The ink on the Non-Disclosure Agreement was black, permanent, and final.
Elena capped the Montblanc pen and slid it across the mahogany conference table. The sound of the plastic hitting the wood echoed in the silent office of Sterling, Vance & Associates on the 45th floor of a Hudson Yards skyscraper.
“Is that it?” Elena asked. Her voice was steady, though her hands were trembling beneath the table.
Julian Sterling, the man sitting opposite her, didn’t look up from his iPad. He was scrolling through emails, his jaw set in that familiar, sharp line that graced the cover of Forbes and GQ.
“That’s it,” Julian said, his tone indifferent. “The wire transfer has been initiated. Two million dollars, tax-free, as stipulated in Clause 7B. It should hit your account within the hour.”
“Thank you,” Elena whispered.
Julian finally looked up. His eyes, usually a piercing grey, looked tired. For a split second, Elena thought she saw something flicker there—regret? Longing? But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the steel shutter of the ruthless CEO who had just closed a merger.
“You have 24 hours to vacate the penthouse,” Julian said. “Leave the keys with the doorman. Keep the jewelry. Consider it a severance bonus.”
“I don’t want the jewelry,” Elena said, standing up. She smoothed the skirt of her simple dress—not the Gucci she had worn for the last year, but the Target dress she had owned before she became “Mrs. Sterling.”
“Take it,” Julian snapped. “I have no use for diamond chokers, Elena. And I don’t want them in the house reminding me of… this arrangement.”
This arrangement.
That’s all it was to him. A business deal. Twelve months ago, Julian needed a wife to satisfy the “family stability” clause in his grandfather’s trust so he could inherit the controlling stake of Sterling Real Estate. Elena needed money—an impossible amount of money—to pay for her mother’s experimental cancer treatment at Sloan Kettering.
They signed a contract. She played the part of the doting wife at galas. She smiled for the paparazzi. She warmed his bed on the cold nights when the loneliness of the penthouse got to him, though that part wasn’t in the contract. That part was a mistake.
“Goodbye, Julian,” Elena said.
He didn’t answer. He went back to his iPad.
Elena walked out of the office, past the secretary who refused to make eye contact, and into the elevator. As the doors closed, she let the first tear fall.
The penthouse on 57th Street was quiet. It was a museum of wealth—white marble floors, abstract art that cost more than a house, and a view of Central Park that was currently obscured by rain.
Elena moved quickly. She had already packed her two suitcases. She stripped the bed—the bed they had shared—and remade it with fresh linens. She wanted to leave no trace.
She walked into the master bathroom to clear out her toiletries.
The bathroom was a mess.
Elena frowned. She had left it spotless this morning. But now, there were towels on the floor. A lipstick stain on the rim of a glass that wasn’t hers. The smell of expensive, cloying perfume—Chanel No. 5—hung in the air.
She realized what had happened.
Vanessa.
Vanessa Vanderbuilt was Julian’s ex-girlfriend, a socialite who fit his world perfectly. She had been hovering like a vulture for the last month, knowing the contract was ending.
While Elena was at the lawyer’s office signing the divorce papers, Julian must have let Vanessa in. Or maybe she had a key already.
Elena felt a wave of nausea. She wasn’t just a contract wife to him; she was a placeholder. He hadn’t even waited for her to move out before inviting the replacement in.
She grabbed her toothbrush and face cream, throwing them into her bag. She opened the trash can to toss a tissue.
She froze.
Sitting on top of the pile of tissues was a small, white stick.
A pregnancy test.
Elena reached in and picked it up with a piece of tissue. It was fresh. Two pink lines. Positive.
Elena stared at it. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
It wasn’t hers. She hadn’t slept with Julian in three weeks, ever since the arguments started. And she was on the pill.
It was Vanessa’s.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Vanessa had been here. Vanessa took a test. Vanessa left it right on top of the trash, knowing Elena would see it. It was a territorial mark. A message: He’s mine now. And we’re starting a real family.
Elena felt the tears prick her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of anger.
She placed the pregnancy test on the black marble vanity counter. Right next to Julian’s razor.
She pulled a piece of stationary from the drawer—From the Desk of Mrs. Elena Sterling—and wrote three words.
