Try to make me cry

Chapter 8: The Private Meeting

The moment I entered the mansion, the heavy silence swallowed me whole. Eddie was nowhere to be seen, likely retreating to his separate wing or his office—the predictable pattern of avoidance. I made my way slowly up the grand staircase, my limping steps echoing on the marble, each movement a reminder of the physical cost of the night.

The knees were bad. Blood had already seeped through the fine ivory wool of the coat dress, drying to a sickening brown-red color. The pain was sharp, real, and uncomplicated—a welcome change from the complex, psychological agony Eddie inflicted.

Once inside my suite, I locked the door, not because I feared him—I knew he wouldn't dare approach my wing tonight—but for the necessary solitude. I stripped off the ruined coat dress, dropped the expensive fabric onto the floor, and assessed the damage. The slap on my face felt like a faint ghost compared to the deep, painful scrapes on both knees.

I sat on the edge of the oversized tub, pulling out the first aid kit that was permanently stashed beneath the sink. I cleaned the wounds ruthlessly, pouring antiseptic over the raw skin. I didn't wince. Pain was information. Pain was proof that I was still solid, still real, despite their best efforts to turn me into glass.

As I wrapped the bandages, the cold certainty of Eddie’s words—"I am a sculptor now"—came back to me. He wouldn't just keep me locked up; he intended to mold me, chip away at my rebellion until I was in a shape that pleased him.

I looked at my reflection in the vast mirror. My cheek was pink where my mother had struck me, but my eyes were perfectly cold.

He thinks he's the sculptor? No.

The truth was, every scar, every humiliation, every act of abandonment by my family and by Eddie only hardened the foundation of the woman I had built. They had forged the tyrant, and they were the ones who would pay.

—-

The Corporate Armor

The next morning, the wounds on my knees were stiff and throbbing, a physical memory of the previous night’s humiliation. But the pain served its purpose: it fueled my focus. I was determined to start dismantling Eddie's control.

I was focused on going to my office, but a message from one of my husband's companies—a deliberately bureaucratic snag designed to require my personal attention—forced a detour. The only way to resolve it without losing an entire day to paperwork was to get to Eddie directly, in his fortress.

I dressed with intent. I was no longer the penitent wife; I was the formidable CEO. I chose an outfit that projected sheer, unapproachable power.

I wore a sophisticated dark brown, double-breasted coat dress, cut with sharp shoulders and a dramatic floor-length hem. The look featured contrasting ivory detailing on the pockets and was layered over a crisp, white turtleneck crop top. My hair was slicked back into an elegant ponytail, and I carried a structured, high-end handbag. I looked like an architect of finance, not a distressed wife.

The Ascent

When I arrived at Grayson International's headquarters, people immediately recognized me as the CEO's wife—and their former colleague. After all, I used to work for my husband before launching my own company. The reception area staff, used to my past visits, immediately blew off the steam and hushed their conversations.

As I approached the private elevator, someone stepped in front of me. She was a sharply dressed woman, perhaps a mid-level manager, with a deeply rude and possessive attitude.

“Excuse me, but that is strictly for the CEO and authorized executives only,” she informed me, blocking the door.

I looked at her, and a small, cold smile touched my lips. I didn't bother arguing. I simply turned and walked to the other elevator, which was full of employees. The irony was sweet: she thought she was protecting Eddie by disrespecting me.

When I reached the top floor—Eddie’s executive corridor—I saw his personal security detail, a young woman, sitting dutifully by the entrance to his office. She saw me, her eyes widening in shock, and she immediately shot up from her seat.

“My apologies, Miss, but he’s busy having an important meeting,” she said, stepping toward the door.

Since he was having a meeting, I knew I couldn't risk coming back later. This had to be resolved now.

“Then I’ll wait in his office,” I said, moving toward the door handle.

She lunged, holding the handle herself, desperation evident in her grip. “Ahm, he’s having the meeting in his office,” she stammered.

Oh.

Having a meeting in his personal office, and not the dedicated boardroom or meeting room, was something Eddie never did—even if it was only one person. Unless..

“You do know who I am, right?” I said, my voice dropping to the coldest, most dangerous tone I possess.

“Ye—yes, Miss, but…”

“Now let go of my hand before you get hurt, or worse,” I said. Wow, I sound like a true villain, I thought, but the threat was effective.

She immediately released the handle, her eyes wide with terror.

The Interruption

I opened the door and walked in.

The meeting was, predictably, not about quarterly earnings. I saw a woman in a vibrant red dress sitting far too close to my husband, touching his arm suggestively.