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Chapter 1 One Reckless Night, and She Became Mrs. Ashford The storm came without warning. One moment the yacht was cutting through open water. The next, a wall of waves slammed into the hull and sent everything — the deck chairs, the champagne flutes, the people — tumbling into the sea. Ophelia Sinclair fought the current with everything she had, her eyes scanning the dark water for Harrison Ashford. "Harrison!" she screamed, going under and coming back up. "Harrison, where are you?" In the distance, the lights of the security boats were already moving toward them, cutting fast through the chop. She dove again. Surfaced. Dove again. Her husband was out there somewhere. Then, behind her — a woman's voice, sharp with panic. "Harrison, save me!" Ophelia went still in the water. She knew that voice. It belonged to her cousin, Juliette Sinclair. Harrison heard it too. Without a second's hesitation, he turned and swam toward it. Ophelia watched her shirtless husband pull Juliette up from the water and lock her against his chest. "Don't be scared," he said, low and steady. "I've got you." Juliette's arms went around his neck instantly, clinging like he was the only solid thing left in the world. "Harrison... I'm scared." The water numbed Ophelia's fingers. But what froze her wasn't the cold — it was the sight of them. Her husband. Her cousin. Holding each other like that. Something inside her cracked clean in half. She didn't wait another second. She turned and swam for the rescue boats as hard as she could. Four years of loving him. And when their lives hung in the balance, the woman in his arms wasn't her. How's that for a marriage. "Mrs. Ashford — are you alright?" A hand reached down for her. She grabbed it. They wrapped her in a towel on deck, and she sat curled in one of the chairs, shaking from the cold, watching the dark water. The lights from the boats caught Harrison's figure as he swam toward them, one arm working the water, the other holding Juliette tight against him. Security guards splashed in to help, but he waved them off. He wasn't handing her to anyone. When they finally got Juliette onto the deck, she could barely stand. She had no life jacket, couldn't swim, and looked like she might collapse at any moment. Her legs buckled the second she touched solid ground. "Juliette!" Harrison caught her, lowering her down. He pressed his hands to her chest, checked her breathing, and when she didn't respond, he didn't hesitate — he tilted her head back and breathed into her lungs. Ophelia sat three feet away and watched every second of it. Her nails dug into her palms. "Don't you dare die on me." Harrison's voice cracked open, raw in a way she had never heard from him. "You promised me something. You can't go yet — stay with me. Please." Every breath he gave her came with another plea. Another desperate, cracking word that Ophelia had never once heard him say to her in four years. Her chest tightened until she couldn't breathe. Then the world went black. ****** She woke up in a hospital bed. Rosalind Whitfield was perched at her bedside, a slepy two-year-old balanced in her arms, her face tight with worry. "Fia." The older woman exhaled in relief. "You scared me half to death." "Mom." Ophelia pressed a hand to her head. "Mama." Her son's voice was small and wobbly, his eyes already going red. He squirmed out of his grandmother's arms and threw himself at her. Ophelia pulled him close, pressing her lips to the top of his head. "I'm okay, baby. Mama's here." Rosalind shook her head. "From now on, check the weather before you go out on the water. Don't let something like this happen again." Ophelia nodded quietly. She was alive. That was enough to be grateful for. "Where's Harrison?" Rosalind glanced toward the door. "He called and asked me to come, but he's not here himself? His wife is unconscious and he's nowhere to be found — that's not right." The question hit like a fist. Ophelia's memory pulled her right back — the black water, the lights, his voice breaking as he begged another woman not to die. She had never heard him sound like that. In four years, he had never once spoken to her that way. Her eyes burned. And just like that, something she'd been holding onto for a very long time quietly let go. "He's probably busy," she said. "Busy." Rosalind's brow furrowed. "That's no excuse. I'll call him." "Don't, Mom. I'm fine." Ophelia took a slow breath. She had already called him several times. Sent message after message before the accident. She'd told him about the ten-month intensive residency program abroad — that she'd been accepted, but she didn't want to leave their son. That she wanted to try, one more time, to fix what was between them. That if he wanted her to stay, she would stay. He never responded. Didn't even open the messages. The message was clear enough. Rosalind studied her daughter-in-law's face, then let it go. "Mom," Ophelia said, "I've decided to take the program. It's ten months. Could you look after Gus while I'm gone?" Rosalind blinked. "That's so sudden. Shouldn't you talk to Harrison first?" "I've made up my mind. This opportunity matters to me." There was nothing left to discuss. Rosalind noded slowly. "Alright. I'll take care of Gus. Go." Leaving her son would hurt more than anything. But the Global Health Institute had already offered her this spot twice. If she turned it down again, it wouldn't come back. She tried to focus on that. Tried not to hear, over and over, the sound of Harrison screaming Juliette's name like it was the only word he knew. ****** At the airport, she opened her phone. Juliette had posted to her Stories. A photo of her hand — pale, delicate, an IV needle taped to the back of it. The caption read: Even now, we're square. Ophelia stared at it. A second Story followed. Survived. With you here, there's a rainbow after the storm. The blood in Ophelia's veins turned to ice. If not for one careless night four years ago — a party, a mistake, a pregnancy she hadn't planned — would the name Mrs. Ashford have always belonged to Juliette? Had she stolen someone else's life without even knowing it? This storm felt less like an accident and more like