Chapter 15 - The Mistress AccountI thought the worst betrayal would be financial.
I was wrong.
It arrived in a sealed discovery packet from Arthur Bell, marked personal relevance.
Inside were transfers from Grant’s discretionary account to a woman named Isla Crane.
I knew that name.
Not from gossip columns or tabloids.
From my own dinner table.
Isla had been Helena’s favorite charity consultant. Tall, elegant, always dressed in cream. She once complimented my “bravery” for marrying into a family so “historically complicated,” then smiled when Helena laughed.
Grant had been paying her for two years.
At first, I assumed affair.
Then I saw the memo lines.
Surrogacy consultation.
Medical coordination.
Private residence preparation.
My vision narrowed.
Arthur sat across from me in the temporary legal office we had established two floors below the boardroom.
“I am sorry,” he said.
I lifted one document.
“What is Project Continuity?”
He looked ill.
“I believe it was Helena’s backup succession plan.”
The words were clinical.
The meaning was not.
If I would not provide the heir they needed, someone else would.
“But Grant was married to me.”
Arthur’s expression made the answer unnecessary.
Marriage had never been sacred to them. Only useful.
“Was Isla pregnant?” I asked.
“We do not know.”
I stood.
“Find her.”
“She disappeared the same night as the dinner.”
Of course she had.
Nobody in Helena’s circle waited for consequences.
I went to see Grant again.
This time, I did not sit.
“Isla Crane,” I said.
His face changed.
Not enough for a stranger.
Enough for a wife.
Former wife.
“Celeste—”
“Don’t.”
He lowered his gaze.
“Mother arranged it.”
I laughed once.
“You always hide behind her after obeying her.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Was she pregnant?”
He closed his eyes.
That was answer enough.
Something inside me turned quiet.
Not broken.
Quiet.
“When were you going to tell me?” I asked.
He opened his eyes.
“I wasn’t.”
The honesty was almost obscene.
“Was the child yours?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to disappear for one breath.
Then another.
Pike, standing near the wall, watched carefully but said nothing.
Grant leaned forward.
“Mother said if you became unstable, if the Voss claim became messy, the board would need a Blackwood heir untouched by you.”
“Untouched,” I repeated.
He flinched.
Good.
“Where is Isla?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
Grant hesitated.
Then he said, “Helena owns a house under a trust in Newport. Not Blackwood. Vale.”
His mother’s maiden name again.
I turned to leave.
Grant spoke behind me.
“Celeste.”
I stopped.
“I did care about you.”
I looked back.
For a moment, I saw the man from the charity auction. The soft voice. The champagne. The lie so beautifully performed it had once felt like fate.
May you like
“No,” I said. “You cared about how loving me made you feel.”
Then I walked out.
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