Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 13

Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 13

When I went downstairs, the old lady had already brewed the coffee.

Ethiopian Yirgacheffe.

She pushed the cup toward me.

“She talked like she had the whole world in her mouth.”

“Hmm.”

“But her eyes were scanning for valuables. She looked around three times when she walked in, and twice at my vase.”

She took a sip of coffee.

“Sloane, you don’t need to worry.”

“About anything.”

She looked at me. Her clouded eyes carried something steady-heavy, pressed beneath the deep

lines of her face.

“There is only one Mrs. Shaw.”

“And from the day you walked in, that’s been you.”

I held the cup.

Something lodged in my throat.

Not tears.

Just that feeling of having walked too long, too far, and finally hearing someone say, you’ve arrived.

I lowered my head and took a sip.

Too hot.

It burned my tongue.

But this time, I didn’t feel pain.

“Oh right,” she said, setting her cup down like she’d just remembered something. “That

G…

foundation you said you were putting together-how’s it going?”

“Launching next month.”

“What’s the name?”

“Spine Cultural Foundation.”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

“Spine.”

That was her word for me back then.

“If it grows big, give me a board seat. An old woman staying idle isn’t good for anything-might as well help you look over the books.”

“Jenifer, the books-”

“I’ve already checked them.” She waved a hand. “Nothing to pick apart.”

“Those fund managers Adrian hired? All combined, they’re not as good as you alone.”

That wasn’t an exaggeration.

It was fact.

Adrian ran the Shaw family’s real estate and mining business-the family’s bread and butter for

generations.

But three years ago, the industry took a hit. Commodity prices collapsed. Forty billion lost in three

months.

It was my proposal that turned things around.

Shifting one-third of Shaw assets out of mining and into cultural industries-art appraisal, auctions, collections, cultural IP.

My field.

I studied art appraisal in university. I hadn’t even started a job before I was shoved into a wedding

dress.

But over ten years, while raising a child, I studied, got certifications, worked auctions, built

connections.

Now in this circle, the name “Aurora” carried more weight than “Mrs. Shaw.”

Adrian knew.

The Shaw family knew.

But the Mercers didn’t.

Valerie especially didn’t.

To her, I was still just a substitute.

A stand-in sitting in her place for ten years.

Disposable.

Replaceable.

I set the cup down.

The flavors of the Yirgacheffe unfolded on my tongue-like a flower blooming slowly.

“Jenifer,” I said, “if she comes back to make trouble-”

“She will.” Her tone was certain.

“And after I send her away, what’s her next move?”

“Lawyers?”

“Right.” She nodded. “If sentiment doesn’t work, she’ll use law. Blood ties. Biological mother.

There are cracks in the law she can stand in.”

She looked at me.

“Are you ready?”

I stood up and placed the cup back on the tray.

“I’ve been ready for three years.”