Chapter 1
Emery’s POV
Everyone thinks that marrying into the Remington family is like hitting the jackpot just by showing up. Money, power, a last name that opens every door, and of course, standing next to Landon Remington himself.
On paper, it looks like a dream. The kind that would make people jealous. But it’s not a dream, it’s a carefully packaged lie. And marrying into this family is the worst decision I’ve ever made.
The Remington Gala, like every year, was a flawless production. The ballroom looked like a magazine spread, chandeliers dripping in crystal, velvet curtains pulled back to reveal rows of elite guests laughing over top-shelf champagne.
The entire evening screamed wealth and control, every detail sharpened to perfection.
I stood beside Landon as cameras flashed nearby. He hadn’t looked at me since we got out of the car, hadn’t touched my hand or acknowledged I was even there.
After five years of marriage, I’d stopped waiting for any of that. He walked ahead, and I followed, the sharp echo of my heels trailing behind him like an afterthought. We were led to the center table, front and center for photos and attention.
That had always been the point. But no one looked at me. No one said a word. I wasn’t here to be noticed. I was here to fill the space beside him. That’s what I’d become.
Not a beloved wife, just a fixture.
Across the table, Portia Remington sat with the kind of poise only years of grooming could perfect. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun that looked like it hurt, her pearls catching the light with every slight turn of her head. My ‘perfect’ mother-in-law.
Beside her was Lily, Landon’s younger sister, too busy scrolling through her phone to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping.
Portia gave me a passing glance, then said, “Fix your posture, darling. You’re slouching again.”
Her eyes didn’t even meet mine and the words were casual, like a habit. I straightened, no hesitation. It was automatic at this point.
“Sorry,” I said quietly, because silence was easier than trying to explain that I was exhausted.
A waiter poured more champagne, and I picked up my glass, not because I wanted to drink, but because I needed something to hold. My hands were starting to shake. Then, as if she’d been waiting for an audience, Portia turned toward the couple seated at the next table.
I recognized them from magazine covers, perfect smiles, and influential connections. The kind of people Portia liked to impress.
“Landon just finalized an overseas expansion,” she said, her voice louder now, meant to carry. “He’s taking Remington Holdings into a new era. A visionary, just like his father.”
The woman leaned forward, clearly impressed. “And your daughter-in-law? She must be extraordinary, keeping pace with all that.”
Portia let out a soft laugh, the kind that sounded polite but empty.
“Oh, Emery?” She glanced in my direction for half a second, then looked away. “She’s… just his wife.”
The man beside her raised his brows. “Just? Aren’t they newlyweds?”
Before Portia could speak again, Lily added without looking up, “Five years.” Her voice was dry, like the answer bored her.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, five years,” I said, trying to keep my tone even.
The woman across the table smiled politely. “Five? You both look so young. Do you have children yet?”
I opened my mouth, hesitated for a beat too long, then said, “Not yet.”
That was all the opening Portia needed.
“Well,” she said smoothly, swirling her wine, “we’ve been waiting. But it seems silence runs in every part of her body, if you know what I mean.”
There was no sharpness in her tone, no raised voice. Just cold, effortless cruelty wrapped in a smile.
Lily laughed softly, the kind of sound you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention. She didn’t look away from her screen.
“Maybe the Foundation should invest in infertility research,” she said, casually. “We could start with our own family.”
Then she finally looked up, made full eye contact with me, and smiled like we were friends sharing an inside joke.
“Are you sure you’re a real woman, Emery?” she asked. “Or just a placeholder until the next one’s ready?”
My stomach turned, heat rising up the back of my neck. My chest tightened, but I didn’t react. I was used to this, and had learned how to survive it. But tonight, it cut deeper than usual.
Maybe because the room was full. Maybe because I had hoped, stupidly, that someone would step in. That Landon would.
I turned to him, my last hope.
He sat in a perfectly tailored tux, head down, thumbs moving rapidly across his phone. He wasn’t even listening. Or maybe he was, and he just didn’t care. I leaned closer, keeping my voice low.
“Landon. Please.” Just look at me, say something, acknowledge this. Defend me. Anything.
Without lifting his head, he replied, “Not now, Emery. I have a flight in two hours.”
He didn’t follow it with an apology, not even a blink. That was the entire response.
I stared at him, heart pounding, trying to hold myself together. I refused to let the others see me break. Not here, not like this.
Portia still smiled, as if the conversation had been nothing but pleasantries. Then she leaned toward me again, her voice calm, almost warm.
“You’ll understand one day,” she said. “Men like Landon don’t marry for love. They marry to build empires.”
Her gaze sharpened, her voice dropping just enough so only I could hear the next part. “You were just a wallflower we could afford.”
She tilted her chin toward the other end of the ballroom, where Marian Renaldi stood near the stage. Her red silk dress caught the light like a spotlight, her laughter carrying across the room like music.
Portia had been mentioning her for weeks, dropping hints like breadcrumbs.
“And now,” she added, “he’s looking for someone new.”
Lily raised her glass, her voice sweet and mocking. “To upgrades!”
A few guests nearby chuckled, their champagne glasses clinking as if someone had just made a toast worth celebrating. Flashbulbs from nearby photographers lit the moment like it was a scene from a movie.
I sat there, smiling faintly, playing the part. But deep inside, I felt like I was being buried under the weight of a life I no longer recognized.
