She Was Never Just the Wife novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Prologue

The late-autumn dusk was blood-red, casting the rose garden beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lucero Residence in the same crimson glow.

Wearing an apron, Celia Ross stood at the kitchen counter, flour dusting her fingertips beside the now-finished cake for her third wedding anniversary.

It was frosted in pale lavender and edged with fresh rose petals she had picked one by one that morning while they were still damp with dew.

Her phone buzzed, and she wiped her hands clean before checking it.

The message was from her husband, Beckham Lucero’s assistant. [Mr. Lucero has an international meeting tonight. You don’t need to wait for him for dinner.]

The message was brief and businesslike, with a cold distance in every word.

Celia lowered her eyes and gently set the phone back on the counter. Over the past three years, she had received so many messages like that she had long since stopped counting.

The first few times, it had hurt. Then came the disappointment. Now, all that was left was a kind of numb peace.

“Mrs. Lucero, what should we do with the food?” Cory Wheeler, the Lucero family’s housekeeper, asked from the kitchen doorway, his tone hesitant.

The table was covered with dishes, every one of them made to Beckham’s liking, from ginger salmon lettuce wraps to white lasagna and tomato basil chicken breast.

She had put care into every last dish, just as she had into every day of the past three years.

“Let’s wait a little longer,” Celia said softly. “Maybe the meeting will wrap up early.”

Cory looked at her slender figure from behind and sighed to himself. She was always like this, quiet and gentle, giving her all to things no one seemed to appreciate.

When the antique clock on the wall struck seven, Celia untied her apron and headed into the living room.

A business news segment was playing on TV. Celia had just picked up the remote to switch it off when she froze as the screen cut to the VIP exit at the international airport.

“It’s seven o’clock. Just moments ago, ballerina Laylah Stein arrived at the international airport after five years away.

“More surprisingly, she was seen holding hands with a little boy who appeared to be about three years old,” the reporter said on the broadcast.

As the camera zoomed in, Laylah stepped out in a white dress, sunglasses on and her long hair falling over her shoulders. Even after a long flight, she still looked flawless.

She was holding tightly to the hand of a little boy in a tiny suit. His features were so delicate and pretty that he almost looked unreal.

A reporter thrust a microphone toward Laylah. “Ms. Stein, who is this child?”

Laylah immediately crouched down and drew the boy closer in a protective gesture. “Sorry,” she said, her tone stiff. “That’s a private matter. I can’t comment on it.”

That guarded response only stirred the crowd up further, with more reporters pressing in.

“Who is the child’s father? Did you get married overseas quietly?”

“Now that you’re back, are you planning to stay?”

“There have long been rumors about you and Beckham Lucero, the CEO of Lucero Group. Were the two of you involved?”

As a tall figure appeared on the screen and pushed through the crowd toward Laylah, Celia’s hand tightened until her nails bit into her palm.

It was Beckham. He was wearing the dark gray suit she had pressed for him that morning and carrying a huge bouquet of white roses.

She remembered him once saying that white roses were too plain for his taste, that he didn’t care for them. And now he was carrying them straight to Laylah.

“Beckham…” Laylah looked up at him, clearly caught off guard.

Beckham handed her the flowers, then bent to pick up the little boy. The ease of it made it look as though he’d done it countless times before.

“Mr. Lucero, what is your relationship with Ms. Stein?”

“Is this your child?”

The camera flashes went off in a frenzy, one blinding burst after another, as reporters fired questions at them from all sides.

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