Chapter 6
Serena and I met at a coffee shop in Midtown—her choice, somewhere paparazzi wouldn't think to look for a model.
She looked different from the gala photos. Smaller. No makeup, hair pulled back, fingers fidgeting with her cup. The confidence I'd envied was gone, replaced by something fragile.
"I want to start by saying I'm sorry." Her eyes were red-rimmed. "What he did to you at the gala—if I'd known—"
"You didn't know." My voice was flat. "What do you have?"
She slid her phone across the table. On it: a text thread with Ethan, dated two weeks after the gala.
*Serena: "My friend saw a marriage certificate at the courthouse records. Your name. Who is Olivia Chen?"*
*Ethan: "No one. A business arrangement that ended years ago. It means nothing."*
*Serena: "Then why is it still active?"*
*Ethan: "Paperwork delay. I'll handle it."*
*Serena: "Were you married while you were telling me you loved me?"*
*Ethan: "Serena, it's not what you think."*
*Serena: "Answer the question."*
*Ethan: "Technically, yes. But it was never real."*
Never real.
Three years of cooking his meals. Nursing him through pneumonia. Giving up my career, my city, my name. Never real.
I set the phone down carefully. My hands didn't shake. That surprised me.
"There's more," Serena said. She swiped to another screenshot—this one from a group chat between Ethan and his business partners.
*"Still single officially? Good. The investors from Seoul are traditional—they like backing unmarried founders. Keep it clean for the IPO."*
*Ethan: "Handled. No one knows."*
I stared at the screen.
Not love. Not even preference.
Business. I'd been hidden for business.
"Can I forward these to my lawyer?" My voice sounded far away.
"I already did." Serena's hand reached across the table, then hesitated. "Olivia... the night of the gala. When he introduced me. Where were you?"
"Back row. In a black dress he'd picked for me that morning."
Her face crumbled. She pressed her palm to her mouth, eyes flooding.
"He told me you'd left him. He said you'd moved on. That you were—" She couldn't finish. "I asked him, before the gala, if there was anyone else. He looked me in the eye and said no."
We sat in silence. Two women dismantled by the same man's lies—not rivals, not enemies, just collateral damage.
"Thank you," I finally said. "For telling me."
She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Whatever you need for the case—I'll testify. Under oath." She stood, then paused. "He's in New York right now. He knows about Margaret Hayes. He's—" She searched for the word. "Panicking."
Good.
"One more thing." She pulled an envelope from her purse. "This was delivered to my apartment last week. It's addressed to you—I don't know why he sent it to me."
I took the envelope. My name in his handwriting. I tucked it into my bag without opening it.
After she left, I sat alone with my cold coffee and thought about the word "never."
*Never real.*
He was right about one thing—it never was real. At least not for him.
I threw the envelope in the trash on my way out.
That night, Margaret called.
"I got Serena's evidence. This changes everything." Her voice hummed with energy. "The IPO concealment alone gives us grounds for fraud-based annulment, not just divorce. That bypasses his delays entirely."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the court can void the marriage as if it never existed. No processing delays. No contestation period. He can fight it, but with this evidence—the text admitting it was for business purposes—he'll lose."
Never existed. The phrase should have hurt. Instead, it felt like oxygen.
"How soon?"
"I'm filing tomorrow morning. Emergency motion. If the judge grants it—two weeks."
Two weeks to freedom.
"Do it."
I hung up and stood at my apartment window, watching the city lights blur below.
My phone buzzed. Ethan.
*"I know you met with Serena. Whatever she told you—let me explain."*
I typed back three words:
*"See you in court."*
She looked different from the gala photos. Smaller. No makeup, hair pulled back, fingers fidgeting with her cup. The confidence I'd envied was gone, replaced by something fragile.
"I want to start by saying I'm sorry." Her eyes were red-rimmed. "What he did to you at the gala—if I'd known—"
"You didn't know." My voice was flat. "What do you have?"
She slid her phone across the table. On it: a text thread with Ethan, dated two weeks after the gala.
*Serena: "My friend saw a marriage certificate at the courthouse records. Your name. Who is Olivia Chen?"*
*Ethan: "No one. A business arrangement that ended years ago. It means nothing."*
*Serena: "Then why is it still active?"*
*Ethan: "Paperwork delay. I'll handle it."*
*Serena: "Were you married while you were telling me you loved me?"*
*Ethan: "Serena, it's not what you think."*
*Serena: "Answer the question."*
*Ethan: "Technically, yes. But it was never real."*
Never real.
Three years of cooking his meals. Nursing him through pneumonia. Giving up my career, my city, my name. Never real.
I set the phone down carefully. My hands didn't shake. That surprised me.
"There's more," Serena said. She swiped to another screenshot—this one from a group chat between Ethan and his business partners.
*"Still single officially? Good. The investors from Seoul are traditional—they like backing unmarried founders. Keep it clean for the IPO."*
*Ethan: "Handled. No one knows."*
I stared at the screen.
Not love. Not even preference.
Business. I'd been hidden for business.
"Can I forward these to my lawyer?" My voice sounded far away.
"I already did." Serena's hand reached across the table, then hesitated. "Olivia... the night of the gala. When he introduced me. Where were you?"
"Back row. In a black dress he'd picked for me that morning."
Her face crumbled. She pressed her palm to her mouth, eyes flooding.
"He told me you'd left him. He said you'd moved on. That you were—" She couldn't finish. "I asked him, before the gala, if there was anyone else. He looked me in the eye and said no."
We sat in silence. Two women dismantled by the same man's lies—not rivals, not enemies, just collateral damage.
"Thank you," I finally said. "For telling me."
She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Whatever you need for the case—I'll testify. Under oath." She stood, then paused. "He's in New York right now. He knows about Margaret Hayes. He's—" She searched for the word. "Panicking."
Good.
"One more thing." She pulled an envelope from her purse. "This was delivered to my apartment last week. It's addressed to you—I don't know why he sent it to me."
I took the envelope. My name in his handwriting. I tucked it into my bag without opening it.
After she left, I sat alone with my cold coffee and thought about the word "never."
*Never real.*
He was right about one thing—it never was real. At least not for him.
I threw the envelope in the trash on my way out.
That night, Margaret called.
"I got Serena's evidence. This changes everything." Her voice hummed with energy. "The IPO concealment alone gives us grounds for fraud-based annulment, not just divorce. That bypasses his delays entirely."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the court can void the marriage as if it never existed. No processing delays. No contestation period. He can fight it, but with this evidence—the text admitting it was for business purposes—he'll lose."
Never existed. The phrase should have hurt. Instead, it felt like oxygen.
"How soon?"
"I'm filing tomorrow morning. Emergency motion. If the judge grants it—two weeks."
Two weeks to freedom.
"Do it."
I hung up and stood at my apartment window, watching the city lights blur below.
My phone buzzed. Ethan.
*"I know you met with Serena. Whatever she told you—let me explain."*
I typed back three words:
*"See you in court."*