His Stand-In Wife's Billion-Dollar Revenge

The fifth year of being Mrs. Stephens.

I sat in the back seat of my husband Simon Stephens' car, like a stranger sharing a ride.

The passenger seat was permanently reclined to exactly 115 degrees, the angle his childhood sweetheart found most comfortable.

Whenever I tried to adjust it, Simon would gently press down on my wrist.

"Iris Young, that adjustment lever sticks a little. Anna's back is bad, and she takes my car to physical therapy all the time. Fiddling with it back and forth will only break it. Would you mind sitting in the back? It's more spacious anyway."

I looked at those gentle eyes in the rearview mirror and silently swallowed the news that I'd found out I was pregnant today.

He had married me because my features bore a seventy-percent resemblance to Anna Henson, who had gone abroad.

Now that she was back, divorced, the passenger seat, the supplementary credit card, even the way he looked at me were all quietly changing hands.

The countdown in my phone's memo app, the one ticking down to the day I'd leave the Stephens family, had only three days left.

I stared at Anna Henson's latest social media post: "Someone still remembers my exact seat angle, down to the last degree."

Forget it. This was the last time I'd ever sit in this car anyway.

——

I sat in the back seat, cold air blowing against my face, my stomach churning in waves.

Simon's fingers adjusted the air vents in the front row, redirecting the airflow completely away from the passenger seat, even though no one was sitting there.

"Iris, are you cold back there?" He glanced at the rearview mirror, his voice warm and smooth.

"Anna can't tolerate cold. She can't handle even the slightest draft when she's in a car. I had the dealership fix the vent direction last night so it can't be moved. I'm afraid you'll just have to bear with it for now."

I looked at his eyes in the mirror and shoved the prenatal exam report I hadn't yet had a chance to take out back to the very bottom of my bag.

"It's fine. I'm not cold." I forced the corners of my mouth upward, my nails digging into my palms.

When we arrived at the Stephens estate, I finally understood why he'd gone to the trouble of pre-setting even the air vents in the car.

Anna Henson was already there.

My mother-in-law, Jean Stephens, was holding her hand.

And on Jean's wrist sat the jade bracelet I had begged for so many times but had never been allowed to touch.

"Anna, dear, this bracelet looks best against your skin tone."

"All those years you were abroad, I'd look at it every day and sigh. Now it's finally back where it belongs." Jean was beaming, unable to contain her delight.

I stood in the foyer like an outsider who had wandered into someone else's family gathering.

Simon walked over to me, casually unclasped the shawl from my shoulders, then turned and draped it around Anna Henson's shoulders.

"Anna, the old house is drafty. You just got back and you're not used to the cold yet. Don't let yourself freeze."

His voice was laced with undisguised tenderness.

I stood frozen, my gaze falling to his wrist. At the edge of his suit cuff, he wore a cufflink with a distinctive iris-flower design.

It was the same design Anna Henson had posted on social media before she returned.

Meanwhile, the anniversary cufflinks I had spent two weeks hand-polishing for our fifth wedding anniversary still sat in a drawer upstairs.

A spasm tore through my stomach. I clamped my hand over my mouth, turned, and rushed toward the first-floor bathroom.

I shut the door, braced myself against the sink, and dry-heaved until tears streamed down my face.

I stared at the face in the mirror, the face that looked seventy percent like Anna Henson's, and pulled out my phone to check the memo.

Countdown to leaving the Stephens family: 3 days.

A knock came from outside. Simon's voice: "Iris, are you feeling all right? Have you been wearing yourself out getting ready for the exhibition?"

I opened the door. He immediately offered me a towel, his eyes full of what looked like deep concern.

"Anna just got back tonight. She's been through a painful marriage, and she's emotionally fragile right now."

"You've always been the understanding one. Could you just be a little more patient with her?"

I looked at that face, the face I had loved for five years, and my voice came out rough. "Okay."