Congratulations. You win.
She placed the note next to the test.
She zipped her suitcase, left her diamond engagement ring on the nightstand, and walked out of the penthouse without looking back.
Six hours later.
The rain had turned into a thunderstorm. Julian entered the penthouse, shaking his umbrella. He was exhausted. The meeting had dragged on. The divorce was done. He had the company. He had the money.
So why did the apartment feel so empty?
“Elena?” he called out, out of habit.
Silence answered him.
He walked into the bedroom. The bed was made perfectly. The closet door was open, revealing empty hangers where her clothes used to be. The diamond ring sat on the nightstand, glittering coldly under the lamp.
She was really gone.
Julian felt a tightness in his chest. He loosened his tie. He told himself this was what he wanted. No more charade. No more pretending to care about a waitress from Queens. He could go back to his life. Vanessa had texted him ten times today, asking to celebrate.
He walked into the bathroom to wash his face.
He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his skin. He reached for a towel.
Then he saw it.
The white stick on the black marble. The note.
Julian froze. He picked up the stick. Two lines. Positive.
He read the note. Congratulations. You win.
His brain short-circuited.
Elena was pregnant?
He thought back to the last month. She had been tired. She had been emotional. She had refused wine at the charity gala last week.
“Oh my god,” Julian whispered.
She was pregnant with his child. And she had just left.
Panic, primal and terrifying, surged through him. He didn’t care about the contract. He didn’t care about the company. He had a son or daughter out there. And the mother—the woman he had spent a year trying desperately not to fall in love with—was walking away thinking he didn’t care.
“You win,” the note said.
She thought he had forced her out knowing she was pregnant? She thought he was a monster?
He grabbed his phone. He dialed her number. Straight to voicemail.
He tracked her phone. Location Services Disabled.
“Damn it!” Julian roared, throwing the phone onto the bed.
He ran to the elevator. He needed to find her. He knew where she would go. There was only one place that mattered to her.
Mount Sinai Hospital, Oncology Ward.
Elena sat in the plastic chair next to her mother’s bed. Her mom was asleep, the rhythmic beep of the monitor the only sound in the room.
“I did it, Mom,” Elena whispered, holding her mother’s frail hand. “The money is in the account. You can get the surgery. You’re going to be okay.”
She didn’t mention the divorce. She didn’t mention the heartbreak. She didn’t mention the man whose name she still carried on her ID.
The door to the hospital room banged open.
Elena jumped.
Julian stood in the doorway. He was soaked to the bone. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his suit ruined. He was breathing hard, as if he had run the forty blocks from his apartment.
“Julian?” Elena stood up, instinctively blocking her mother from the noise. “What are you doing here?”
Julian walked into the room, his eyes wild. He grabbed Elena by the shoulders.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. His voice was loud, shaking.
“Shh!” Elena hissed, pushing him back. “My mother is sleeping! Tell you what?”
“The test!” Julian shouted, pulling the plastic stick out of his pocket. “This! You were going to just leave? You were going to hide my child from me?”
Elena stared at the stick in his hand. Then she stared at his face. He looked… devastated. Terrified.
“You think…” Elena started, confusion knitting her brow. “You think that’s mine?”
“I found it in our bathroom!” Julian said, lowering his voice but keeping the intensity. “With a note saying ‘You win’! What else am I supposed to think? Elena, look at me. I don’t care about the contract. If you’re pregnant… that changes everything. We rip up the papers. You come home.”
Elena laughed.
It was a dry, humorless sound that stopped Julian cold.
“Come home?” Elena repeated. “To what? To a contract extension?”
“To a family!” Julian pleaded. “I know I’ve been cold. I know I messed up. But a baby… I want this, Elena. I want us.”
Elena looked at him. She saw the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, her heart ached. This was what she had wanted to hear for six months. She wanted him to fight for her.
But then she looked at the pregnancy test. The test that reeked of Vanessa’s perfume.
“Julian,” Elena said softly. “When was the last time I was in the penthouse bathroom before I left?”
“I don’t know,” Julian stammered. “This morning?”
“And when was the last time Vanessa was there?”
