Ficorpio
Chapter 1
After my husband proposed to me in the Maldives, I casually posted one of the proposal photos on social media.
I never expected Vanessa Prescott, the new hire in our office group chat, to tag me publicly almost the second it went up.
“Isn’t that the photo of my husband proposing to me? Why are you stealing my picture?”
I froze.
Since when had my husband become hers?
Before I could reply, Vanessa dropped a photo into the group chat.
Just like mine, it showed only a diamond ring and a hand.
But the ring was exactly the same style as mine. Even the mole on my husband’s index finger appeared in the exact same place.
“Miss Bennett, you can steal a picture, but you can’t steal my life. I suggest you know when to stop.”
Without thinking too hard about it, I pulled my husband into the group chat.
“Honey,” I typed, “which one of us is the mistress?”
Then I stared at the diamond-ring photo Vanessa had sent, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong.
My husband had clearly told me the ring was privately commissioned. A one-of-a-kind diamond ring, designed to commemorate the seven years we’d spent together.
So why did Vanessa’s picture match mine down to the smallest detail of his hand?
Were we sharing the same husband?
I opened Vanessa’s social media profile and scrolled through her photos. Every man in them was either turned away from the camera or shown only in profile. Not a single clear shot of his face.
“Vanessa Prescott,” I replied in the group chat, “if you’re saying he’s your husband, why don’t you post a front-facing photo of the two of you and let everyone see?”
Vanessa responded almost immediately.
“Ha. Do you have any idea who my husband is? As if he’d let people take pictures of him whenever they wanted.”
Then she added, “Besides, what proof do you have that he isn’t my husband?”
I was just about to open my album and send a picture of me with my husband when a message from Claire Weston in HR made my fingers pause.
“Vanessa’s husband’s last name is Sterling, right? Mysterious, rich… Could he be that CEO Sterling who made the billionaire list before he turned thirty?”
She had barely finished when Vanessa jumped in.
“What’s wrong, Amelia Bennett? Don’t tell me you’re going to say your husband’s last name is Sterling too.”
I didn’t answer.
“Why act so mysterious?” Linda Carter from finance chimed in, already flattering Vanessa. “Everyone knows how extraordinary CEO Sterling is. No wonder someone would want to pretend to be Mrs. Sterling.”
The group chat erupted into speculation.
Chapter 2
Then Vanessa sent another message.
“Since Miss Bennett wants to see a photo so badly, fine. I’ll post one. Otherwise, someone might accuse me of lying.”
I stared hard at my phone screen.
A moment later, a photo appeared in the chat.
It showed the back of a man in a tailored suit, his arm around Vanessa’s shoulders.
His face wasn’t visible, but the shape of him—the height, the shoulders, the outline—really did look like him.
“This was taken at the proposal in the Maldives,” Vanessa wrote.
“My husband hates being photographed. I had to beg him just to get this one.”
The group chat exploded.
“With that build, it has to be CEO Sterling!”
“Vanessa wasn’t lying after all!”
“No wonder she’s always driving limited-edition sports cars.”
I set down my phone, walked out onto the balcony, and took a deep breath.
Impossible.
He had only just proposed to me. How could he have gone out and put a ring on someone else’s finger too?
But that figure in the photo…
I opened my own photo album and found the pictures from the beach. The carefully arranged proposal site. The moment he knelt on one knee. His long, elegant fingers.
So why did Vanessa have an identical photo?
Why did that man’s back look so much like him?
“Miss Bennett,” Vanessa wrote, “now that you’ve seen the photo, do you have anything else to say?”
When I didn’t respond, she sent a smiling emoji.
“I understand. Maybe Miss Bennett was just confused for a moment. But something like this can be a small matter—or a very serious one.”
“If my husband hears about it, I’m afraid you may not even be able to keep your job.”
I watched the mockery pile up in the group chat, my fingers trembling with anger.
Then, all at once, an idea came to me.
I typed into the chat, “Miss Prescott, since you’re saying you’re Mrs. Sterling, why don’t we invite our respective Mr. Sterlings and hold a rather special wedding?”
The group went silent for several seconds.
Then it blew up.
Vanessa replied quickly. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve both been proposed to, haven’t we?” I wrote calmly.
“You’re awfully bold.” Her tone, even through text, dripped with sarcasm.
I kept typing. “What’s wrong? Afraid?”
“Ha. Who said I was afraid?” Vanessa shot back.
“But are you sure you want to humiliate yourself like this?”
“As long as you dare to show up, it’s settled. You choose the time and place.”
After sending that, I silenced my phone and tossed it onto the nightstand.
I stopped paying attention to the flood of messages shaking the chat.
The atmosphere at the office the next morning was strange the second I walked in.
Chapter 3
When I went to the break room, my coworkers didn’t even bother lowering their voices.
“This is going to be good.”
“Amelia Bennett is digging her own grave.”
“Vanessa is obviously the real Mrs. Sterling. Why would Amelia set herself up to be humiliated?”
As I poured water, Claire came over.
“Amelia, have you lost your mind? What good does it do you to offend Vanessa?”
I smiled. “What’s so bad about it?”
“You…” Claire hesitated, then sighed. “Forget it. Do what you want.”
Back at my desk, my phone was still open to the message thread where my husband had been apologizing.
After what happened the night before, I had, without question, taken my anger out on him.
He had no idea what was going on. All he could do was apologize while moving his blankets out to the living room.
At noon, Vanessa came to my desk with a crowd of people behind her.
“The wedding will be tomorrow,” she announced. “At the Kempinski Hotel.”
She smoothed her skirt with practiced elegance.
I raised an eyebrow. “That soon?”
“What’s wrong?” Vanessa sneered. “Haven’t found an actor to play your husband yet?”
I kept typing, not even lifting my head. “Then it’s settled.”
Vanessa stepped closer, planted both hands on the edge of my desk, and looked down at me with sharp, triumphant eyes.
“When the time comes, we’ll see who the real Mrs. Sterling is.”
Only then did I look up and meet her smug gaze.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll be sure to keep my eyes wide open.”
Preparations for the wedding at the Kempinski Hotel moved at a fever pitch.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched workers hurry in and out, decorating two banquet halls.
Hall A glittered with gold and extravagance, every corner designed to scream luxury.
Hall B was simple and grand, understated without losing an ounce of class.
Vanessa chose Hall A.
I chose Hall B.
“Amelia, look at Vanessa’s setup,” Maggie Hayes said, walking over with a cup of coffee and meaning in every word. “She spent more than a million on flowers alone.”
Her gaze drifted toward my side of the venue.
“As for yours… don’t tell me you couldn’t afford a wedding planner.”
Before I could answer, Vanessa arrived with a group of people trailing after her.
“These roses were flown in from Holland,” she said, turning gracefully as she gestured to the wedding team behind her. “Each stem costs over two thousand.”
“Yes, Miss Prescott,” the Wedding Director said at once, nodding repeatedly.
“As expected of CEO Sterling’s wife. This is beyond impressive.”
Vanessa smiled playfully and walked toward me in her high heels.