eight months ago, toasting to our happiness with champagne that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

As I approached the VIP lounge, I could hear voices through the heavy oak door—Seb's familiar baritone and another voice I recognized as his sister Vivian's. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated when I caught my name.

"...honestly, Seb, I feel sorry for Ellie sometimes."

My hand froze mid-air. Vivian's tone carried that particular mix of pity and frustration that made my stomach clench.

"Don't." Seb's voice was sharp, warning.

"You can't tell me you don't see it," Vivian continued, her lawyer's persistence cutting through his deflection. "The way she looks at you, the way she tries so hard to be the perfect wife. And meanwhile, you're pouring everything into Charlie's gallery opening. How much have you invested in that West Coast venture now? Two million? Three?"

The blood drained from my face. Charlie. Charlotte Morrison—my former best friend, the woman who'd stolen my fiancé and shattered my world three years ago. I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure they could hear it.

"That's not your concern," Seb said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"It becomes my concern when you're utilizing your marriage as cover," Vivian shot back. "You married Ellie so she wouldn't interfere with Charlie and her husband, didn't you? So she'd stay out of their way while Charlie builds her new life."

The words hit me like physical blows. My knees went weak, and I had to grip the doorframe to stay upright. The elegant hallway suddenly felt like it was spinning around me.

"Vivian—"

"Don't deny it. I've seen the contracts, the shell companies you've set up to funnel money