He Chose His Ex, So I Chose My Empire novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: He Still Chose Me
After her husband's ten-million-dollar gift all but hands the Legacy Initiative to his Stanford ex, Laurel decides she's done; a month earlier, the whole office watched it coming, and that night the ex leaves for dinner with the donor while Laurel's husband texts that he's working late.
I knew I was finished with my husband before the applause on the 31st floor had even stopped.
Hugh Stratton had given my foundation ten million dollars.
That money had just handed my project to Sabrina Coleridge.
Of all the women in San Francisco, she was the one I could not stand to lose to.
She was his ex from Stanford.
I was his wife of three years.
For eight months Sabrina and I had fought over the Legacy Initiative.
I had built it from nothing, two years before she came home from London.
His gift had settled it in a single afternoon.
Sabrina caught up with me at the elevators.
Her cream suit didn't have a crease in it.
She leaned in close, the way she always did, so people had to bend toward her soft voice.
"Don't take it personally, Laurel," she said. "In the end, he still chose me."
I didn't answer her.
I turned around and walked down the hall.
I had lost the project.
I had lost my marriage too, though only one of us knew it yet.
Something strange happened somewhere between the elevators and the stairwell door.
My chest went light.
Fine.
Then it was time to take back everything that had always been mine.
...
One month earlier, the news went through the office before lunch.
Harbor Light had a new donor, its biggest ever.
Ten million dollars, earmarked for the Legacy Initiative.
The donor was my husband.
I found out from the breakroom.
I was refilling my coffee with my back to the door when two of them came in.
One was a project manager from Sabrina's side of the floor.
The other was a summer intern with a lanyard full of pins.
"Did you hear? The ten million is Hugh Stratton."
"Everyone heard," the intern said. "So Legacy goes to Sabrina, right?"
"Obviously."
"Why obviously?"
The project manager dropped her voice, which only made it carry.
"They were the couple at Stanford. Everyone knew them. And everyone says he never got over her."
"Isn't he married?"
"To Laurel."
The intern laughed, a small surprised laugh.
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes. She came back, and ten million dollars shows up a month later. You do the math."
My hand closed on the mug.
Hot coffee rocked up to the rim and touched my knuckles.
I didn't turn around.
I waited until their shoes were gone from the doorway.
Then I set the mug down very carefully and went back to my desk.
The COO's assistant was standing beside my chair.
"He'd like to see you," she said. "You and Sabrina both."
The COO's office had glass on two sides and a view straight down Mission Street.
He looked pleased with himself.
"Ladies," he said, and took off his half-moon glasses. "The board loves both proposals."
Sabrina crossed her ankles.
I kept my hands flat on my knees.
"So we're giving you each one more month to sharpen them," he said. "Then the board votes. The donor gets a representative's vote as well. That's in the gift letter."
He smiled while he said it.
He was smiling at Sabrina.
He looked at her.
Like he knew where my husband's money was meant to go.
Like everybody did.
I felt it settle on me, cold and heavy.
I was in a race whose finish line had already been painted.
Sabrina waited for me in the hallway outside his door.
She was smiling too, beautiful and calm.
"Laurel," she said. "Let's keep it fair, okay? Just the work."
Her voice was gentle.
Her eyes said she had already won.
She didn't seem worried about me at all.
Why would she be?
In this building, with my husband's name on the check, nobody was going to look at anyone but her.
By five o'clock the whole floor was humming.
Everyone knew the rule now.
If my proposal lost, my team would be broken up and folded into Sabrina's.
Six people.
Four years of work.
Jo Kimball, my deputy, sat across from me eating almonds out of her desk drawer one at a time.
"Say the word and I'll put salt in her oat milk," she said.
"Not yet."
"Not yet is not no."
Across the floor, a crowd had gathered around Sabrina's desk.
Somebody had brought her flowers.
Somebody else was scrolling her slides over her shoulder.
"This is so right, Sabrina. Hugh's going to love it."
"It's like it was written for you."
"It basically was."
They laughed.
All the noise in the room had drifted to her side.
I watched her over the tops of their heads.
She stood in the middle of all of it, glowing.
Then she picked up her bag and slipped it onto her shoulder.
"Sorry, everyone," she said, loud enough for my side of the room. "I can't be late. I've got dinner with the donor."
Somebody whistled.
My phone lit up on my desk.
It was a text from my husband.
"Working late tonight. Don't wait up."
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