The sole heir of the Harding family. I took over the family business at eighteen. By twenty-two, I'd carved my way through the cutthroat world of Wall Street, leaving a trail of blood behind me.
At twenty-five, I returned home and entered this marriage of convenience with him—not because I couldn't live without him, but because of the bond between our fathers.
Because he promised me forever. One life, one love, just the two of us.
The joke was on me.
In just five short years, he'd tossed those vows aside like yesterday's garbage.
The next day, I received a WhatsApp friend request from Virginia. Her message read:
"Gladys, I'd like to explain about your car's maintenance issue."
The day was impossibly hectic—back-to-back meetings from morning till dusk, then a rushed flight to Capitol City for my uncle's birthday banquet.
I didn't have a moment to accept her request until I landed.
Virginia immediately sent a voice message. The gist: the mechanic who serviced my car was a temp worker who'd since gone AWOL. Unreachable. Convenient.
I didn't respond. But as I swiped back, my finger slipped, landing me on her Moments feed.
The latest post was from thirty minutes ago.