Chapter 2 - THE MAN SHE PRETENDED TO MARRY
For several seconds after Brandon said the words, nobody moved.
“Her family owns Shepherd Enterprises.”
Charlotte stared at him.
Then at me.
Then back at him.
Her expression wasn't anger yet.
It was confusion.
The kind of confusion that comes when someone has just discovered that the story they've been telling is standing directly in front of them.
Justin was the first to speak.
“You mean… Abigail Shepherd?”
Brandon looked at him.
“Yes.”
Justin swallowed.
“But she doesn't—”
He stopped.
I almost smiled.
He had been about to say, She doesn't look like an owner.
Instead, he glanced at my plain dress and canvas bag.
I saved him the embarrassment.
“I don't usually announce it at reunions.”
Charlotte finally found her voice.
“Brandon.”
He turned toward her.
“What?”
“You never told me she was your employer.”
Brandon looked genuinely surprised.
“I thought you knew.”
Charlotte's face tightened.
“Why would I know that?”
“Because you know where I work.”
“I know you work in transportation.”
“Yes.”
“For some company.”
“Yes.”
She stared at him.
“You never said her family owned it.”
Brandon shrugged.
“You never asked.”
That answer landed harder than anything I could have said.
Samantha lowered her glass.
I could see the question in her eyes.
How long has this been going on?
I didn't know.
And suddenly, I wasn't sure Brandon was the only person whose story didn't make sense.
Charlotte turned toward me.
“You knew?”
“I knew Brandon worked for my family.”
“You knew he was my husband.”
“Yes.”
“And you never said anything?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“When exactly was I supposed to bring that up?”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Justin tried to rescue the conversation.
“So… you're the owner?”
“I'm part of the family business.”
“How big is it?”
“Big enough to keep me busy.”
That answer made him uncomfortable.
Apparently, he wanted numbers.
Revenue.
Assets.
Something he could use to rearrange his mental seating chart.
I didn't give him one.
Charlotte suddenly laughed.
It sounded forced.
“This is ridiculous.”
She looked around the table.
“Everyone is making this into something it isn't.”
Samantha leaned back.
“Charlotte, you just spent twenty minutes telling us your husband was a major real estate developer.”
“He is involved in real estate.”
Brandon frowned.
“No, I'm not.”
Charlotte turned sharply.
“What?”
“I drive.”
“You do more than drive.”
“I coordinate transportation.”
“For executives.”
“Yes.”
“And business clients.”
“Sometimes.”
She stared at him.
Then at me.
“So all those meetings…”
Brandon's face changed.
“What meetings?”
The question silenced her.
I watched her carefully.
This wasn't simply embarrassment anymore.
She looked frightened.
And that mattered.
Because embarrassment made people defensive.
Fear made people careless.
Charlotte stood abruptly.
“I need some air.”
She walked toward the terrace.
Brandon watched her go.
Then looked at me.
“Ms. Shepherd, I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn't realize.”
“Neither did I.”
He lowered his voice.
“She's been telling people things.”
“I noticed.”
“I didn't know she was saying I owned property.”
“You told her you didn't?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Many times.”
That changed the picture.
I looked through the glass doors.
Charlotte stood alone outside.
Her shoulders were tense.
“Brandon.”
“Yes?”
“How long have you been married?”
“Four years.”
“Did she ever meet your employer before tonight?”
“Yes.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“About two years ago.”
He hesitated.
“At a company holiday event.”
I remembered that.
My parents hosted hundreds of employees every December.
Spouses were invited.
Charlotte had apparently attended.
Which meant she had seen my father.
My mother.
The property.
The company.
Possibly even me.
Yet tonight she had behaved as if none of us existed.
That wasn't ignorance.
That was deliberate.
I stood.
Samantha caught my wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“To ask a question.”
I walked toward the terrace.
Charlotte heard the door open.
She turned.
“You shouldn't have embarrassed me.”
I stopped.
“I didn't.”
“You let him expose me.”
“I didn't tell him what to say.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew exactly what people would think.”
I looked at her.
