Thirty Years Of Marriage I Thought Was A Mistake Chapter 01

Thirty Years Of Marriage I Thought Was A Mistake Chapter 01

I had always been a little slow on the uptake, and everyone around me made fun of me for being stupid.

At a class reunion, I walked into the wrong private room and stumbled upon Adrian Prescott, a billionaire CEO whose drink had been spiked with a powerful aphrodisiac. By the time I realized what was happening, we had already…

Afterward, Adrian insisted on making things right. Just like that, I became Mrs. Prescott, the billionaire’s wife everyone envied.

Throughout our marriage, he always went out of his way to accommodate me, so everyone said fools had all the luck.

Then he became gravely ill, and as he lay dying, he weakly clasped my hand and whispered, “If there’s another life…”

He died before he could finish. His eyes never even closed.

Just as grief threatened to swallow me whole, a flood of comments suddenly appeared before my eyes.

[Can the female supporting character just die already? She kept the male and female leads apart for an entire lifetime.]

[The male lead only ever had eyes for the first love he never forgot. How did the female supporting character never realize he didn’t love her?]

I stood frozen for a long time.

During our decades of marriage, Adrian had rarely smiled at me.

The life of wealth and privilege I had enjoyed had never truly belonged to me. I had been living in a place meant for someone else.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I had walked into the wrong room.

***

“I want to do right by you.”

Adrian’s voice came from above me.

I was still dazed. The cold glare of the ICU lights lingered in my vision.

Adrian had been lying in that hospital bed, reduced to skin and bone, gripping my wrist and refusing to let go. He had barely whispered, “If there’s another life…” before his breathing stopped, his eyes still open.

After thirty years of marriage, I had always thought his eyes stayed open because he couldn’t bear to leave me.

Now Adrian was sitting on the couch with the top two buttons of his shirt undone. The tips of his ears were still flushed, and he frowned at me as though he was annoyed that I had taken so long to answer.

I slowly shook my head.

“You don’t have to turn this into a relationship. If you still feel guilty, just give me some money.”

I had grown used to a comfortable life the first time around, and I knew I couldn’t go back to struggling. Asking for enough money to retire on wasn’t unreasonable, was it?

Adrian visibly froze.

The comments immediately began appearing again.

[What is happening? Of all the possible moments, the female supporting character had to come back to this one. My ship is doomed all over again.]

[??? Did she suddenly change her tune? At least she finally knows her place.]

“Do you know who I am?” Adrian asked.

I struggled to sit up.

“Why? Are you trying to get out of paying me?”

His expression instantly turned cold.

He pulled a black card from his wallet and held it out to me. His long, sharply defined fingers had a cool, pale cast under the light.

“You won’t need a PIN.”

The moment my fingers touched the card, my nose began to sting.

In my previous life, I had carried this exact card for thirty years as Mrs. Prescott, living a life everyone envied. I had worn the finest clothes, eaten the best food, and never lacked for anything.

He had even arranged an anonymous donation to the need-based scholarship fund my mother had championed for low-income seniors, a project that strengthened her nomination for State Teacher of the Year.

But none of it had ever truly been mine.

“How much can I spend?”

“As much as you want.” He paused. “What’s your name?”

I didn’t answer. I slipped the card into my coat pocket, grabbed my purse from the couch, and headed for the door.

“I won’t go crazy with it. Goodbye.”

The lights in the private club’s hallway made me dizzy. There was no way I could show up at the reunion looking like this.

I headed toward the subway station with the card in my pocket just as my mother called.

“Sweetheart, don’t drink too much. You’re already slow to catch on. Someone could traffic you across state lines before you even realized what was happening.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I already left.”

My mother fell silent for a moment.

“It’s not even late. Did you just show your face at the reunion and leave?”

“I have to work late.”

“Why would a receptionist need to work overtime?”

“I’m a front desk coordinator,” I corrected her solemnly.

She sighed helplessly, reminded me to take care of myself, and finally hung up.

The next morning, I arrived at the office on time and took my usual place behind the reception desk.

I was afraid I would starve if I tried to write novels full time, so I had taken a “part-time” job as a front desk coordinator. The workload was light, nobody paid much attention to me, and I could work on my novel during slow periods.

If events followed the same course as they had in my previous life, I would be laid off in a few days. HR had said the company was struggling financially.

I considered quitting before they laid me off, but quickly thought better of it.

If they laid me off, I would get severance and qualify for unemployment. If I quit, I would walk away with nothing. That made no financial sense.

I had just finished typing another line of my novel when the click of dress shoes on the marble floor stopped in front of the reception desk.

It took me two full seconds to react and stand.

“Hello. Do you have… an appointment?”

I looked up and found myself staring straight into Adrian’s eyes.

He was dressed in a black suit, and his assistant, Vincent, followed behind him. His icy presence made the temperature in the entire reception area seem to drop several degrees.

The comments immediately began flooding my vision.

[Mr. Prescott is here to acquire the company. Does the female supporting character actually think he came for her?]

[That idiot receptionist is staring at Mr. Prescott like she’s in a trance. Does she even own a mirror? She is nowhere near his league.]

That explained it.

The company was laying people off because it was being acquired.

Somehow, I didn’t feel nearly as upset anymore.

“We’re here to see your CEO, Mr. Collins,” Vincent said with a smile.

Still dazed, I nodded and led them to a meeting room.

As I poured water for them, I overheard Vincent murmur to Adrian, “That receptionist seems a little spacey, but she’s pretty cute.”

Adrian didn’t respond.

I set down the glasses and left, my heart beating a little too fast.

By the time I got off work, rain was coming down in sheets. More than a dozen people were crowded around the revolving doors trying to book rides, while cold mist blew into the lobby.

I touched the black card in my pocket, debating whether to splurge on an Uber Black.

Vincent approached beneath a black umbrella.

“Rides are impossible to get right now, aren’t they? Let me take you home.”

I was about to thank him and refuse when he added, “Mr. Prescott asked me to.”

I gave in.

There was no arguing with that, and it would save me fifty dollars.

But when we reached the car, I started to get in, then immediately stopped.

Adrian was sitting in the back seat, looking directly at me.

“Get in.”

I had been far too obedient in my previous life. Before my brain caught up with my body, I was already sitting beside him.

“You really don’t have to turn this into a relationship just because we slept together,” I finally managed to say.

Adrian turned toward me and lightly tapped his fingers against his knee.

It was a small habit of his whenever he was thinking. I had watched him do it for thirty years.

“I’m not going to pretend nothing happened, but I won’t pressure you either,” he said. “Give me three months. If you still don’t want me after that, I’ll give you a generous settlement, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I shook my head. “I know there’s someone you love. I don’t want to come between two people who belong together.”

Adrian blinked in surprise.

Then he smiled, a hint of amusement in his expression.

“Really? Then who exactly do I love?”

“You love your childhood sweetheart, Vanessa Whitmore, the heiress to Whitmore Holdings.”

He stared at me for a full three seconds, then suddenly smiled.

“There is someone I love, but it isn’t Vanessa.”

A loud buzz filled my head.

My brain seemed to short-circuit.