Stella burst through the automatic doors of New York-Presbyterian, her heart hammering against her ribs. She found her aunt, Martha Kane, pacing frantically outside the ICU, her face streaked with tears.
"You're finally here!" Martha cried, grabbing Stella's arm. "Your mother, she's—"
A doctor in blue scrubs emerged, his expression grim. He led them to a quiet corner of the hallway.
"Mrs. Kane's condition is critical," he said, his voice low and direct. "It's acute kidney failure. She needs a transplant. Immediately."
The floor seemed to drop out from under Stella. "The cost," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How much will it be?"
"Finding a donor, the surgery, post-op care... you're looking at a minimum of one million dollars."
One million dollars. The number dragged her down into a dark, suffocating abyss. Her own savings were barely enough to cover a fraction of the cost.
Martha let out a strangled sob and nearly collapsed. She clung to Stella's arm like a lifeline. "Stella, you have to do something! You're a Harper now. A million dollars is nothing to them!"
Stella's face went pale. Asking Bryant for money would be the ultimate humiliation. But it was her mother's life. She had no choice.
She found an empty alcove, her hands shaking as she dialed his number again. He answered on the second ring.
"What now?" he snapped. "I told you I was busy."
She fought back a sob, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Bryant, I need your help. My mother is in the hospital. She needs a million dollars for surgery."
There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a short, derisive laugh. "Stella, are you done with these pathetic games for attention? I know your mother's health condition. The Harper family doctor gives her a full check-up every year."
His words were daggers. He thought she was lying.
"I'm not lying! She's at Presbyterian, you can check—"
"Enough," Bryant cut her off. "You want money? Have your lawyer call mine to discuss the divorce settlement. Stop using your family's health for theatrics. It's disgusting."
He hung up.
Stella slid down the cold wall, the phone slipping from her numb fingers. Despair washed over her in a suffocating wave. She pressed a hand to her stomach, a sharp cramp twisting inside her, as if the tiny life within could feel her agony.
Martha found her crumpled on the floor, her expression a mixture of pity and disappointment. "Guess I can't count on you for anything." She turned away, pulling out her own phone to call other relatives.
Stella sat there until her legs went numb. She wiped her tears, her eyes hollow but her jaw set.
He could sign off on a hundred‑million‑dollar deal without a second thought, but for a one‑million‑dollar life‑saving sum, he couldn't even be bothered to verify the truth. She would remember this.
She stood up, ready to find the doctor, to beg for a payment plan, to do anything. That's when the entertainment news on the hallway television caught her eye.
There he was. Bryant Harper, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored tuxedo. On his arm was Sienna Steele, radiant in a white gown. They were smiling for the cameras at a charity gala.
The headline blared: "Harper CEO and Sienna Steele Make a Stunning Pair. Is A Wedding Next?"
The camera zoomed in. Bryant gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Sienna's ear, his eyes filled with a tenderness Stella had never seen.
The man who had just accused her of faking her mother's illness was now playing the devoted partner for the entire world to see.
A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. She stumbled into the nearest restroom and retched into the sink.
She looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her pale face was streaked with tears. A stark, pathetic contrast to the glowing woman on the screen.
A laugh escaped her lips, a broken, hollow sound that turned into a sob.
It was all a joke. Her marriage, her life. A complete and utter joke.
She took out her phone, her fingers steady now. She scrolled past Bryant's name and found the number for her lawyer.
Divorce. There was nothing left to hold on to in this marriage.
The next morning, Stella dragged her exhausted body into the towering glass headquarters of Harper Industries. She needed this job. It was her only source of income, her only shred of independence.
She had caked on concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes, but she could still feel the sideways glances from her colleagues. Last night's news had spread like wildfire. She was the pathetic wife, the public fool.
Stella pretended not to notice, slipping into her cubicle in the administrative assistant pool. The documents on her desk blurred together. All she could think about was her mother's medical bills and the divorce. She had to find a better-paying job.
Quietly, she opened a browser tab and began scrolling through listings for jewelry designers. It was her major in college, the dream she had shelved for a loveless marriage.
Just before lunch, she went to the breakroom for a cup of coffee, desperate for a jolt of caffeine. The room was empty. She leaned against the counter, inhaling the rich aroma, and for a moment, the knot in her chest loosened.
Then she heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by familiar voices.
Bryant and his best friend, Gray Paul.
Her heart leaped into her throat. She ducked behind a tall bank of storage lockers, pressing herself into the shadows.
They walked in, oblivious to her presence.
Gray leaned against the counter, his tone laced with amusement. "You made the headlines again last night, Bryant. Aren't you worried the little woman at home is going to throw a fit?"
Bryant poured himself a glass of water, his voice flat. "She wouldn't dare."
Gray chuckled. "True. She and the Kanes need you too much. But seriously, what's the plan? Sienna's back for good. You can't keep Stella in the Mrs. Harper slot forever."
Stella held her breath, her feet feeling nailed to the floor.
Bryant walked to the window, staring down at the city below. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his sharp profile.
"The marriage to Stella," he said, his voice as cold as the glass he looked through, "is a habit."
A habit.
How ironic. All these three years—every night she pretended to sleep soundly, every lamp she left on for his late returns, every time she deflected media inquiries for him—all of it had been reduced to a mindless, disposable routine.
"So how long are you planning on keeping this 'habit'?" Gray pressed.
Bryant took a long drag from his cigarette. "Until my grandfather stops watching so closely. Or until the right time comes to end it."
"The right time?" Gray raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like when Sienna wins her Oscar and can marry you without looking like a homewrecker?"
Bryant didn't answer. His silence was all the confirmation she needed.
The strength drained from Stella's body. She sagged against the cold metal of the lockers, the world turning gray at the edges. She had told herself there was no love, but she had clung to the idea of respect, of a partnership.
Now she knew the truth. She was just a placeholder. An object to be discarded when it was no longer convenient.
Gray and Bryant left, their footsteps fading down the hall.
Stella emerged from her hiding place, her face ashen. She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, again and again.
The icy shock brought a new kind of clarity. She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror.
"The day Sienna wins her Oscar is the day I exit?" she repeated under her breath, her stomach churning.
No. She straightened up abruptly.
Why should she wait for them to set her exit time? She would tear down this stage herself.
Even if it left her bloodied and bruised, she would accept it.