the universe finally correcting its mistake. She boarded the plane and turned off her phone. ****** Across the city, a black Bentley idled at a light. Harrison lifted his phone and called his wife. "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable." He frowned and tried again. Same automated voice. He called his mother instead. "Mom, is Ophelia with you? I need to reach her." "Fia?" Rosalind sounded surprised. "She caught a seven-thirty flight. She's already gone. She didn't tell you?" Harrison's hand tightened around the phone. "She left?" "The Global Health Institute program. Ten months. She said it was important." A pause. "You really didn't know?" His expression darkened. "She never tells me anything before she just does it." "Then call her and ask her about it," Rosalind said simply. "That won't be necessary." His voice went flat. He set the phone down. ****** Ophelia's flight had barely touched down in Valdenmere when her phone buzzed. Juliette. "Sis, I didn't expect him to do mouth-to-mouth on me. I'm sorry about that... I hope you're not upset." "I'm not great in the water, and Harrison saved me. I'd love to treat him to dinner as a thank-you. Want to join us?" Ophelia read it twice. Then she typed back: "Do you actually want me there? Or are you just testing me to see how much I'll take? Juliette, if you want this spot, just say so. I'll get out of your way." The response came immediately — a string of wide-eyed innocent emojis, followed by: "Sis, what are you saying? He's your husband. I would never do anything like that. That's just wrong." Ophelia had never loathed anything quite like she loathed that tone. Sweet on the surface, calculated underneath, the kind of thing that could drive a person insane. "Stop playing both sides," she typed. "It's embarrassing." Then she blocked her. ****** Juliette stared at the screen for a moment. Then she smiled. It was her, after all, who had gone into Harrison's phone and deleted every single message Ophelia had sent him that night. Dealing with her dear cousin had always been this easy. 'Ten months, Ophelia. Being married and having his child doesn't make you the winner. We'll see where things stand when you get back.' ****** Ten months later, Ophelia flew home. It was just past seven in the evening when she stepped through the door of the villa. The housekeeper looked up, startled. "Ma'am — weren't expecting you." "Where's Gus?" Ophelia set down her bags. "Is he upstairs?" "Sir took him out to dinner. The Grand Fête." Ophelia went upstairs, changed her clothes, and got back in the car. She parked outside the restaurant and handed her keys to the valet, then headed inside with the gifts she'd brought back for her son, moving quickly up the stairs toward the private dining rooms on the second floor. She was almost at the corner suite — the one farthest to the left — when she heard it. A small, round little voice saying "Mama." Gus. She'd know that voice anywhere. She was already reaching for the door handle, a smile breaking across her face, when a woman answered him. "Good boy — your pronunciation is getting so much better. Say it again." Then, softer, directed somewhere else: "Harrison, he looks so much like you. I've seen your baby pictures — he's basically a copy." Harrison's voice, warm in a way that caught Ophelia off guard: "Where'd you find those?" "Grandma Ashford showed me." A playful lilt. "I saw all of them, actually. From when you were little all the way up." "Next time, just ask me directly." His tone was fond, indulgent. The voice of a man completely at ease. Ophelia's hand pulled back from the door. She pered through the gap where it hadn't quite latched shut. A pair of pale, slender hands lifted her son — her chubby, laughing little boy — and pulled him into a familiar embrace. "Harrison, let me handle his meals from now on, okay? Look at these little arms — round as anything. I'd like to think I had something to do with that." The voice was warm. Proprietary. Utterly at home. Ophelia's breath stopped. Juliette. 2 Chapter 2Scratch That Homewrecker's Face? Let Her Ring in the New Year With One Less Eye The low male voice carried a smile. "Exactly — good thing you put together that meal plan for Gus. That's why he's grown up so healthy." Juliette Sinclair laughed softly and bent down to play with the baby for a moment before adding, "Oh, and next Wednesday Gus is due for his chicken pox vaccine. Don't forget." "I'll take him myself," Harrison Ashford said. "I'll come too." Juliette smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of the little boy's head. "This child can't do without me anymore." Ophelia Sinclair felt a hand close around her throat. Her mind went blank. "Sure, if you're not busy—" "Gus is like my own child." Juliette's voice was soft as warm water. "Every little thing he needs, I want to be the one to handle it." Harrison didn't object. He just laughed — a quiet, helpless sound. "Come on, Gus. Say it again — say Momy." The little boy, too young to understand anything, opened his tiny mouth with pure delight. "Mommy! Mommy!" Juliette's laughter poured out, rich with something that sounded disturbingly like maternal love. Ophelia's heart felt like a blade had driven straight through it. Maybe Juliette was just playing around with the child. But what about Harrison? He knew perfectly well who this boy's mother was. How could he just sit there and let his son call another woman Mommy? Did he forget to stop it? Or did he simply not care? 