Chapter 8
1549 Words
Emily didn’t know what to think about or how to even think about it.
She didn’t know if she should be bothered about the fact that her entire marriage had been nothing more than a cold, calculated agreement between two powerful men, or that Nicolas had not only once loved, but possibly still loved, another woman.
Or maybe she was the “other” woman.
Both truths hit her like blows to the chest, leaving her hurt, confused… utterly hollowed out.
She sat frozen on the bed, her limbs heavy, her thoughts spiraling, her stomach churning.
She had naively and foolishly believed that Nicolas’s obsession with having a son had stemmed from pride, from ego, from the primal desire to leave behind a legacy.
That, at least, had made some kind of twisted sense. What she hadn’t considered, a thought that had never even crossed her mind was that her womb had been part of a sick agreement, part of a contract, part of the price of someone else’s ambition.
And Nicolas… he had been in love. With someone else. All this time. Isabelle.
The ache in her chest intensified.
She had always hated how clinical and calculated Nicolas was in bed, how every touch seemed to have a hidden, desperate goal.
She had told herself he was just emotionally repressed, that maybe one day, if she loved him enough, if she was enough… he’d soften. Warm. Open up.
But now she understood. It had never been about building a life with her. It was about ticking off a task on a list. Once he had his son, he could go back to the life that actually mattered.
With….that woman.
And what about her? What about the baby? Would Nicolas just walk away and go ahead to start his real life while she was left behind with a child that would never be truly loved?
She’d always believed that if Nicolas ever became a father, he’d be a good one. Strict, yes. Maybe even distant. But never unloving.
Now, she wasn’t so sure.
He hated her. That much had become clear. And she was beginning to realise that a child born of obligation, of resentment, and of cold necessity might suffer the same fate she had as a child: neglect. Isolation. Emotional starvation.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She would never let that happen.
The betrayal from her father felt like a burn across her skin. It wasn’t a surprise, not really because he’d always been cruel, dismissive, and transactional in his affections.
But to hear the words from his own mouth… to hear him refer to her as “a fool,” to listen to him laugh about her falling for Nicolas, as if her feelings had been a private joke… it was just too much.
He hadn’t just sold her. He had mocked her.
Emily had always known she wasn’t what her father wanted in a child. She wasn’t a Male. She wasn’t ruthless. She wasn’t smart in business. She wasn’t useful.
Until now.
She was so wrapped in the trauma of her thoughts that she didn’t immediately register the faint sound in her ear. Only when the dial tone grew louder did she realize the call had ended. Slowly and gently, as if she was afraid her father and Nicolas would somehow find out she'd been listening to their conversation, she returned the receiver to its cradle.
Then, something inside her snapped.
In one sudden movement, she bolted from the bed and rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face as if that could wash away the pain of everything she’d just heard. She stared into the mirror, her pale face staring back at her, eyes wide and bloodshot, lips trembling.
Who was she now?
Not a wife. Not a daughter. Just… a pawn.
A warm tear escaped, trailing down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away.
She returned to the bedroom, numb, and climbed into the enormous bed, curling herself into a tight ball. Her arms wrapped around her knees as she tried to hold herself together—physically, emotionally, spiritually. She was trembling so hard and her eyes were blurry but she refused to let the tears fall.
She wasn’t going to waste more tears on two men who have no love or respect for her.
She didn’t know what to do, or where to go. Her thoughts swirled chaotically, desperately searching for a way out. Could she disappear? Start over? But Nicolas could ruin her sister’s business as a way to get to her, and her father’s reach was vast. She had nothing. No power. No allies.
She was trapped.
She was still trying to think through impossible escape routes when a quiet knock came at the door.
Before she could decide if she should respond, the door creaked open.
Nicolas stood there in the doorway, framed by the late afternoon light. Tall. Imposing. Beautiful, in a cold, sharp way that only deepened the ache in her chest.
He took one look at her, sitting in the middle of the bed like a broken thing, and something flickered across his face. His dark eyes swept over her small frame, her messy hair, her pale skin. Her knees were drawn tightly to her chest, arms wrapped protectively around them.
“Are you okay? You’ve been in here for more than five hours, princess,” he said, his voice low, coaxing. The kind of voice someone used with a frightened animal.
Five hours.
She blinked. Had it really been that long? Her body ached from being locked in one position, and when she finally moved, her muscles screamed in protest. Pins and needles pricked at her legs and she winced.
“I’m fine. I just…I didn’t notice the time.” she murmured, stifling a yawn. Her voice was raw. Fragile.
“By the way, I'm going out,” she added, trying to keep her tone casual.
“Where are you going this time, Emily?” His question was sharp, too sharp, and she flinched at the sound.
She shrugged. “I'm going to my sister’s place. I have to see her.”
He hesitated.
“Well, do you really have to go…” he began, then stopped. Her gaze lifted to his face, surprised by the pause. He was always so self-assured. So controlled. The hesitation was jarring.
“Don’t go. Let's have a late lunch together. You didn’t eat well this morning.” he finished awkwardly. “If you really want to go out, there’s this nice restaurant we could go to.”
Emily stared at him, a cynical smile curling at her lips.
“Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with my husband? He never wants to go out with me casually.”
He frowned. “What do you mean? Of course I do—”
“Oh, no, my darling husband,” she interrupted. “You only took me to a restaurant one time and I was even the one who asked or rather begged for it.”
She laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor.
“I was the excited naive girl, watching her gorgeous husband impatiently check his phone like he couldn’t wait to be out of there. You barely said a word to me even then. But I didn’t care. I told myself you were just quiet. Mysterious. Brooding. I told myself you were exactly my type of man and I'd always love you.”
She scoffed, and he looked away.
“We never went out with me again so what are you up to now?” she added.
“But we went out countless times after that,” he insisted, but even he looked unsure now.
“No,” she said simply. “Everything else was business dinners. Appearances. Nothing real. I was just eye candy.”
He didn’t argue. Not really. Just stood there, shifting uncomfortably.
“Well,” he said, a little too brightly, “maybe it’s time we tried again.”
Emily sighed then shook her head, watching him. Trying to see beneath the surface. But as always, Nicolas was an expert at hiding. His expression gave nothing away.
“No thank you. I'm not interested in trying anything with you anymore,” she said at last, her voice soft but firm. “I will be going to Quinn’s place like I said earlier.”
He nodded, slowly, as if thinking of something else to change her mind behind those unreadable eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tension thrumming through his posture.
“Okay then,” he said after a pause. “When are you leaving though and when will you be back?”
“I'm leaving now and I'll be back whenever I want to be back.”
He sighed. “That’s fine, I guess. Try not to come home late. Tell Quinn I said Hi.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Emily sat there for a long moment, staring at the door.
Then, after clearing her thoughts, she rose slowly from the bed and walked toward the wardrobe to get dressed.
It was time to figure out what came next…on her own.
- Writer
