Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 05

Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 05

After that, he loosened his tie, took off his jacket, and dropped onto the couch.

He didn’t look at me again.

That was the first time I met Adrian.

Cold.

Not icy—something steadier. Like deep ocean water. Still on the surface, currents running underneath, out of reach.

The next day, I thought they’d send me away.

They didn’t.

He called the Mercers over and spoke to them in his study for forty minutes.

When David came out, his face was ashen. Linda’s eyes were red like she’d been crying nonstop.

In the end, Adrian said one sentence to me.

“Since you’re here, you stay.”

That was it.

No conditions. No demands.

Not even an explanation.

Later, I found out what he had said in that study—

“Whether Valerie Mercer is alive or dead doesn’t matter. I need a Mrs. Shaw. Since she’s already here, there’s no need to replace her. But from now on, the Mercer family will never use this to leverage the Shaws. Otherwise—”

David never finished those words in front of me.

But from that day on, every time he saw Adrian, he instinctively shrank.

I went from a stand-in bride to “Valerie Shaw.”

Everyone believed I was her.

Guests. Relatives. Business partners.

Only Adrian knew I wasn’t.

Only him.

Later, in the third year, one winter night, he stopped calling me “Valerie.”

He called me “Sloane.”

Just like that.

No confession. No ceremony.

One night, I was in the kitchen heating milk. He walked in, set an empty glass on the counter, and said, “Sloane. Heat one more.”

The spoon spun once in the pot.

The milk bubbled softly.

From that day on, he never called me anything else.

By the time I snapped back, I realized the car had stopped.

We were home.

Shaw Manor sat at the base of the western hills, an old estate from the early 20th century, expanded three times over the years.

Gray brick walls covered in ivy. Two century-old locust trees stood at the gate, their branches stretching wide, casting deep shade.

I pushed the door open.

The sweet autumn clematis in the yard was in full bloom, their fragrance thick in the air.

“Mom—!”

A blur shot out from the end of the hallway.

Ethan Shaw.

Eleven years old. Tall and lanky, uniform collar crooked, bangs a mess from the wind.

He ran too fast, sneakers skidding on the tile. He grabbed onto my shoulder to steady himself.

“Mom, I saved you the biggest piece of cake! Dad only let me have a tiny slice!”

“He said we’re having dinner later so no too much sugar, but I secretly cut another piece—”

“Don’t tell him, okay?”

He lowered his voice, but not really—the whole hallway could hear him.

I reached out and straightened his collar.

“Got it. I won’t tell him.”

“Yes!”

He swung on my arm twice, then suddenly leaned in and kissed my cheek.

A habit since he was little. Every time he saw me, he had to give me a kiss.

When he was small, I kissed him.

Now that he’d grown, it was the other way around.

“Mom, what did you do today?”

“Went to an auction house.”

“What’d you buy?”

“A painting.”

“Expensive?”

“Not bad.”

“More than my basketball shoes?”

“A little more.”

“Well…”

He dragged me toward the dining room, talking nonstop.

As we passed the study, the door was open.

Adrian sat behind his desk, gold-rimmed glasses on, a cup of coffee gone cold beside him. He was reading documents, but when I walked by, he looked up.

His gaze landed on me for just a second.

He didn’t speak.

But his fingers tapped lightly on the desk.

Twice.

Our signal.

One tap meant “he has something to say.”

Two taps meant “nothing—but I’m here.”