Love Was Never Enough

My husband of seven years was planning to replace me. He wanted to establish his mistress as the new matriarch of the Vaughn family.

He lied to the media, claiming our marriage was long dead, and I'd overheard him on the phone with his lover, complaining about my supposed coldness.

Passing his study, I caught her voice through the crack in the door. In that sickeningly sweet tone, Tiffany asked if he'd make love to her every night once she moved in.

Alberto chuckled, a low purr that was equal parts desire and disdain. "Is that an invitation, baby? As for Clara... she'd be lost without the Vaughn name. Poor thing. I told her the passion between us just faded, and she actually bought it." His voice dropped, laced with cruel satisfaction. "Even if she found out the truth, she’d just stand there and take it, always the perfect, dignified statue. After all, you’re the only one who can still light a fire in me."

I didn't push the door open.

Instead, I simply turned and walked away.

Let them think their plan was flawless.

The "surprise" this "poor woman" had in store for them was just around the corner.

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1

My husband, Alberto, had lied to the press, claiming our marriage had ended due to a "natural drifting apart."

"My marriage to Clara is in trouble," Alberto announced to the directors in the top-floor conference room of the Vaughn Group headquarters.

Chief Operating Officer Marcus Thorne frowned. "Alberto, what exactly do you mean?"

"My feelings for Clara are gone," Alberto said, his words deliberate and cold. "Instead, I've found a genuine connection with Tiffany."

I schooled my features into a placid mask, as if I were hearing a story about a stranger.

Tiffany gripped Alberto's hand, her eyes welling with tears. "We never meant for this to happen. You can't control who you love. We couldn't fight it."

"So," Alberto took a deep breath, "as of today, Tiffany will be taking over the Vaughn Charitable Foundation. Clara, I'll need you to facilitate the handover of the foundation's management to her."

The room fell into a tense silence.

I rose slowly from my seat and strode over to the framed photos of the foundation's founders lining the wall. The gleaming silver nameplates were a testament to the Vaughn family's legacy.

"Clara..." Aunt Eleanor, a board member, began.

I gave her a subtle shake of my head, silencing her.

I picked up the authorization documents from the conference table, walked over to Tiffany, and set them down in front of her.

"This is the symbol of the foundation. It's yours now."

Tiffany’s hand shot out, but my next words stopped her cold.

"Actually, there are a few things we need to clarify first."

Tiffany sat up straighter. "Now that you're no longer the matriarch, I'll need all the foundation's member files, and the contact list you've built over the years."

I glanced at Alberto, who gave a slight nod. "She's right. Tiffany will need that information to properly fulfill her duties as the foundation's chairwoman."

I sneered inwardly.

Typical Alberto.

Whenever someone else's needs clashed with mine, I was always the one expected to compromise.

Three years ago, I gave up a place at Sotheby's Institute of Art to free up funds for the group’s PR department. Alberto praised me for "seeing the bigger picture."

Two years ago, I worked for three straight days and nights, leveraging my entire network to placate investors after a scandal, only to collapse from sheer exhaustion. Alberto said it was simply a matriarch's "duty."

And just last year, when I’d wanted to buy a pair of Cartier wedding bands for our anniversary, Alberto had lectured me, "This isn't the time for extravagant spending."

But now, he could buy Tiffany a limited-edition Bentley.