After My Groom Left Me at the Altar for His Pregnant Mistress

My father's office smells like leather and old money. Dark wood. Heavy curtains. A desk the size of a small car. I've been summoned here exactly three times in my life. Once when my mother died. Once when the engagement was announced. And now.

Ezekiel sits behind the desk. He doesn't look up when I enter. He's reading something on his tablet. His jaw is tight.

"Sit," he says.

I stay standing.

He glances up. His eyes narrow. "I said sit."

"I heard you."

He sets the tablet down. Slowly. His hands fold on the desk. "Do you have any idea what you've cost this family?"

I don't answer.

"The Howell deal is dead," he continues. His voice is cold. Controlled. "Three hundred million dollars in partnerships. Gone. Because you couldn't keep your fiancé interested long enough to make it down the aisle."

"He left me at the altar," I say quietly. "In front of three hundred people."

"I don't care." He leans forward. "I don't care about your feelings. I care about the damage you've done to the Hamilton name. To our business. To everything I've built."

I feel something shift inside me. Something that's been holding me upright for twenty-five years. It cracks. It falls away.

"You will go to Stefan," Ezekiel says. "You will apologize. You will find out what you did wrong. And you will fix this. I don't care if you have to beg. I don't care if you have to grovel. You will get him back."

I look at him. Really look at him. I see a man who never once asked if I was all right. Who didn't walk me down the aisle because he had a conference call. Who is angrier about a lost business deal than his daughter's public humiliation.

"No," I say.

He blinks. "What?"

"No. I won't."

His face darkens. "You don't have a choice."

"I do." My voice is steady. Calm. "And I'm choosing not to."

Ezekiel stands. His chair scrapes back. "You will do as I say. You live in my house. You use my name. You owe me—"

"I owe you nothing." I pick up my bag. "If you want the Howell deal so badly, you can marry Stefan yourself."

His hand slams down on the desk. The sound cracks through the room. "If you walk out that door, you're done. No money. No support. Nothing."

I meet his eyes. "Good."

I turn. I walk to the door.

"Eloise!" His voice is sharp. Furious.

I don't look back. I open the door. I step through. I close it behind me.

The hallway is quiet. My hands are shaking. But I keep walking.

---

Stefan's office is on the forty-second floor. Glass walls. City views. Everything polished and expensive. I've been here before. Always as the fiancée. Always smiling. Always small.

Not today.

I tell the receptionist I have an appointment. I don't. But she recognizes me. Her face flushes. She picks up the phone. Murmurs something. Hangs up.

"He'll see you," she says quietly.

I take the elevator up. The doors open. Stefan's assistant is waiting. She doesn't meet my eyes. She leads me to his office. Knocks once. Opens the door.

Stefan is standing by the window. He turns when I enter. His expression is careful. Guarded. He's expecting tears. Pleading. Maybe shouting.

I sit in the chair across from his desk. I cross my legs. I set my bag down.

"Eloise," he says. His voice is soft. The tone he uses when he's trying to manage a situation. "I'm glad you came. We should talk."

"I'm not here to talk," I say.

He hesitates. Then he sits. "Okay. Then why are you here?"

I pull a folder from my bag. I set it on the desk. "I want the SoHo property. The commercial space on Spring Street. The one the Howell Group owns but isn't using. I want the deed transferred to my name."

He stares at me. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Eloise, I don't think—"

"You humiliated me in front of three hundred people," I say. My voice is calm. Even. "You chose a woman you haven't seen in years over someone who spent twenty-five years loving you. You didn't ask questions. You didn't hesitate. You just left."

His jaw tightens. "Cecelia was pregnant."

"I don't care." I lean forward slightly. "You owe me. And I'm not asking for an apology. I'm not asking you to come back. I'm asking for property. Sign it over. That's all."

He looks at the folder. Then at me. "You're serious."

"Completely."

He's silent for a long moment. Then he opens the folder. He reads the documents inside. His lawyer probably prepared them. He picks up a pen.

He signs.

He slides the folder back across the desk. "There. It's yours."

I pick it up. I tuck it into my bag. I stand.

"Eloise," he says. His voice is quieter now. Almost uncertain. "Are we... are we going to be okay?"

I look at him. This man I loved since I was seven. This man I built my entire life around.

"We were never friends, Stefan," I say. "I was just convenient."

I walk to the door. I don't wait for his response. I step into the hallway. The door closes behind me.

For the first time in twenty-five years, I feel light.