“Charlotte, you spent the entire evening telling everyone your husband was a millionaire businessman.”
She folded her arms.
“He is successful.”
“Brandon drives your car.”
“He works around wealthy people.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked away.
For the first time all night, the confidence disappeared.
“My family thinks I'm a failure.”
I said nothing.
“My father never thought I was good enough. My sisters married doctors and lawyers. Everyone expects me to have a perfect life.”
Her voice became quieter.
“Brandon was kind to me.”
I hadn't expected that.
She continued.
“He never cared that I didn't have much.”
“Then why lie?”
She looked at me.
“Because being married to a chauffeur didn't feel impressive.”
There it was.
Not evil.
Not even particularly complicated.
Just shame.
And the desperate hunger to be admired.
But something still didn't fit.
“You said Brandon owned the house.”
She looked down.
“He let me use the address.”
“What?”
“Our rental was small. He worked for your parents. He sometimes stayed at the guest property.”
I stared at her.
“That wasn't your house.”
“No.”
“And you knew it wasn't.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you told everyone it was yours.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I wanted people to stop looking down on me.”
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Then she said something that changed everything.
“I thought your family would never notice.”
I went still.
“What did you just say?”
Charlotte realized her mistake.
She wiped her eyes.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You said you thought my family would never notice.”
She looked away.
“What did you mean?”
“Forget it.”
“Charlotte.”
She shook her head.
“I shouldn't have said anything.”
Before I could press her, Brandon appeared behind me.
“Charlotte, we need to go.”
She turned.
“Not yet.”
“I've been getting messages from the house.”
My stomach tightened.
“What messages?”
Brandon looked at me.
“Your mother asked where I was.”
“Why?”
He pulled out his phone.
“She said someone had been asking questions about the company.”
My expression changed.
“Who?”
“She didn't know.”
I reached for the phone.
Brandon handed it to me.
The message from my mother was short.
Abby, when you see Brandon, tell him not to discuss anything about the property with anyone. Your father found something strange in the old files.
I looked up.
“What property?”
Brandon shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Samantha had followed us outside.
She read my expression.
“What happened?”
I showed her the message.
Her face tightened.
“Maybe it's unrelated.”
“Maybe.”
But I didn't believe it.
Twenty years of knowing my parents had taught me one thing.
They didn't use the word strange casually.
I turned toward Charlotte.
“Did you ask Brandon about my family's property?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask you to?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
“Charlotte.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“I didn't ask what you did.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I was asked questions.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“He said he represented investors.”
“Who?”
“I never met him directly.”
Brandon stepped forward.
“What man?”
Charlotte looked at him.
“I thought it was business.”
“What business?”
“I don't know.”
I watched her carefully.
She wasn't acting now.
She was genuinely afraid.
Then she reached into her handbag.
Her fingers trembled.
She pulled out a small photograph.
It was old.
Bent at the corners.
A photograph of my parents standing beside the entrance of our original workshop.
And beside them stood a much younger Brandon.
On the back, written in blue ink, were six words.
Ask Abigail about the red ledger.
My heart stopped.
I knew that photograph.
It had disappeared from my father's desk eleven years ago.
I looked at Charlotte.
“Where did you get this?”
She whispered,
“He gave it to me.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the ballroom.
“I don't know his name.”
Then Brandon suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Ms. Shepherd.”
I turned.
He was staring at the photograph.
His face had gone pale.
“I've seen that man.”
“Which man?”
“The one who gave it to her.”
Brandon pointed toward the hotel entrance.
“He was here tonight.”
I turned.
The ballroom was still crowded.
People were laughing nervously.
Waiters were clearing plates.
Guests were pretending they hadn't been listening.
But near the entrance stood a man in a gray suit.
He was watching us.
And the moment our eyes met, he turned and walked away.
Brandon's voice dropped.
“That man has been asking about your family for months.”
I stared at the photograph in my hand.
Then at the closing doors.
The man disappeared into the hallway.
And for the first time that night, I understood something terrifying.
Charlotte's lie might not have started with Charlotte.
Someone had used her.
May you like
And whoever it was already knew exactly who I was.
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