The Return
"Ma’am, that meeting was incredible! You were brilliant," Clara exclaimed, her face beaming.
"Thank you, Clara," I replied with a tired but genuine smile.We stood in the hushed silver light of the elevator, heading back up to my office.
Inside, I was glowing. This little victory felt monumental. Since my brother Michael’s death, I’d been steering my father's company through a storm. Whenever I felt my grip slipping, Mike’s favorite advice echoed in my mind: Life is about accepting the challenges, choosing to keep moving forward, and savoring the journey.
This is for you, Mike, I thought, the familiar ache of grief tightening my throat. You’re the reason I'm still standing.
"Ma’am?"
Clara’s voice cut through my thoughts. I realized I’d been staring at the floor numbers for too long. "Yes, Clara? I’m sorry, what were you saying?"
"Oh, it’s nothing important, really..." she murmured, suddenly shy.
"Clara," I said, my tone turning firm. "Tell me."
She flashed a wide, nervous grin. "I just thought you’d be extra happy today! Everyone is talking about it."
A cold prickle of unease washed over me. "Everyone knows what, exactly? Because apparently, I'm the only one in the dark."
"I... I just meant your husband," Clara said, stretching the word out with a suggestive lilt. "He’s coming back from his tour in Alaska tonight."
The world seemed to tilt. "How do you know that?"
She gave me a 'duh' look and handed me the company tabloid. There it was, in bold print: The Return of the Billionaire: Johnny Orlando Arrives Tonight.
The elevator doors pinged open. I handed the tablet back to her and marched toward my office, my heels clicking like gunfire against the marble. Everywhere I looked, employees were smiling at me. One middle-aged woman even leaned in to whisper, "Enjoy tonight!"
I forced a shy, fake smile and retreated into my cabin, slamming the door. Lenient, I thought, leaning against the wood. I’ve been too lenient with them. That ends tomorrow.
By 6:00 PM, the office was a ghost town. Clara knocked softly on my door. "Ma'am, I'm heading out. Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you."
"Are you staying late? Almost everyone else is gone."
I fixed her with a glare that sent her scurrying. I didn't want to go home. If I stayed late enough, maybe he’d be asleep. Maybe his flight would be delayed. Or maybe I could just disappear.
You have to face him eventually, my conscience hissed.
I am Avantika Willfort, manager of Willfort Pharmaceuticals—a company now technically owned by my "stranger" of a husband. People called me a gold-digger and a trap-setter when we married a year ago. They didn't know the truth. I never wanted this. I never understood why my father agreed to it. Johnny Orlando, the "Most Wanted Bachelor," hadn't shown his face since the wedding day. Until now.
My mind drifted back to a week ago—the phone call at 1:00 AM.
"Hello?" I’d asked, my voice trembling.
"Hello, love," he’d replied. His voice was like gravel and velvet.
"Why are you still awake?"
"I was just—"
"Answer me," he’d demanded, his arrogance radiating through the line. "I’m coming back. Be ready."
Then he’d hung up.
It was 8:30 PM by the time I finally forced myself through the front doors of the mansion. The living room was eerily silent; the servants were nowhere to be found.
Heart hammering, I started up the stairs, hoping to reach my room and lock the world out. But as I reached the landing, a sound stopped me cold.
Moaning. High, breathless, and unmistakable.
It wasn't coming from the master suite. It was coming from the guest room at the end of the hall. I moved toward it like a moth to a flame, my hand trembling as I pushed the door open.
I gasped, the air leaving my lungs in a rush.
My husband was there, his back to me, pressed against his P.A., Gloria. He was kissing her with a raw, rough hunger that I had never known. Hearing the door, he broke away, spinning around.
Hazel green eyes locked onto my Prussian blue ones.
"f**k," he spat.
I didn't wait. I turned and sprinted for my room, the sound of my own sobbing breath filling my ears.
"Avantika!" he called out. "Avanti!"
I slammed my door and turned the bolt, collapsing against it. Why me? I screamed internally, the tears blurring my vision. I told myself I didn't care about him, but the sight of them together felt like a blade between my ribs.
