“Pick one, son. Any of them,” Mr. Harrington’s deep voice carried across the glittering ballroom. Crystal chandeliers reflected in his champagne glass as he gestured toward a row of poised young women—each stunning in designer gowns, each trained to smile just enough to look inviting but not desperate.
Alexander Harrington, heir to the Harrington empire, scanned the line. The women—models from the city’s most exclusive agency—stood in elegance: emerald silk, sapphire satin, crimson chiffon. His father’s instruction was clear: select one as his future wife. This was not about love; it was about an image. The Harrington name needed a perfect public match.
But Alexander’s gaze drifted away from the carefully chosen models… to a woman standing awkwardly near the staircase, wearing a crisp black-and-white maid’s uniform.
Elena.
Her presence among the glittering elite was an accident of duty—she was assigned to serve drinks tonight. She clutched a silver tray, her dark eyes fixed on the floor, pretending not to notice the stares. The contrast between her plain apron and the jeweled gowns was almost comical… but Alexander’s heart quickened.
He ignored the model in the emerald dress who batted her lashes. He didn’t glance twice at the blonde in sapphire satin who subtly adjusted her neckline. Instead, he walked—slow, deliberate steps—toward the maid.
The room seemed to freeze.
“Elena,” he said, his voice calm but certain. “Come here.”
She hesitated. “Sir, I—”
“I’m asking you,” he interrupted, his hand extended. She placed her gloved fingers in his, her brow furrowing in confusion.
A ripple of shocked whispers passed through the crowd. His father’s face hardened. “Alexander, this isn’t a joke.”
“It’s not a joke, Father.” Alexander turned to the models. “They’re beautiful, but they’re not her.”
“You’re telling me,” Mr. Harrington’s tone sharpened, “that out of the city’s most sought-after women, you’re choosing… the maid?”
“Yes,” Alexander said simply.
The air was heavy with disbelief. One of the models scoffed under her breath; another exchanged a knowing smirk with her neighbor. The old man at the staircase descended slowly, each step echoing. He stopped beside them, studying Elena with a calculating gaze.
“Do you know what this means, girl?” the elder Harrington asked.
Elena swallowed. “It means I’ll be fired.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “No. It means you’ll be my fiancée.”
Gasps erupted. The champagne glasses in some hands trembled; others were set down with an audible clink. His father’s expression darkened to a storm.
“Enough,” Mr. Harrington said, his voice low but dangerous. “You think you’re proving a point, but you’re gambling with the family’s reputation.”
Alexander met his father’s eyes without flinching. “Maybe it’s time our reputation stood for something real.”
The tension was almost unbearable. Elena glanced between them, clearly torn between fear and disbelief. She had been working for the Harringtons for less than a year, never exchanging more than polite words with Alexander beyond the occasional “good morning” or “thank you.” She had no idea why he was doing this, or what it would mean for her life.
But before she could speak, Mr. Harrington turned to the guests. “Enjoy the evening,” he said sharply, forcing a smile. “The Harrington family will make an announcement soon.”
He stalked away, his cane striking the marble with authority.
Alexander still held Elena’s hand. “You don’t have to say yes right now,” he murmured, “but please—just… don’t walk away.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Why me?”
“Because,” he said, his eyes locked on hers, “you’re the only one here who isn’t pretending.”
She didn’t answer, but the tremor in her breath told him everything.
Somewhere behind them, the models dispersed with quiet resentment, and the music resumed. But the night’s real drama had only begun.
Elena’s fingers trembled as she placed the divorce papers back on the table. The ink on her husband’s signature seemed to mock her—so neat, so certain, as if he had already pictured a life without her.
She smiled. Not the kind of smile born of amusement, but the sharp, knowing kind that made Daniel shift uneasily in his seat.
“So… you want to end it?” she asked softly, running a manicured finger along the edge of the papers. “Perfect. I was wondering when you’d grow the courage.”
Daniel frowned. “You think this is some kind of game? I’m serious, Elena. I want this over. I’m done pretending we’re—”
“—a happy couple?” she interrupted, her tone velvet but her eyes cold. “Oh, darling, you stopped pretending months ago. The perfume on your shirts was the first clue. The second? The sudden late-night ‘work meetings.’ And then, of course, the transfer of fifty thousand dollars to your assistant’s account. Very subtle.”
His jaw tightened. “You’ve been spying on me?”
“No,” Elena said, standing. “I’ve been preparing.”
She reached for the envelope she had kept hidden in her desk drawer for weeks. Inside were her cards—cards she had patiently held close to her chest. She tossed a handful of glossy photos onto the table. Each image showed Daniel with a woman who was most certainly not his wife. Different places, different nights… but the same smug expression on his face.
Daniel paled. “Where did you—”
“Private investigator,” she said casually, as if talking about grocery shopping. “Oh, and these—” She pulled out a stack of documents. “These are records of every bank transfer you’ve made to her, along with the dates you claimed to be on business trips. It’s amazing what one can find when one actually pays attention.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
“Elena, I—”
She held up a hand. “Save it. I’m not interested in your excuses. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to sign these papers—” she tapped the divorce documents—“but not before you agree to my terms.”
His eyes narrowed. “What terms?”
“Oh, nothing unreasonable,” she said sweetly. “You’ll sign over the lake house to me, as well as the apartment downtown. And you’ll continue paying for our daughter’s schooling, without delay or complaint. In return…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “In return, I won’t send copies of these photos to your boss, the company board, or… your mother.”
Daniel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Her smile widened. “You see, the difference between us, Daniel, is that you play recklessly… but I play to win.”
They stared at each other, a silent battle of wills crackling in the air. Finally, Daniel slumped back into his chair. “Fine,” he muttered. “You’ll get what you want.”
“Good,” she said, gathering the papers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner reservation. With someone who actually knows how to keep promises.”
Daniel’s eyes shot up, surprise flashing in them. “You’re seeing someone?”
She paused at the door, glancing back at him with a glint in her eyes. “Not yet,” she said. “But I will.”
As she stepped out into the crisp night air, Elena felt lighter than she had in months. The city lights seemed brighter, the air sweeter. She had thought that ending her marriage would be the most painful thing she’d ever do—but instead, it felt like stepping out of a cage.
She didn’t know exactly what the future held, but she knew one thing for certain: she was no longer playing Daniel’s game. From now on, she was writing her own rules.
And she had every intention of winning.