'Harrison Ashford, what exactly do you think you're doing?' She lifted her gaze to the warm glow spilling out from that private room, and theache in her chest pulled tighter with every breath. …… At eleven o'clock that night, Harrison came home. Litle August Ashford was curled against his chest, fast asleep. Ophelia had been stewing in anger for hours, but in the end she couldn't hold herself back. She came downstairs quickly. The nanny was in the living room with Gus, who had just woken up, coaxing him with a toy. All the exhaustion from the trip vanished the moment Ophelia saw him. She reached out immediately. "Little man, Momy's home — come let Mommy hold you." The nanny smiled and held him toward her. Ophelia got him into her arms, hadn't even had the chance to kiss him, when the little boy stiffened and shoved at her with both hands. "No… you're not Mommy." Ophelia went completely still. The nanny was startled too, though she understood. Ophelia had been out of the country for ten months — the exact window when babies start telling people apart. Of course he didn't recognize her. "Gus, it's me. I'm your momy." Ophelia kept her voice soft, swallowing the sharp ache behind her words. "No, you're not…" The little boy set his jaw, his small mouth pressing into a stuborn line. Then he burst into tears. A tall figure appeared at the top of the stairs and came down fast. Harrison's voice was low and accusing. "You just got home and you're already making him cry?" Before she could say a word, her arms were empty. Harrison had taken Gus and was already heading back upstairs. Ophelia stood there. Then she quietly followed. She was almost at the master bedroom when she heard his voice through the door. "Yeah, she came back out of nowhere. The baby's a little distant with her. Doesn't want her near him." A pause. "That's not on you. She was too wrapped up in work. Never made time for him." Another pause. "Get some rest. Don't stay up late." This time, Ophelia didn't walk away. She pushed the door open. Harrison was holding Gus with one arm and his phone with the other. He turned and frowned at her. She ignored the reproach in his eyes and walked straight to him, taking her son from his arms. Gus spotted the colorful little balls in her hand and immediately grabbed for them, suddenly very interested. He was just over two years old — old enough to start forming his own awareness, his own preferences, his own feelings. He wasn't truly calling Juliette his mother. He just didn't know any better yet. …… She slept the whole night with her soft, chuby little boy tucked against her, and by morning, Ophelia felt almost human again. Gus was sprawled on his back in nothing but his diaper, morning sunlight falling across him through the window. He looked like a tiny angel. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. Between them, something had started to mend. A knock at the door. She opened it expecting the nanny, maybe calling her down for breakfast. Instead she found Harrison, already in a suit. "Nine-thirty. Gus has his cognitive skills class. Are you taking him, or am I?" Ophelia blinked. Gus was in a class? Since when? "When did he get enrolled?" Harrison's tone was even. "Three months ago. The teacher's patient and attentive. He loves going." Ophelia's brow creased. "Let's skip today. I want to keep him home with me." "The curriculum builds on itself. Missing a session isn't ideal." Harrison didn't budge. She crossed her arms. "I haven't spent a single day with him in ten months. I'd appreciate it if you could respect that." Something shifted in Harrison's expression. He noticed it — the change in her, the way she carried herself since coming back. "Fine." His voice dropped a degree. He didn't argue again. He simply turned and walked downstairs. After breakfast, Ophelia sat with Gus on the living room floor, stacking blocks together, while the TV played in the background. "Ashford Holdings, following its acquisition of Dr. Sinclair's laboratory three years ago, has announced a major new strategic investment — a forthcoming stake in Sinclair Biopharma. The move is positioned as a key expansion of XS Biotech's Renova platform, with analysts citing the venture's long-term growth potential and significant industry value." "Biopharmaceutical stocks continue to surge, drawing widespread market attention." Ophelia's face went pale. Sinclair Biopharma. Her uncle Rowell Sinclair had built that company from the ground up — a deliberate replica of the pharmaceutical firm her father had once created. And now Harrison Ashford was backing it. The market cap had doubled overnight. Sinclair Group's name was rising fast, fast enough to place it at the top of the industry. Disappointment wasn't a strong enough word for what she felt. The news segment cut to footage from a Sinclair Biopharma keynote address. Juliette Sinclair stood at the podium — poised, polished, the picture of a young heiress with something to prove. Valdenmere Hartwick graduate, mentored by leaders in the field, credited on twenty-six research projects, holder of thirty-eight personal patents. Exceptional, by any measure. Ophelia stared at the screen. Juliette stood beside her father, Rowell, with an easy confidence and a bright, unbothered smile. Had Harrison lost his memory? His mind? He knew — he had always known — that her father's life's work had been stolen. He knew that the Sinclairs and Ophelia existed in a state of open war. And still he had poured money into their empire. It pressed down on her chest like something immovable. Maybe it was time to draw a line. By late afternoon, Ophelia had made plans to meet her closest friend for some time out. She carried Gus through the crowd — bundled up like a little dumpling — and spotted someone waving at her from a short distance away. "Fia! Over here!" She pushed through the crowd toward her. Arabella Calloway — her best friend, a woman who had never once needed to check a price tag in her life. "Oh my gosh, look how big he's gotten!" Arabella grabbed Gus's chek between her fingers and squezed. "Round little face, round little head — he is so cute." "He really is." Ophelia's whole expression softened looking at him. "Kids change so fast. I couldn't believe it when I got back — he must weigh sixty-five pounds now. My arm's half dead already." "Such a chunky little guy. This baby fat is unreal." Arabella could not stop pinching him. "Stop… pinching me." Gus had opinions about this, and he pushed her hand away with his small fist. "Ooh, attitude!" Arabella burst out laughing. "Come on, let's head to the restaurant." Ophelia switched him to her other arm. He was solid. They had just started making their way through the crowd when Arabella suddenly spun and stepped quickly to Ophelia's left, planting herself there like a wall. Ophelia glanced around, curious. She hadn't been on a busy street like this in a long time. "Don't look this way. There's something ugly