Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns

The tie was silk, a deep midnight blue that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Althea smoothed it down against Easton's chest, her fingers brushing the crisp cotton of his shirt. He didn't look at her. He was busy scrolling through emails on his phone, his jaw set in that permanent line of impatience that had defined their mornings for the last three years.

Althea reached for his cuffs to fasten the links. That was when she saw it.

Caught in the fabric of his dark suit jacket, right near the wrist, was a single strand of hair. It was long. It was blonde. And it was definitely not hers. Althea's hair was a dark, chestnut brown, currently pulled back into the severe, practical bun Easton preferred because he said loose hair looked "messy" at official functions.

Her breath hitched, a tiny, jagged sound in the quiet of the massive walk-in closet. She went to pick it off, her fingers trembling slightly.

Bzzzt.

Easton's phone vibrated. He jerked his arm away before she could touch the evidence.

"We're late, Althea," he said, his voice clipped. He finally glanced at her, his eyes sweeping over her beige dress with a look of mild disappointment. "Try not to blend into the wallpaper tonight. The Harringtons are hosting, not hiding."

He turned and walked out. Althea stood there, her hand suspended in mid-air, grasping at nothing. The closet felt suddenly airless, smelling of cedar and his expensive cologne-a scent that used to make her heart race, but now just made her stomach turn.

She lowered her hand. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply adjusted her own pearl earrings, the ones Eleanor, her mother-in-law, had given her with the comment that they were "modest enough for her station."

Althea walked down the grand staircase. The car was waiting.

The ride to the charity gala was silent. Easton typed furiously on his phone. Althea looked out the window, watching the New York skyline blur into streaks of light. She felt like a ghost haunting her own life.

When they arrived, the flashbulbs were blinding. A wall of noise and light erupted as the car door opened. Easton stepped out first, buttoning his jacket, the picture of the powerful, benevolent CEO. He reached a hand back, not for her, but to wave at a camera.

Althea climbed out, her heels clicking on the pavement. She moved to stand beside him, practicing the smile she had perfected over five years of marriage.

But before she could take her place, a figure in shimmering gold glided between them.

"Easton!" Georgina Knight's voice was like champagne bubbles-bright, intoxicating, and giving Althea a headache.

Georgina was wearing a dress that matched Easton's tie perfectly. The midnight blue accents on her gold gown were unmistakable. She looked like the Queen to his King. Althea, in her beige, looked like the help.

"Georgina," Easton's face softened. It was a transformation that physically hurt Althea to witness. The tension left