Chapter 2
1148 Words
I’m getting s**t ready and as I come off the elevator, there she was already.
She was standing nonchalantly at the glass wall of the executive corridor, arms crossed casually and hanging eloquently relaxed as if she belonged on my floor.
Vanessa.
The sight of her scent a jagged, ugly twist through my chest.
She was quite a bit taller than my five-foot-four self, with shiny blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as if she had waltzed right out of a fashion magazine instead of crashing into the wreckage of my life. Her caramel-brown eyes looked soft and inviting, almost gentle, playing tricks on those around her, luring them into thinking she was something to be protected.
Her fitted cream dress hugged her figure in a way that felt deliberate, almost as if she had plotted this entrance. Those long legs of hers? On display without a trace of shame.
She appeared calm.
Radiant.
Victorious.
Anyone with half an eye could understand why Blackwood had found her so enchanting.
“Elena,” she said softly.
Hearing my name from her lips felt strange, like a tune played wrong on a violin.
I didn’t reply. Instead, I tried to sidestep her, like she was mere air, because letting her in felt like admitting defeat.
But she shifted, standing in my way.
Suddenly, the hallway felt narrower, the air thicker, as if it had taken sides.
“I don’t think we have anything to discuss,” I said, trying to sound indifferent, nudging past her to avoid the scene.
“Elena, please.” Her voice trembled, fragile and almost rehearsed. “Just hear me out.”
A laugh escaped me before I could bite it back. It felt hollow, like a broken toy.
“You’ve already said enough just by being here,” I shot back.
Her breath caught, and for a blink, she looked genuinely taken aback. Hurt, even.
“I never planned for this,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
That did it.
Something inside me snapped like a twig.
I turned slowly, trying to give her the full force of my gaze. “You didn’t mean to sleep with my husband?” I asked quietly. “You didn’t mean to have his child?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“He pursued me,” she finally managed, as if that were a universal excuse. “You know how he is. How could I say no?”
Her words hit me like a slap. How could she refuse?
I stepped closer, my voice lowering despite my trembling hands. "Do you have any idea how many nights I waited for him?” I demanded. “How many dinners did I have alone? How often I defended him when people whispered your name behind my back?”
Her eyes glazed over.
“I loved him too,” she replied softly. “And I love the company. I swear, I never wanted to take your place.”
She placed her hand against her abdomen, saying, “I just want peace. For the baby.”
Peace.
The word felt like a hot coal in my chest. After years of emotional starvation, public humiliation, and enduring silent torture, she stood there asking for peace.
“You don’t get to ask me for anything,” I snapped. “Not forgiveness. Not sympathy. Not understanding.”
People began to slow down as they passed us, assistants, executives, staff members pretending not to listen while very much doing so. Whispers floated through the corridor like so much bad air.
“Did you really think I’d console you?” I continued, my voice wobbling despite my effort. “That I’d hold your hand and thank you for ruining my marriage? That I’d celebrate the fact that you gave him something he denied me the chance to even try for?”
Her knees buckled.
Vanessa crumpled to the floor, sobbing loudly as if she had been dealt a great injustice.
I didn’t move.
“Elena!”
Someone rushed forward.
Ryan.
Blackwood’s right-hand man, his loyal shadow.
He dropped beside her like she was made of glass, enveloping her in his arms. When he looked up at me, his eyes burned with disgust.
“How can you be so unkind?” he demanded. “She’s pregnant. With Blackwood’s child.”
The hallway fell into a hush.
Every ear perked up, listening eagerly.
I stared at him, my face numb. “And I’m still his wife.”
The words felt small, almost pitiful. But they were all I had left.
“I’m done for the evening,” I declared calmly, forcing strength into my tone. “My floor is off-limits. No one is to disturb me.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head.
Obedience.
At least someone still remembered my title, even if it felt like a joke now.
I turned away before anyone could see my hands shaking.
The top floor was silent when I arrived.
Too silent.
My sanctuary.
My prison.
I kicked off my heels as soon as I stepped inside, the sound echoing like a gunshot against the marble floors.
“I’m back,” I called out, though my voice felt lifeless.
Margaret appeared from the sitting area almost immediately. Her greying hair framed a face tight with concern. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.
She opened her arms, and I stepped into them, feeling like a dam had burst.
Years of restraint splintered. Silent sobs wracked my frame as I clung to her as if I might drown. If she let go, I might collapse completely.
“Oh, my poor girl,” she whispered, stroking my hair. “You’ve been so strong for so long.”
“I can’t stay,” I said weakly, the words tearing out of me like thorns. “If I do… it will kill me.”
She pulled back slightly, searching my face. “Running away won’t fix everything.”
“I’m not running,” I replied, furiously wiping my tears. “I’m choosing myself, for once.”
My chest ached as I went on. “They don’t need me anymore. They chose her. They chose the baby. I can see it in their eyes.”
Margaret looked torn, but she didn’t push back.
“I gave my life to this place,” I whispered. “And it still wasn’t enough.”
She opened her mouth to say something
But just then, the door slammed open behind me, echoing violently through the room.
I turned slowly.
Only one man ever burst into my space without permission.
Blackwood stood there, tall and rigid, his green eyes cold and sharp, burning with something much darker than mere anger.
Hatred.
And at that moment, I understood.
This wasn’t just the end of my marriage.
It was the beginning of my destruction.
- Writer