over there." Arabella raised her hand as Ophelia turned her head. But Ophelia had already seen it. Not far off, near a stall selling festive trinkets, a tall figure in a black wool coat stood next to a woman in a bright blue jacket. Juliette reached out and picked up a cheerful little decorative doll. Harrison scanned his phone to pay without a second thought. She held the doll up against her handbag, turning it this way and that with a pleased smile. Harrison reached over and hung it on her bag for her. Juliette lit up like a kid on Christmas, made a few playful faces at him. Harrison touched her hair gently and tilted his head, guiding her forward. Ophelia was frozen where she stood. Then the little boy in her arms threw his head back and shouted with pure joy: "Daddy! Momy! I'm here! Wait for me!" It took everything she had to hold him. He stretched his arms out toward them anyway, crying now: "Daddy, Momy — don't you want Gus anymore?" "I want Daddy and Mommy…" His small chubby fingers pointed and pointed in that direction. The people nearby glanced over. More than a few of them looked at Ophelia like she was the hired help. "What is happening right now?" Arabella was flored. "Why is Gus calling out to her and not you?" "It's a long story." Ophelia's voice was hollow. "Let's go upstairs and I'll explain." Arabella produced a piece of hawthorn candy from seemingly nowhere and used it to negotiate peace with Gus. While they waited to order, Ophelia walked Arabella through everything. By the end of it, Arabella slapped the table. "Those two disgusting—" "Fia." Her voice sharpened. "Why didn't you walk over there and scratch that woman's face off? You're just going to let her ring in the New Year with all her features intact?" "I'm not going to make a scene. There's no point." Ophelia said it quietly, and she meant it. The way she saw it, the unloved wife was the one who looked like a fool. A public blowup would only humiliate herself. And she had always known the truth: Harrison hadn't married her for love. He'd married her out of obligation. There had never been anything real between them. These past few years of forcing it had reached their limit. "So you're done. You're actually going to divorce him." Arabella stared at her. Ophelia didn't answer. She just looked down at her son, small and warm in her lap, her eyes heavy with something that had no clean name. "You're really serious?" Arabella hesitated. Harrison Ashford's wealth was obscene — a force of nature, the kind that didn't come around twice. And he wasn't hard to look at either. Leaving meant never finding anyone like him again, and Arabella knew it. "Yes." Ophelia's gaze drifted to the window, and something in her expression settled. A decision made. Arabella didn't push back. "Okay. I'm with you." She reached over and squezed Ophelia's hand. "What about Gus? Who does he go with?" Ophelia's eyes steadied. "I'm not asking for anything except him." Fia." Arabella's voice was gentle but honest. "I don't think this divorce is going to be easy." Ophelia knew. Getting custody from Harrison Ashford would be a war. But there was one thing she was absolutely certain of — her son was never going to call another woman Mommy again. 3 Chapter 3The In-Laws Push for a Second Baby The next morning, a call came through on Ophelia Sinclair's phone. It was Mrs. Ashford — her mother-in-law. She'd heard Ophelia was back in the country and wanted her and Harrison to bring the baby over for lunch. Harrison Ashford had left for the office early. Around ten, he called. "I'll have the driver come get you and Gus." "Don't bother," Ophelia said. "I'll take Mia and drive myself." "Fine." He hung up. When Ophelia arrived at Ashford Manor in Briarwick with Gus in tow, the place was already buzing. Harrison's younger brother had recently welcomed a set of boy-girl twins, six months old and the current center of everyone's universe. She walked in just as her sister-in-law, Briette Caldwell — a rising star whose face was on half the billboards in the city — turned and spotted her. "Oh, big sis, you're here! Look at Gus, he's gotten so chubby." Briette's smile was warm and seamless. Ophelia knew better than to take it at face value. The two of them had married into the Ashford family one after the other, and since day one it had been a quiet, relentless competition — wedding gowns, reception venues, gifts, which one the elders loved more. When Ophelia gave birth to Gus, Briette had practically come apart at the seams trying to catch up. She'd gone through round after brutal round of IVF, and in the end, she'd had the last laugh: she couldn't match the timeline, so she doubled down on quantity. Ophelia handed over a red envelope for the twins. "Big sis, you really didn't have to." Briette accepted it with a smile. Ophelia carried Gus around the room, making the rounds with the elders before settling onto the sofa and getting him some fruit. It didn't take long for her mother-in-law to surface her grievances. "Fia," she said, "Gus is still so young. You need to stop running off abroad for months at a time. That's not what a good mother does." Ophelia knew there was truth in it, even if the delivery stung. Some of the trials simply couldn't be conducted domestically. Still, she kept her voice low. "You're right. I'll cut back on overseas trips going forward." Briette jumped in with a bright smile. "Big sis is still so young and already top researcher. She's an inspiration to women everywhere. When she makes her big breakthrough, we'll all get to bask in the glory." Ophelia had never been one to broadcast her work. She kept her head down. The elder Mrs. Ashford didn't look impressed. "A woman's first priority should be her family. Career-building is a man's domain." Briette went quiet immediately. As an actress who spent most of the year traveling for shoots and brand events, she was hardly in a position to argue. Then Harrison arrived. He walked in wearing a sharp business suit — white shirt, black tie, every inch the composed, controlled man who ran the Ashford empire. Briette's gaze flickered when he stepped through the door, a flash of envy crossing her face before she smoothed it away. Harrison greted the room and