Behind The Mask

Chapter 6: The Ghost At The Table

POV: Maxwell

The morning after our ruined anniversary, the mansion felt like a graveyard.

I woke up with a pounding headache. The bed beside me was perfectly made and completely cold, just like it was every single morning. I hadn't slept at all. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the empty, dead look on Fiona’s face when she dropped that damp towel onto Camilla’s shoes.

I threw off the heavy blankets and walked to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was Maxwell Jordan. I was thirty years old, a billionaire, and the CEO of the most powerful company in New York. I had everything a man could ever want.

So why did I feel like I was suffocating?

I got dressed in a sharp gray suit and walked slowly down the grand staircase. The house was completely silent. The maids were moving around quietly, their heads bowed. The tension in the air was so thick.

I walked toward the large breakfast room. I expected it to be empty. I expected Fiona to be locked in her room, crying into her pillows, or maybe packing her bags. That was what she usually did after a fight. She would cry, she would yell, and then I would ignore her until she eventually gave up and apologized for being "too emotional."

But she wasn't in her room.

Fiona was sitting at the breakfast table.

I froze in the doorway, just watching her. She was wearing a simple white sweater and soft jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. She was sitting up perfectly straight, holding a cup of black coffee in one hand and slowly turning the page of a book with the other.

She looked peaceful and completely undisturbed.

I stepped into the room, my expensive leather shoes clicking loudly on the marble floor. It was a sound that usually made her jump up and greet me.

Today, she didn't even blink neither did she look up from her book. She just took a slow sip of her coffee.

I pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. A maid quickly rushed over and poured me a cup of coffee, her hands shaking slightly, before practically running out of the room.

I stared at Fiona. We were only a few feet apart, but it felt like there was a massive ocean between us.

"Fiona," I said. My voice sounded rough and dry.

She slowly turned another page of her book. The soft rustle of the paper was her only answer. She didn't look at me. She didn't acknowledge my voice at all. She was treating me like I was completely invisible.

A sharp spike of anger hit my chest. I hated being ignored. "Fiona, I am speaking to you," I said, my voice hardening into my usual commanding tone.

Nothing. Not a flinch. Not a sigh. Just the slow, steady movement of her eyes scanning the words on the page.

I gripped my coffee cup so tightly my knuckles turned white. This was the exact behavior I had demanded from her on our wedding night.

My mind instantly flashed back to that terrible night two years ago. I remembered walking into the master bedroom. She looked so beautiful, sitting on the edge of the bed in her white nightgown. She looked so hopeful thinking she got married to a husband.

Instead, I threw a thick leather contract onto the bed.

“There will be no intimacy between us. Ever. We sleep in separate rooms. Do not expect me to love you, Fiona. You will not get it from me.”

I had said those exact words to her. I had watched her heart break right in front of me, and I had felt a sick sense of victory. I had successfully secured my grandfather’s inheritance, and I had trapped a wife who would never dare to bother me. I wanted her to be quiet. I wanted her to be nothing more than a ghost who lived in my house.

Well, congratulations to me. Looking at her now, sitting across the table with her empty eyes, I realized I had finally created the ghost I always wanted.

But looking at her empty, lifeless face was suddenly the most painful thing I had ever experienced.

I opened my mouth to say something... anything... to break the terrible silence. I wanted her to scream at me about Camilla. I wanted her to throw her hot coffee in my face. I wanted the fire back.

Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated violently against the glass table, shattering the quiet room.

I looked down. The caller ID flashed brightly: ARTHUR JORDAN.

My stomach dropped. My grandfather rarely called me this early unless something was terribly wrong. I quickly picked up the phone and pressed it to my ear.

"What is it, Arthur?" I answered coldly. I never called him grandfather. We were business partners, nothing more.

"Is that how you greet the man who gave you everything, Maxwell?" Arthur’s rough, raspy voice crawled through the speaker. He sounded out of breath, like it took a massive effort just to speak.

"I'm busy. Get to the point," I said, my eyes still locked on Fiona. She hadn't even reacted to the ringing phone.

"The point," Arthur wheezed, "is that the board of directors is getting nervous. The rumors about your... extracurricular activities with that cheap model, Camilla, are starting to affect the company's stock prices. People are saying your marriage is falling apart. They are saying you are unstable."

"The company is fine. My personal life is none of the board's business," I snapped, my jaw clenching.

"It is my business!" Arthur barked, coughing heavily into the phone. "I warned you, Maxwell. I gave you this empire on the strict condition that you maintain a solid, respectable family image. If the board thinks you are a reckless playboy who can't even manage his own wife, they will force a vote. And I will let them."

"You wouldn't dare," I growled softly, not wanting Fiona to hear the panic in my voice.

"Try me," Arthur threatened. "I want you and your loving wife at the main estate tonight for a family dinner. I have invited three of our key investors. You will smile. You will hold her hand. You will show them that the Jordan family is perfectly united."

"Tonight? That's impossible. I have meetings..."

"Cancel them," Arthur interrupted ruthlessly. "Eight o'clock, Maxwell. If you are not there, and if she is not smiling on your arm, I will start the paperwork to freeze your assets tomorrow morning. Do not test me."

Click.

The line went dead.

I slowly lowered the phone from my ear, staring blindly at the screen. My grandfather held all the power. If he froze my assets, the board would immediately remove me as CEO. Everything I had worked for, would be completely gone.

I needed Fiona. Right now, more than ever.

I put the phone down and looked across the table.

Fiona was finishing her coffee. She carefully closed her book and stood up from the chair. She didn't look angry. She just looked incredibly bored.

"Fiona," I said, my voice tight. "We have a family dinner tonight at my grandfather's estate. You need to be ready by seven."

She stopped moving. For the first time all morning, she slowly turned her head and looked directly into my eyes.

Her stare was so cold.

"No," she said simply.

It was just one word. Soft, calm, and completely final.

I blinked, genuinely shocked. "What do you mean, no? Did you not hear me? My grandfather requires us to be there."

"I heard you," Fiona replied, her voice empty of all emotion. "And I said no. I am not going."

"Fiona, this isn't a request," I warned, standing up from my chair. My heart started to beat faster. If she didn't come with me, Arthur would destroy me. "You are my wife. You signed a contract. Your job is to attend family functions and support my public image. You will go upstairs, put on a nice dress, and you will be ready by seven."

Fiona looked at me as if I were a stranger speaking a language she didn't understand. A tiny, bitter smile played at the corner of her lips.

"The contract?" she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "You broke the rules of this marriage last night when you brought that woman into my home on our anniversary. You don't get to demand my obedience anymore, Maxwell."

She turned around and started walking toward the door.

Panic gripped my chest. "Fiona, stop!" I yelled, stepping out from behind the table. "If you don't come to this dinner, my grandfather will freeze my shares in the company! I could lose everything!"

I expected her to pause. I expected her soft heart to take pity on me, just like she always did.

Instead, Fiona stopped in the doorway. She slowly looked over her shoulder, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a chilling, absolute zero hatred.

"Then I guess," she said softly, "you better start learning how to be poor, Maxwell."

She turned and walked out, leaving me standing completely alone.