He Married Me Just to Please Her

The emerald dress felt perfect against my skin as I stepped out of the taxi in front of Seb's exclusive Wall Street club.

The fabric caught the light from the towering glass buildings around us, and I couldn't help but smile at my reflection in the club's polished entrance doors.

Tonight was going to be magical—our first New Year's Eve as husband and wife, watching the ball drop in Times Square together.

The doorman recognized me immediately, his face lighting up with that practiced warmth reserved for VIP wives. "Good evening, Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne is in the VIP lounge."

"Thank you, Marcus." I smoothed down my dress, excitement bubbling in my chest.

Seb had been working late again, but he'd promised we'd leave by ten to make it to our reserved spot overlooking the square. I could already picture us wrapped in each other's arms as midnight approached, the city's energy pulsing around us.

The club's interior was all dark wood and crystal, filled with the low murmur of Wall Street's elite unwinding after another profitable year.

I made my way through the maze of leather chairs and marble tables, nodding politely at familiar faces. Some of these people had been at our wedding just eight months ago, toasting to our happiness with champagne that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

As I approached the VIP lounge, I could hear voices through the heavy oak door—Seb's familiar baritone and another voice I recognized as his sister Vivian's. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated when I caught my name.

"...honestly, Seb, I feel sorry for Ellie sometimes."

My hand froze mid-air. Vivian's tone carried that particular mix of pity and frustration that made my stomach clench.

"Don't." Seb's voice was sharp, warning.

"You can't tell me you don't see it," Vivian continued, her lawyer's persistence cutting through his deflection. "The way she looks at you, the way she tries so hard to be the perfect wife. And meanwhile, you're pouring everything into Charlie's gallery opening. How much have you invested in that West Coast venture now? Two million? Three?"

The blood drained from my face. Charlie. Charlotte Morrison—my former best friend, the woman who'd stolen my fiancé and shattered my world three years ago. I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure they could hear it.

"That's not your concern," Seb said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"It becomes my concern when you're utilizing your marriage as cover," Vivian shot back. "You married Ellie so she wouldn't interfere with Charlie and her husband, didn't you? So she'd stay out of their way while Charlie builds her new life."

The words hit me like physical blows. My knees went weak, and I had to grip the doorframe to stay upright. The elegant hallway suddenly felt like it was spinning around me.

"Vivian—"

"Don't deny it. I've seen the contracts, the shell companies you've set up to funnel money to Charlie's gallery. You've been planning this for years, haven't you? The perfect stable marriage to Sebastian Thorne, the reliable husband who would never cause a scandal. Meanwhile, you're moving heaven and earth to ensure Charlie's happiness."

I couldn't breathe. The emerald dress that had felt so perfect moments ago now felt like a costume, a beautiful lie wrapped around my body.

Seb's response came after a long pause, and when he spoke, his voice was bitter, resigned. "As long as Charlie is happy, I will clear every obstacle for her. Including myself, if necessary."

The world tilted. I stumbled backward, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. Every memory, every moment of our relationship suddenly recontextualized itself with sickening clarity. Our meet-cute at that art exhibition—Charlie's favorite artist. Seb's sudden interest in me after Charlie announced her engagement to Ethan. The whirlwind courtship, the fairy-tale wedding, the way he'd swept me off my feet when I was still raw from betrayal.

It had all been calculated. Orchestrated.

I was nothing more than a shield, a convenient distraction to keep me from interfering with Charlie's stolen happiness with my former fiancé.

Somehow, I managed to walk back through the club on unsteady legs. The same faces that had smiled at me minutes ago now seemed to blur together, their conversations a meaningless buzz. Did they know? Had I been the only one blind to the truth?

The cold December air hit my face like a slap as I stumbled outside. I called our driver with shaking fingers, grateful that my voice somehow stayed steady enough to request pickup.

When Seb emerged twenty minutes later, his face showed mild surprise at finding me in the car instead of waiting in the club.

"Ready for Times Square?" he asked, sliding in beside me with that easy smile I'd fallen in love with. The same smile that now felt like another lie.

I couldn't look at him. "Actually, I'm not feeling well. Can we just go home?"

His hand touched my forehead, and I had to fight not to flinch away from the contact. "You do feel warm. Of course, darling. We can watch the ball drop from home."

Darling. The endearment that used to make my heart flutter now tasted like ash in my ears.

The drive to our Hamptons estate passed in suffocating silence. Seb made a few attempts at conversation, asking about my day, mentioning some business dinner next week, but I could only manage monosyllabic responses. My mind was reeling, replaying every moment of our relationship through this new, devastating lens.

The way he'd been so understanding about my reluctance to attend events where Charlie and Ethan might be present. How he'd encouraged me to focus on my own interests, my own career, while he handled the social obligations. Even our honeymoon—he'd suggested Tuscany over Paris, knowing Charlie had always dreamed of a Parisian honeymoon.

Every kindness, every consideration, every gesture of love had been designed to keep me docile and out of the way.

As we pulled into our circular driveway, fireworks began exploding over the distant city skyline. Midnight. The new year was beginning, and with it, the crushing realization that everything I'd believed about my life was a lie.

Seb squeezed my hand gently. "Happy New Year, Ellie."

I stared out at the fireworks painting the sky in brilliant colors, their beauty a stark contrast to the darkness consuming my heart. Tears finally began to fall, silent and devastating, as I realized I wasn't just mourning my marriage—I was mourning the fool I'd been to believe in it at all.