then moved straight to Ophelia's side. "I'll take Gus out to see the animals." She lifted Gus toward him as he bent to take the boy, and for a brief moment they were close. Close enough that she caught it — a faint trace of rose clinging to him. Something sharp moved through her chest. After finishing up with the kitchen staff, Rosalind Whitfield — the senior Mrs. Ashford, Harrison's grandmother — came to find Ophelia. In this family, Rosalind was the only one who had ever truly been kind to her. Ophelia's father had once helped Rosalind's family when they needed it most, and her mother had been one of Rosalind's closest friends. "Fia, come upstairs with me for a moment." "Of course, Grandma." Ophelia followed. Briette watched them go, her expression tightening almost imperceptibly. She turned and snapped at the nanny for handling one of the babies too roughly. Upstairs, Rosalind studied Ophelia's face. "You've lost weight. Weren't you eating properly over there?" Ophelia's eyes stung. She managed a smile. "I was Just a lot of late nights in the lab." Rosalind sighed. "You're just like your parents. The moment work pulls you in, you give it everything. I believe your achievements will surpass even theirs, one day." "I'm just trying to keep up with them," Ophelia said quietly. "Did you see the news? About your uncle's company — Harrison invested in it. Don't hold it against him. He did it because of Max. He wants to find a treatment for the cystic fibrosis as soon as possible so that boy can have some semblance of a normal life. Three months ago, Max tried a new medication from your uncle's company and the lung infection was temporarily controlled. They got him off the ventilator. Harrison saw hope in that." Rosalind's voice wavered. Her eyes had gone red. Almost no one knew. The world saw the Ashfords as a family with two sons. The third — born when Rosalind was thirty-eight, a child she had conceived as a way of holding on to her late husband, full of everything she'd hoped for — had been sick since he was seven. Maximilian Ashford was sixteen now and had spent nearly a decade cycling through hospitals and treatments. Ophelia was surprised. She had worked in that same research space herself and hit wall after wall. She hadn't expected her uncle's biotech company to have made a real breakthrough. "Grandma, if they genuinely have the ability to help Max, then the family's investment was the right call," she said. "That kind of progress could give hope to thousands of patients." Rosalind let out a soft breath. "Fia, I know you're working hard too. But medicine like this — it doesn't yield to timelines." "How is Max doing now?" Ophelia asked. "Better. He's put on a little weight." The relief in Rosalind's voice was unmistakable. Ophelia watched the older woman's face soften with cautious hope and felt words rise in her throat that she couldn't say. Harrison's investment in her uncle's company — she had a feeling there was more to it than Rosalind knew. She let it go. At lunch, they settled around the long table and, as reliably as the weather, the elder Mrs. Ashford began her campaign. "Harrison, now thatFia's home, you two need to get serious about a second child. Put it on the agenda. Look at your brother — one pregnancy and he got two. You're the eldest. You can't fall behind." Lachlan Ashford, Harrison's younger brother, who lived mostly in his own world of music and had the personality of someone who had never once encountered social subtlety, laughed openly. "Grandma, having kids isn't a race. If big brother and bigsis want another one, they could have one a year, no problem." The elder Mrs. Ashford silenced him with a look, then turned her attention to Ophelia. "And you. A woman should be running her household. Look at your grandmother-in-law — she's kept this family together with her own two hands all these years since your grandfather-in-law passed. You could learn from her." "Mom," Rosalind said gently, "Fia is different from me. Making her mark in her field is its own kind of success." "For thousands of years, men have governed heaven and women have anchored the earth," the elder Mrs. Ashford replied, her tone leaving no room for debate. "When that order is reversed, it rarely ends well." Ophelia glanced across the table at Harrison. He gave his grandmother a measured nod. "Don't worry, Grandma. We'll work on it." Ophelia almost laughed. He did want to work on it. Just not with her. ****** After lunch, Harrison excused himself with work and left the manor. Ophelia got a call from the lab shortly after — something had come up that needed her attention. She looked down at Gus in her arms and let out a quiet breath. She handed him to the nanny and asked her to take him back to the house. At the lab, Ophelia suited up and got to work tracing the cause of a reagent failure. She found it quickly — a temperature fluctuation had shifted the pH. The pharmacist on duty went pale and immediately began apologizing. Ophelia gathered her team and used the incident as a teachable moment, making clear exactly how critical temperature and environmental controls were. By the time she got home, it was dark. She pushed open the front door and heard Gus laughing — the sound drifting in from the back of the house. She followed it. In the sunroom off the back garden, Juliette Sinclair was crouched on the floor, dragging a feather toy along the ground toease a small kitten. Gus stood beside her, clapping his little hands with pure delight. "Here, Gus, you try." Juliette's voice was soft as she passed him the toy. "She's so smart, watch her go." Gus grabbed it eagerly. The kitten lunged without warning, nearly landing on him, and he yelped and threw himself straight into Juliette's arms. "Momy, I'm scared — hold me!" Juliette laughed and scooped him up without hesitation. From the doorway, Ophelia heard the turn of a page. She looked to the side and saw Harrison sitting on the sunroom sofa with a book open in his hands. He had been there the whole time. Listening to his son call another woman momy, and he hadn't said a word. Ophelia pushed the door open. Juliette startled at the sound, a flash of surprise crossing her face. A beat later, she lowered her voice