Chapter 2I Was Her Seven Year Secret

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Madeline.

Go back with the assistant. I’ll explain everything later.

I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn't stop myself. I typed back: Why did you lie to me?

Her reply was instantaneous and cold: Just go. Be smart, Silas. Don’t make a scene in front of the building and embarrass yourself.

I looked up. People were whispering, pointing their phones at me.

"Look at him. Does he really think he can just show up and claim her?"

"Pathetic. Some guys will do anything for a payout from a woman like her."

I pulled my jacket hood over my head, my voice thick with a sob. "I’m not a payout. She lied to me... we were together for ten years..."

Their response was a wave of cynical laughter.

The assistant guided me toward a waiting town car. She wasn't gentle. She practically shoved me into the backseat and threw my luggage into the trunk.

Thirty minutes later, the car pulled up to a sprawling estate in Pacific Heights.

Madeline had told me she lived in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment with three roommates to save money. I’d been sending her half my paycheck every month for three years, terrified she wasn't eating well.

The assistant pushed me into the house and I heard the heavy thud of the door locking behind me.

"Wait here for Ms. Starling."

The air in the house smelled like expensive sandalwood and masculine cologne. I turned around and froze.

Dominating the living room wall was a massive, framed wedding portrait.

Harrison in a tuxedo, holding a radiant Madeline in a custom Vera Wang. The date in the corner of the plaque felt like a physical blow to the stomach.

They had married on my birthday.

That was the first birthday she’d ever missed. She’d told me she was stuck in an airport due to a blizzard, crying over the phone about how much she missed me.

I lost it. I ran through the house, throwing open doors.

Photos of them were everywhere. In the bedroom, her silk slips hung next to his tailored shirts. On the vanity, thousands of dollars worth of skincare products sat where I thought she was using drugstore brands.

The final thread of hope snapped when I saw the box of condoms on the nightstand, nearly empty.

"Busy." She was always "busy." She was busy building a life with a king while keeping a peasant on a leash in Seattle.

I collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor, buried my face in my hands, and screamed.

I grew up with nothing. My parents were farmers in a small town who put every cent they had into my education. I worked three jobs in college just to keep up. That’s how I met Madeline.

I was the scholarship kid from the middle of nowhere. She was the "rebellious" daughter of a fallen dynasty—or so she told me. We were the "starving artist" couple of the year.

We were so poor back then. But every birthday, Madeline would scrimp and save to buy me something special. She’d skip meals for a week just to get me a pair of limited-edition sneakers because "every guy should feel like a king sometimes."

She’d promised me that no matter how hard life got, she’d never let me down.

After graduation, I stayed in Seattle. She moved to San Francisco. I lived in a $900-a-month studio that smelled like damp wood.

She’d visit every other weekend. We’d tangle ourselves in the sheets of my cheap bed, the springs creaking under the weight of our promises. She’d kiss my eyes and whisper, "Silas, just wait for me. Once I’m stable, we’re getting married."

I worked myself to the bone for that dream. I pulled eighteen-hour shifts, ending up in the ER once from sheer exhaustion and dehydration.

When Madeline found out, she flew to Seattle immediately. She yelled at me for being stupid, then held my hand and cried until her eyes were swollen. She stayed for a week, taking the heat from her "boss" over the phone, groveling just to stay by my side.

I watched her swallow her pride for me, her eyes filled with a desperate, fierce love.

In that moment, I would have died for her. I believed in us. That belief carried me through seven years of silence and distance.