Julian froze. His face went pale.
“Vanessa?” he whispered.
“I came home early yesterday,” Elena said, her voice flat. “I heard voices. I didn’t come in. I stayed in the guest room. I know she was there, Julian. I smelled her perfume in the bathroom today. Chanel No. 5.”
Julian stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. The pregnancy test felt like lead in his palm.
“Vanessa came over to drop off some files,” Julian said, his voice sounding hollow. “She used the bathroom. Nothing happened, Elena. I swear.”
“It doesn’t matter if anything happened,” Elena said. “That test isn’t mine. It’s hers.”
Julian looked at the stick. He looked at the two pink lines.
“No,” he whispered. “She can’t be… we haven’t been together in months. Unless…”
Unless she was trapping him. Unless she had planted it. Or unless she was pregnant by someone else and leaving it there to cause exactly this kind of chaos.
“It’s not mine, Julian,” Elena said firmly. “I’m not pregnant. There is no baby binding us together. The contract is over.”
Julian looked at Elena.
He realized, with a sinking horror, that he was relieved it wasn’t Vanessa’s baby, but he was shattered that it wasn’t Elena’s.
He had run here in the rain, ready to promise her the world, ready to be a father, ready to be a husband for real. And now, the catalyst for that realization—the baby—was gone.
“Elena,” Julian said, his voice breaking. “Even if there is no baby… come back.”
Elena looked at him. She looked at the man who had bought her time with her mother, but who had also made her feel like a commodity for a year.
“Why?” Elena asked.
“Because…” Julian struggled. He wasn’t used to this. He dealt in equity and assets, not feelings. “Because the apartment is empty without you. Because I don’t want to wake up alone.”
“That’s not enough,” Elena said. “You want me because you’re lonely, Julian. Or because you’re jealous. Or because you want to win.”
She stepped back, reaching for her mother’s hand again.
“I signed a contract to be your wife for a year. I fulfilled my obligations. You fulfilled yours. You bought my mother’s life. I gave you your company.”
“Is that all it was?” Julian asked. “Just a transaction?”
Elena looked him in the eye.
“For you, it was,” she lied. It had been everything to her. But she couldn’t stay with a man who only ran after her because he thought she had stolen his heir. A man who let his ex-girlfriend roam their house.
“Go to Vanessa,” Elena said. “If that test is real, she’s going to need you. And if it’s a trick… well, she’s the perfect match for you, isn’t she? She plays the game.”
“I don’t want her,” Julian said. “I want you.”
“You had me,” Elena said softly. “For 365 days. You didn’t look at me once.”
She pointed to the door. “Please leave. My mother needs rest.”
Julian stood there for a long moment. He looked at the woman in the cheap dress, the woman who had more dignity in her little finger than his entire social circle combined.
He realized then that he had been poor his whole life, and he had just let the only valuable thing he ever owned walk out the door.
He turned and walked out of the hospital room.
Epilogue: Three Months Later
The headline on the New York Post lay on the coffee table in the penthouse.
REAL ESTATE TYCOON SUED BY SOCIALITE: FAKE PREGNANCY SCANDAL ROCKS STERLING EMPIRE.
Julian didn’t read it. He knew the story. Vanessa had faked the test. She had admitted it in a drunken rage when he refused to marry her. She wanted to stake her claim before Elena could.
It was all a game.
Julian stood on the balcony, looking out at the city. It was winter now. The park was covered in snow.
He brought his hand to his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was the diamond ring Elena had left behind.
He hadn’t dated since she left. He worked. He went home. He sat in the silence.
His phone buzzed. It was his private investigator.
Subject found. Working at an art gallery in SoHo. Mother is in remission.
Julian looked at the message.
He could go there. He could buy the gallery. He could offer her a new contract—one with no expiration date.
But then he remembered her eyes in the hospital room. You had me for 365 days. You didn’t look at me once.
She was right.
He put the phone away. He closed the velvet box.
Some contracts couldn’t be renegotiated. Some debts couldn’t be paid.
Julian Blackwood, the man who owned half of Manhattan, went back inside his empty glass castle, understanding finally that the price of winning was having no one to share the victory with.