to something small and uncertain. "C-Cousin Ophelia." Ophelia walked straight over and took Gus from her arms. Gus immediately began to cry, reaching back past her shoulder with both hands. "Mommy, hold me — I don't want to leave you!" The words hit like something being pressed into a wound. Ophelia kept her voice steady. "Gus, I'm your mommy. She's not." "You are not!" He was crying properly now, tears running down his face, small fists beating against Ophelia's arm. "Let me go! I want my mommy!" Juliette stood there with wide, helpless eyes, the picture of innocence and confusion. She turned toward Harrison. "Harrison, can you explain things to Cousin Ophelia?" Harrison closed his book. His gaze settled on Ophelia, flat and unhuried. "There's nothing to explain. If she'd spent more time with her son, it wouldn't have come to this." Ophelia's expression went rigid. Juliette stepped forward, her tone gentle and conciliatory. "Cousin Ophelia, please don't misunderstand. I never told Gus to call me that. He probably just heard other children say it and copied them." "He's a toddler," Ophelia said, her voice cold. "He doesn't know any better. But you do. When he called you that, why did you answer?" Juliette's face fell. She looked back at Harrison with wounded eyes. "She still thinks I did something wrong." Harrison's voice dropped. "I have important guests coming for dinner tonight. Don't start something." As he spoke, the sound of a car engine cutting out drifted in from the front of the house. Juliette's expression lifted immediately. She turned and walked out toward the entrance with a smile. "They're here." Ophelia carried Gus through the back of the house toward the stairs. Through the living room entrance, she caught a glimpse of the guests filing in — a handful of tall, well-dressed men, Harrison's closest friends, some childhood, some business, all from the same world. Juliette moved among them with easy familiarity. Ophelia had never had much to say to any of them. She took Gus upstairs. He was still crying, inconsolable, his little fists finding her arm again and again. "Put me down. I want to find my momy.\ Chapter 4: Quit Your Job and Be Mrs. Ashford As heartbroken as she was, Ophelia Sinclair kept her composure and guided son into the playroom. The moment Gus spotted his toys, he settled right down. Ophelia sat beside him and said gently, "Gus, want Mommy to help you build a little house?" The little boy blinked his dark eyes and wiped the last of his tears away. "I want a really, really tall one." Kids his age were like that — emotions crashing in and out like waves. As long as someone was with him, he could forget his sadness in seconds. Ophelia had spent the past few days reading through several parenting books on toddlers, and she'd picked up the patterns well enough to know how to work with them. Noise from downstairs still drifted up, so she went ahead and shut the door tight. Silence. Together, they built a tower that stretched impressively tall. Gus clapped his hands and bounced on his hels with pure delight. Then the door swung open. Harrison Ashford stood in the doorway in a black turtleneck, arms folded across his chest. "Dinner's ready. Come downstairs." Ophelia started to get up, but a tiny hand caught the hem of her shirt. "I want to build an even taller one." She looked down at her son and gently smoothed his hair. "Okay. Mommy will play a little longer." Harrison's brow creased. "My friends are downstairs. As the lady of this house, shouldn't you go down and say hello?" Ophelia didn't look up. "The woman you consider the lady of this house is already down there doing exactly that." Something cold flickered across his face. "Ophelia, stop making a scene. It's beneath you." Gus had been ready to keep playing, but the tension in the room reached him. He toddled straight over to Harrison and stretched his little arms up. "Daddy. Hold me." Harison crouched down and scooped him up, then turned and headed back downstairs without another word. Ophelia pressed two fingers briefly to her temple, then followed. Downstairs, the dining table was full. Dishes had been laid out, and Juliette Sinclair was on her feet, personally pouring drinks for the men around the table. "Hey, Harrison doesn't eat cilantro — leave it out." Ophelia was still on the stairs when she caught Juliette's voice, followed immediately by a man's amused one. "Juliette, you know his food preferences that well? Come on, confess — what's really going on between you two?" Juliette spun toward him in mock outrage, pointing a finger. "Lorcan Hadley, don't start. Say one more word and I'm making you drink as punishment." "Fine, fine, I'll shut up!" Lorcan made a show of penalizing himself and drained his glass in one go. When Ophelia reached the bottom of the stairs, she scanned the table. Most of the men she recognized. One face was new. "Mrs. Ashford." As she descended, the men seated around the table turned in unison, greeting her with polite nods. She kept her composure and smiled. "Please, don't let me interrupt." Then she slipped into the kitchen. The housekeepers busy with the last of the dinner prep looked up at her, and the sympathy in their eyes was impossible to miss. The legitimate wife, outshone by an outsider in her own home. Every one of them felt the injustice on her behalf. Laughter rang in from the dining room — Juliette's, bright and magnetic. The group was discussing wine regions and tasting notes, and Juliette sat at the center of it all like a star surrounded by planets, radiating warmth and charm. Ophelia had her pride. She wasn't going to stand there and absorb anyone's pity. She walked back out and found Gus — at some point, he'd ended up in Juliette's lap, being fussed over. She was done holding back. Ophelia crossed the room, picked up a piece of bread fresh from the oven, and held it out toward him. Gus was at the age where food and curiosity beat everything else. He immediately reached for her. She took the opening and scooped him up, then headed straight upstairs. If Harrison wasn't going to respect her, there was no reason to humiliate herself for his sake. She didn't come back down for the rest of the evening. She stayed in the room