The Second Marriage Gift Novel by Anonymous _ Novel 


The Second Marriage Gift Chapter 01

"Mrs. Sterling. The postnuptial agreement from the safe."
Five years. A fifth wedding anniversary at a three-Michelin-starred French restaurant in Manhattan. Vanessa's executive assistant placed the divorce papers in front of her.
Five years ago, the day Patrick Sterling, CEO of Sterling Group, had married Vanessa at City Hall, he'd wanted to prove his devotion. He'd had his lawyers draft a postnuptial agreement. Signed it. Locked it in the penthouse safe.
If he ever cheated, Vanessa could sign the papers and walk. No questions. No negotiations.
She signed quickly.
Her gaze drifted to the empty seat across from her. The candle flickered. She felt nothing.
"Take this to Howard," she said. "Then call the Ritz-Carlton. Book the wedding setup."
Her assistant froze. "Whose names should I put down?"
"Patrick and Seraphina."
***
Silence.
Seraphina was Patrick's first love. The one who got away. The one who came back.
The assistant's voice shook. "Ma'am. What date should I tell them?"
Vanessa looked out the window.
The blue fireworks over the East River had finally burned out. The drones finished their last formation, spelling out the words against the Manhattan skyline.
*Patrick & Vanessa, Happy 5th Anniversary.*
She turned back. Her lips pressed together. She said nothing.
"Seven days from now. And book me a first-class ticket to Oslo. Same day."
"Oslo?" The assistant blinked. "Ma'am, are you sure you don't want to—"
She knew what the girl was trying to say.
Five years ago, at City Hall, Patrick hadn't been the only one who signed papers. Vanessa's parents, settled in Norway, hadn't asked for a single share of Sterling Group stock. No family mergers. No capital. They'd only had Patrick's private legal team add one codicil.
If Vanessa ever returned to Norway alone, heartbroken, seeking shelter with her parents, Patrick Sterling would be forbidden from setting foot on Norwegian soil. For life.
He wouldn't even get a chance to beg.
"I'm sure," Vanessa said.
Seven days. Her birthday. She'd leave Patrick behind, fly to Norway, and give him a wedding. Him and Seraphina. Let them have each other.
Her assistant left. Vanessa's phone buzzed.
Instagram notification. Patrick, from the company's official account, had posted a photo of the blue fireworks. He'd tagged her.
*Happy 5th anniversary to my beautiful wife. Love you forever.*
Within sixty seconds, the comments hit 999+.
*Couple goals! I was wondering why someone was shooting off blue fireworks over the East River for an hour. Mr. Sterling did that for his wife.*
*Five years married and he still flexes this hard every anniversary.*
*I heard last year, Mr. Sterling had just come out of anesthesia after an appendectomy. He wasn't even fully conscious. Saw his wife walk in, still groggy, and the first thing he said was "Your stomach gets upset so easily. Did you eat your salad at lunch?" The nurses were all crying.*
Patrick had replied to that one personally.
*Vanessa is my wife. Loving her, protecting her, making sure she walks through this world safe and cherished—that's my duty as her husband.*
The replies to that were a wall of jealous screaming.
Vanessa sat there, reading it, face blank.
She stared at the empty seat across from her.
They'd had love once. Seven years together, and they'd never fought. Patrick had given her everything—money, status, devotion. Every ounce of it.
Until one month ago.
He'd been on a business trip in Chicago. She'd received a voice memo from him. Pressed play. A woman's voice came through.
"I've been back from Europe six months. I crooked my finger. He came running."
"The blue fireworks he got me tonight? I hate blue. Waste not, want not. I'll leave them for your anniversary."
Vanessa hadn't known who the woman was. Not yet.
Two weeks later. A cocktail reception in the Hamptons. Patrick walked into the VIP room with the same woman on his arm.
He introduced her as his distant cousin. Visiting from the South.
Seraphina's face was delicate, pretty, lit up with a brilliant smile. She reached out a hand.
"Hi. I've been back from Europe six months. So good to finally meet you."
That voice. The same voice. The world tilted.
She'd left early. Couldn't stay. Patrick came home to the Upper East Side penthouse after midnight. Vanessa's phone lit up with an iMessage from an unknown number.
"The rooftop terrace was too much fun tonight. I couldn't control myself. Left scratches all over Patrick."
"I gotta say, that man is a machine. Like a V8 engine at full throttle."
Vanessa had looked at Patrick, passed out drunk on the bed. His shirt was unbuttoned. Scratches raked across his chest.
That white shirt. The one she'd had custom-made for him on Savile Row. The matching set for their anniversary last year. The collar had her embroidery on it. *Husband.*
The night she'd given it to him, he'd taken her hands. Voice thick with emotion.
"Vanessa. When I wear this shirt, it's a reminder. I stay away from other women."
Now there was a fresh lipstick stain on that embroidered word.
Tonight. Fifth anniversary. She'd arrived at the restaurant first. Five minutes later, Patrick called.
He was putting together a surprise for her. Couldn't make dinner. Watch the fireworks without him.
He hung up. Two minutes later, he sent a photo.
He was having a candlelit dinner with Seraphina. Flowers. Wine. Romance.
That Instagram post he'd just made was probably typed while he was lying in Seraphina's arms.

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