The Stand-In Who Toppled Her Ex-Husband's Empire

Chapter One: Fall on the Marble Steps

The staircase is paved with white, smooth and cold marble, which can even clearly reflect the figure of a person. I remember that detail because I saw my face on it for a full half-second before everything went black.

My name is Audrey Vale. Three years ago, I married Dominic Vance, a man considered by outsiders to be a “self-made” legend—but of course, that was based on the premise that no one had ever bothered to find out who laid the foundation for him.

In the eyes of the world, Dominic is handsome, ambitious and powerful. He owns Vance Meridian Construction, lives in a luxurious estate outside Atlanta, drives imported luxury cars, and is always mentioned in the headlines of business magazines about his “visionary development.”

But in the eyes of his mother Victoria, he was an impeccable prince. In my eyes, he was a promise.

That afternoon, Victoria was standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a pearl necklace and a beige suit, with an angry look on her face. I just refused to sign a paperwork transferring full control of multiple “family assets” to Dominic. She said a good wife never asks too many questions. And my answer is, a good husband doesn’t sneak papers into his breakfast folder.

Her face turned pale.

“For a Cinderella that we fished out of the mire, your airs are too big.”

Fish out of the mire.

That’s what they call me because my parents are long dead and I never bothered to show off my heritage. Because I always wear plain skirts. Because I would cut the coupons myself in front of the servants to make them feel comfortable. Because I can even open the kitchen cupboards and make soup by myself without having to ask the servants.

Dominic’s family mistook my humility for poverty. Victoria took a step closer.

“You have to sign tonight.”

“No.”

Her hands pushed hard against my shoulders. Not a slap. It was a push. Use extreme force. My high heels slipped on the smooth marble steps. The body falls faster than the brain can react. I reached out to grab the armrest, but only caught a ball of air.

Then I heard her voice.

“Now, you should know how much you weigh!”

I fell. Marble. Severe pain. glare. Bone cracks. Dead silence. When I woke up, the air was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant. Dr. Alexander Reed stood beside my hospital bed. His expression told me the truth faster than his mouth.

“My arms,” I murmured weakly.

“Broken bones. Bruised ribs, slight concussion, deep laceration above brow bone.”

My hands subconsciously covered my lower abdomen. He looked away. That tiny movement crushed me.

“Dr. Reed.”

He took a slow breath.

“I’m so sorry, Audrey. You’re eight weeks pregnant. This fall caused a miscarriage.”

For a moment, the entire ward seemed to evaporate from the world. During the first year of our marriage, Dominic and I tried for a child, before his cruelty became so ugly wrapped in hope. Later, the doctor told us that there were medical complications. Dominic laid the blame squarely on me. Victoria, in those rooms where she thought I couldn’t hear, viciously called me a hen that didn’t lay eggs.

And now, I’ve been pregnant. And now, I’ve lost him.

“Did you call my husband?” I asked.

Dr. Reed hesitated.

“As your emergency contact, he has been notified.”

“Is he coming?”

His silence was the answer. My phone vibrated on the dinner plate. An unknown number sent a photo. Dominica on the beach. Dominic is kissing Paige. The accompanying text reads: I think you should know where your husband is when you are in the hospital.

I stared at that photo until the tears stopped flowing. Then the nurse brought a bouquet of flowers. White lily. The card was from Victoria. Accidents happen. Don’t make such a big deal out of a molehill.

At that moment, sadness solidified into ice.