with Gus, entirely present with him. One of the housekeepers brought their dinner up without being asked. The noise downstairs faded around nine-thirty. Ophelia heard the cars pull out through the gate. She had been about to go down and hand Gus off to Harrison — she had work to catch up on. But Harrison was already gone. Eliana seemed to read the question on her face and quietly told her, "Ms. Sinclair had a bit too much to drink. Mr. Ashford said he'd take her home." Ophelia nodded. She asked Eliana to help bathe Gus and went to the study. Harrison didn't come home that night. Ophelia slept straight through till morning with her son curled against her. Something warm and soft nudging at her face pulled her out of sleep. She opened her eyes to find Gus cradling her face in both tiny hands, his dark eyes wide and blinking. "Mommy. Wake up. I have to pee." Hearing him call her that — so naturally, without prompting — felt like something sweet melting in her chest. She sat up quickly, gave him a long snuggle first, then carried him to the bathroom. "Are you really my mommy?" He was perched in her arms in front of the mirror while she washed his face, his expression playfully skeptical. "I really am." She kissed his chek. "Mommy loves you, Gus." "Don't leave me, Mommy." He reached up and held her face the same way she'd held his, and pressed a kiss back. "I won't. I'll always be right here." In that moment, the fact that she had a husband didn't even register. There was only Gus. He was two and a half now, sharp beyond his years, having inherited the intelligence of both his parents. Slowly, from listening to the adults around him, he had pieced it together — the gentle woman who kept coming back was his real mother. The bond between them ran deep. He wasn't confused anymore. Harrison had been gone for three days straight. No call, no message, nothing. Ophelia had found out where Gus went to daycare, and she decided it was time she was the one taking him. The little boy had his tiny backpack on and was running full-speed down the hallway, absolutely thrilled. His teacher came out to meet him, scooped him up, and then looked at Ophelia in surprise. "Oh — you're not the usual one who drops him off. Where's his mom today?" Ophelia kept her voice steady. "Ms. Davenport, I'm Gus's mother. His biological mother." Ms. Davenport's expression shifted into something uncertain. "Then the woman before —" "A friend of his father's." Ophelia's tone was calm. Flat. Ms. Davenport was a woman too. She understood exactly what that meant. Her expression softened into a smile. "Got it. Will you be picking him up going forward?" "My schedule doesn't always allow it." Ophelia paused. "I'll give you advance notice each time." "Of course. We'll stay in touch. Gus — say bye to Mommy." He threw her a cheerful little wave and trotted off after his teacher without a backward glance. Ophelia stood at the glass window for a while, watching him move through the room like he owned it. Only once she was sure he was settled did she turn and leave. She had barely made it back to the research lab when her phone rang. It was the corporate headquarters. "Director Sinclair, there's an important meeting here this afternoon. You've been asked to attend." She noted the time — three o'clock — and made her way to the main conference room. The moment she stepped inside, she recognized the faces. Juliette. And her uncle, Rowell Sinclair — the man who had stolen her father's research. Father and daughter both looked up when she walked in. Their expressions matched: cool, superior, untouchable. A sense of dread settled in Ophelia's chest. She was right to feel it. The general manager overseeing XS Biotech at the corporate level stood and announced the decision: her research institute was to be absorbed into Sinclair Biopharma, becoming its Research Division II — under Rowell Sinclair's management. The words hit her like a blow to the head. They were handing her over to her enemy. Putting the man who had robed her father directly above her. "I don't agree to this." She said it clearly, in front of everyone. The general manager smiled at her pleasantly. "Director Sinclair, Mr. Ashford said that if you have any concerns, you're welcome to raise them with him directly." Her chest tightened. Harrison had made this call knowing full well what it meant. He had thrown their marriage aside like it was nothing. She had told him. Years ago, she had told him — a significant portion of her father's work had been taken by Rowell, quietly filed away as his own patents. And Harrison had stood beside her then, furious on her behalf, condemning it without hesitation. That felt like another lifetime now. Because here was, folding her research institute into Rowell Sinclair's company like none of that had ever happened. She left the conference room and went straight to the CEO's office. "Come in." The voice was low and cold. Not a trace of warmth. She pushed the door open. Five or six senior executives were already inside, mid-conversation about something clearly important. She stopped in the doorway, caught between walking in and backing out. "Give us the room." Harrison lifted a hand, and the group filed out. Every one of them glanced at her as they passed. The looks weren't subtle. She fixed her eyes on the man in the oversized leather chair. He sat like he owned the world — because to him, he did. His gaze cut right through her. "Something you need?" He arched an eyebrow, then glanced at his watch. "I have ten minutes." She walked in, her voice even. "Harrison, I'm asking you to reverse that decision. I will not be joining Sinclair Biopharma." He glanced up at her with no particular emotion. "If you refuse a company directive, the company has grounds to let you go." The words jammed in her throat. She pushed through them. "You know the history between me and that family —" Harison looked at her without expression, hands folded on the desk. "That's your personal issue. The company has invested considerable funds into research. In the interest of cost reduction and operational efficiency, the merger was a unanimous decision by senior leadership — not mine alone." She heard him out. And understood, finally, that