Twins of Fortune

Harper Donovan inhaled deeply, her trembling fingers adjusting the oversized Chanel sunglasses that concealed evidence of her sleepless night. The parking garage of Prescott Enterprises felt like the antechamber to an execution. She'd spent hours rehearsing this confrontation, yet now that the moment had arrived, her courage wavered like a flame in the wind.

"You can do this," she whispered to her reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting the plunging neckline of her silk blouse—a deliberate choice she'd made that morning, though she'd never admit it.

With her raven hair cascading down her shoulders and a designer pantsuit that clung to her curves like a second skin, Harper looked every bit the heiress to Donovan Jewels. Her emerald eyes—now hidden behind dark lenses—had once captivated everyone in any room she entered, including the man who would become her husband. The same man who now couldn't spare five consecutive minutes to look at her.

Three years ago, William Prescott had swept into her life during a winter fundraiser in Paris. He'd approached her with a glass of champagne and a smile that made her heart stutter, his hand lingering at the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd. Six months later, they exchanged vows in a ceremony that made the society pages swoon. Now, thirty-six months into what should have been their happily ever after, Harper clutched divorce papers in her Hermès handbag.

The elevator ascended to the executive floor with excruciating slowness. Each floor marked another memory Harper would need to bury—the way William's hands had explored her body with possessive urgency during their Paris honeymoon, the anniversary dinner he'd canceled for a conference call, the birthday he'd forgotten entirely, the countless nights she'd fallen asleep alone while his side of the bed remained untouched.

"Mrs. Prescott, you can't go in there!" Paige scrambled from behind her desk as Harper strode purposefully toward William's office. "He's in the middle of—"

"I don't care if he's negotiating world peace," Harper snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "My husband will see me now."

She pushed past the flustered receptionist and flung open the double doors to William's sanctuary. Four men in expensive suits turned toward her, their expressions ranging from surprise to annoyance. William stood at the head of the conference table, his presentation interrupted mid-sentence.

"Harper." Her name fell from his lips like an inconvenience. "This is highly inappropriate."

"We need to talk." The words emerged steadier than she felt, her pulse quickening as his gaze raked over her body—the same hungry look he'd given her at that Paris bar, now tempered with irritation.

"As you can see, I'm in the middle of—"

"For once in your goddamn life, William, put me before this fucking company!" Her voice cracked, betraying the emotion she'd tried to contain.

The conference room fell silent. William's jaw tightened as he excused himself with practiced politeness and guided Harper into the hallway with a firm grip on her elbow, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her elbow.

"Have you lost your mind?" he hissed once they were alone in the corridor, his breath warm against her ear. "The Nakamura Group is about to invest fifty million in our Asian expansion."

Harper yanked her arm free, the ghost of his touch burning through the thin silk of her blouse. "And I'm about to invest in my future—without you."

"What are you talking about?"

She removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes rimmed red from hours of crying. William's expression flickered briefly with something resembling concern before hardening again.

"Have you been—"

"Yes, William, I've been crying. I've been crying for months while you've been too absorbed in quarterly reports to notice your marriage disintegrating."

He checked his watch—a gesture so predictable it would have made Harper laugh if it didn't hurt so much.

"Wait for me in my private office," he said, his tone softening slightly as his thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. "Give me thirty minutes to wrap this up, and we'll discuss whatever's bothering you."

"Bothering me?" The words tasted bitter. "What's bothering me is that I've become an afterthought in your life. What's bothering me is that I can't remember the last time you looked at me the way you're looking at those investment projections."

William ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Harper, please. Thirty minutes. My private office has that view of the harbor you love."

The view she loved. As if a cityscape could compensate for the emptiness between them. But Harper nodded, knowing this battle wouldn't be won in a hallway.

The private office was a shrine to William's success—awards lined the walls, photographs captured him shaking hands with dignitaries and celebrities. Harper noticed with a pang that their wedding photo, once prominently displayed, had been relegated to a shadowy corner of a bookshelf.

She traced her finger along the leather sofa where, eighteen months ago, they'd made love during a rare lunch visit. William had pinned her wrists above her head that day, his mouth trailing fire down her throat as he whispered promises against her skin—promises of vacations, of starting a family, of prioritizing what truly mattered. Empty words that evaporated like morning dew, leaving only the memory of his hands mapping her body with desperate intensity.

One hour passed. Then two. Harper watched the sun begin its descent toward the horizon, painting the harbor in hues of amber and gold. She'd left three voicemails on William's cell phone. Each call went straight to voicemail.

The knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. Instead of William, a security guard entered.

"Mrs. Prescott? Your car is waiting downstairs."

Harper blinked in confusion. "Where's my husband?"

"Mr. Prescott left about forty minutes ago, ma'am. He asked me to ensure you got home safely."

The realization hit her like a physical blow. He'd left. Again. Without a word, without a thought for her feelings or her time.

"Did he say where he was going?" Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"No, ma'am. Just that you should be escorted to your vehicle."

The drive home passed in a blur of streetlights and silent tears. Harper's resolve hardened with each mile. By the time she reached their modernist mansion overlooking the bay, her sadness had crystallized into determination.

She found William in his home office, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal the corded forearms she'd once traced with her tongue. A half-empty tumbler of scotch sat beside him.

"You left me there." Harper stood in the doorway, her body rigid with anger.

William looked up, genuine surprise crossing his features. "Harper, I—"

"Don't." She raised her hand to silence him, the diamond on her finger catching the light. "Don't tell me you forgot. Don't tell me you got caught up in something important. Don't tell me anything except that you'll sign these."

She withdrew the divorce papers from her bag and placed them on his desk with trembling fingers.

"What is this?" He flipped through the first few pages, his expression darkening.

"It's freedom. For both of us." Harper's voice was steady now. "Freedom from pretending we still have a marriage worth saving."

William stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "You're being ridiculous. One miscommunication and you're filing for divorce?"

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "One miscommunication? William, our entire marriage has become one long miscommunication. When was the last time you asked me about my day? When was the last time we had dinner together without your phone buzzing every five minutes? When was the last time you looked at me—really looked at me—and saw your wife instead of an obligation?"

"I've been building something for us!" His voice rose, echoing in the spacious office. "Everything I do, I do for our future."

"There is no 'our future' if there's no 'our present,'" Harper whispered. "I can't compete with Prescott Enterprises for your attention anymore. I'm tired of trying."

William's expression softened, and for a moment, Harper glimpsed the man she'd fallen in love with—vulnerable, present, real. He reached for her hand, his calloused palm sliding against hers in a way that made her breath catch despite herself.

"Harper, we can fix this. I'll make more time. I'll—"

"No." She stepped back, beyond his reach. "I've heard those promises before. I don't believe them anymore."

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"I do love you, you know."

Harper paused in the doorway, not turning around. "I know you think you do. But love isn't something you schedule between meetings, William. It's not something you can delegate or postpone."

She left him standing there, the divorce papers untouched on his desk, a man who had everything and was about to lose the one thing money couldn't replace.