there was nothing left to argue. "Then I quit." The decision was immediate. "You can resign. But all research produced under company resources belongs to the company. You cannot take anything with you." His gaze was steady and unyielding. The color drained from her face. Four years. Four years of her life poured into that work. And now it would pass cleanly into the hands of the Sinclair family — legally, legitimately, with nothing she could do to stop it. She opened her mouth, but the grief stopped her cold. Harrison's patience had already run out. He checked his watch again. "That's time. I have a meeting." Her fingers curled tight at her sides. He stood, tall and unhurried, moving around the desk with ease of someone who had never once doubted his place in a room. He passed her on his way out, then paused. With one hand, he casually adjusted his cufflink. "If you're resigning, stay home with the child. Be a full-time wife. That's a real job too." He let a brief silence sit before continuing. "Honestly, your lab hasn't produced anything of real significance in years. Maybe that's proof that exceptional parents don't always raise exceptional children. Let go of this obsession with your research." "Take care of the home. That counts for something." With that, he walked out. Chapter 5: If You Want to Quit Being Mrs. Ashford Too, I'll Make It Happen Ophelia Sinclair turned and stared at his cold, retreating back, biting down on her lip. Her parents had raised her too well for her to spend her life as a housewife. She made a decision — significant one. She walked through the company headquarters lobby with her eyes downcast, heading for the exit. That's when she saw them. A crowd of reporters had gathered near the entrance, surrounding Juliette Sinclair and Rowell Sinclair as cameras flashed and questions flew. Father and daughter looked radiant, triumphant, basking in every second of the spotlight. Watching them, Ophelia felt something dark and heavy spread through her chest. She skirted around the crowd and moved toward a side door. That's when a graceful figure caught up to her in a few quick steps. "Cousin." Juliette's smile was warm, her eyes bright. "I haven't even had the chance to say — it's been such a pleasure working together." She extended her right hand like she meant it. Ophelia's eyes went cold. She looked at that outstretched hand, then turned and walked away without a word. The smile that curved Juliette's lips was slow and satisfied. The sharpest kind of humiliation wasn't rage — it was silence, and the quiet act of erasure. Ophelia left the headquarters and returned to the research lab, only to find everyone had set down their work. They'd been waiting for her. "Director Sinclair — are we joining Sinclair Biopharma now?" "I heard they built a whole separate building just for research. Must be incredible." "Director Sinclair, did you get a promotion?" The news of Juliette's marriage to Harrison Ashford hadn't fully circulated yet — only a small circle inside the industry knew. The lab staff had no idea Ophelia was Mrs. Ashford. She looked at her colleagues, at their expectant faces. Then she reached up, unpinned her badge, and set it quietly on the nearest desk. "I resigned." The room went still. A few of the junior researchers who'd always looked up to her rushed over, grabing her arm. "Director Sinclair — you were about to move up. Why would you resign now?" The bitterness sitting in her chest was hers alone to carry. "It's personal," she said, her voice soft and tired. "Keep working hard. I mean that — I hope great things are ahead for all of you." She stepped into her office after that, and immediately knew something was wrong. Things had been moved. Subtly, carefully — but moved. Ophelia's pulse jumped. She turned and scanned the space through the glass partition. Who had been in here? What were they looking for? She went straight to HR pull the security footage and was met with a smooth apology. "I'm sorry, Director Sinclair — the cameras have been down for maintenance the past couple of days. There's no recording." The pieces clicked into place instantly. She'd been surrounded by informants this whole time. She just hadn't seen it. The thought settled over her like ice water. The data losses over the years, the electrical failures, the contaminated samples — none of it had been bad luck. Someone had been quietly sabotaging her, every step of the way. Every time she got close to a breakthrough, something went wrong. What they were after had to be her parents' research notebooks. Those irreplaceable, handwritten notes. They weren't going to get them. Ophelia loved this lab. Her parents had poured years of their lives into this place. Once the team relocated to the Sinclair Biopharma building, it would sit empty — and she wanted to buy it. Three days later, a formal notice went out from headquarters. The entire lab, along with everything under Ophelia's management, was relocated to the Sinclair Biopharma building. That evening, she sat on the living room sofa in the dim lamplight, watching the window, waiting for Harrison to come home. "Mama, catch!" Gus toddled over with a small basketball tucked under his arm. "Mama — catch it!" She played with him on the living room floor, tossing the ball back and forth, her mind somewhere else entirely. Then headlights swept across the yard. A silver Bentley rolled to a stop, and Harrison stepped out — tall, composed, his features carrying a trace of exhaustion. Ophelia walked toward him. "Harrison — is there any way I can have the old research building? Just the space itself." He glanced over at her, his expression flat. "What do you want that run-down place for? Still thinking about going back to research?" "It's where my parents—" "I already promised it to a friend. He bought it." He cut her off without a second thought, then turned and crouched down, lifting Gus into his arms. "Hey, buddy. Did you miss me?" The warmth that crossed Harrison's face when he looked at his son was something Ophelia had stopped expecting for herself. She stood there, frozen. "That property belonged to my parents." He didn't turn around. "When the company acquired the lab three years ago, everything we...