THE CONFRONTATION
921 Words
He abandoned his scheduled mission, practically jumping back and away from the elevator. And with a mechanic sigh, the doors slid shut, leaving Emilia alone with her reflection in the polished steel.
She looked insane. Half of her hair was falling out of its elegant updo. Mascara was starting to run down her cheek. Her lipstick had bitten away.
The carefully put-together wife of Jax Romano had disappeared, replaced by this wild-eyed woman clutching a red, lace, thong, that wasn’t hers, like a disgraced and haunted wife.
She liked it that way. Let him see what his infidelity had done to her.
The elevator climbed higher. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth. Each ding felt like a countdown to destruction.
Her phone suddenly buzzed with a text from Gena: I told you. I'm sorry, baby, but I told you.
“Leave me alone!” Emilia threw the phone across the elevator in anger. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, screen cracking.
Sixth floor.
Seventh floor.
Ding.
The doors opened to reveal the chaotic “Dear Lady” studio sprawled before her—a massive open space filled with photography equipment, clothing racks, ring lights, and people. Beautiful people. Models, photographers, stylists, all of them moving and yelling in choreographed way.
Emilia stepped out, and her eyes swept the room with predatory focus.
"JAX!"
Her voice cut through the noise like a knife. Conversations stopped mid-sentence, heads whipped around. “s**t!” and someone dropped a camera lens that shattered against the concrete floor.
Silence crashed over the studio like a wave.
And there, across the room by the main photography setup, she saw him.
Her husband. Jax Romano, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine cover. He was dressed in a fitted black shirt that emphasized his shoulders, his charcoal slacks were perfectly tailored, and his dark hair artfully disheveled.
The model was stunning. Tall, brunette, with long, toned, and perfect legs squeezed into a leather skirt.
The brunette had her hand on Jax's forearm, laughing at something he'd just said, leaning into him with the casual intimacy of someone who was close to him that touched him often.
Jax was adjusting the collar of the model's blazer, conversing with her, his head tilted in concentration.
His face held on an expression of professional focus—the creative designer in his element, managing his team and his models, until the shout.
He turned at the sound of his name and everything changed. Jax’s eyes went wide, his mouth opened slightly, and color drained from his face when he saw his wife.
"Oh God," she heard him mutter, the words carrying across the silent studio.
Emilia started walking. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor with a rhythmic click, click, click.
Every eye in the room followed her movement.
Phones came out to record.
Someone whispered, "Is that his wife?"
She raised her hand, the red thong dangling from her fingers for everyone to see.
"THIS IS WHAT YOU WENT TO DO IN HAWAII?!"
Her words echoed off the high ceilings. The model's hand dropped from Jax's arm quickly. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He looked like a man watching his world catch fire.
"Emilia…" he finally managed, his voice strangled. "What are you—how did you…”
"How did I find it?" She was still walking, closing the distance between them. "I was putting away your clothes, Jax. Being a good wife. Taking care of you. While you were doing what? f*****g models in Hawaii? And bringing home souvenirs for me to see? To rub it in my face?"
"That's not… I didn't… " He held up his hands in desperate surrender. "Emilia, please, let me explain…”
From somewhere to her left, a low, satisfied voice: "Well, well, well."
Emilia's head snapped toward the sound. There, half-hidden behind a dress rack, stood Delilah. The assistant. The woman who’s name was always hovering on Jax’s lips, the mixed race beauty he’d choosen to employ over the normal looking women. Right now, her face wore an expression of what looked like barely concealed triumph.
But Emilia didn't have time to process that jab. Her focus swung back to Jax, to the model who was now trying to sneak away, clearly sensing danger.
"Emilia, listen to me…" Jax took a step toward her.
"Don't." She held up the thong like a stop sign. "Don't you come near me. Don't you dare, Jax"
The brunette model shifted uncomfortably, looking between them. "Um, Mr. Romano, I better give you some space"
And that was when Emilia's last thread of control snapped.
"YOU!" She pointed at the model, her voice rising to a shriek that made everyone in the studio flinch. "Get your hands off him, you HOME-WRECKING SLUT!"
"What?" The model's eyes went huge. "I don't—we weren't… you must be mistaking Mrs Romano.”
"DON'T LIE TO ME!" Emilia lunged forward, her manicured nails now extended like claws, aimed directly at the brunette's perfect face.
"EMILIA, NO!" Jax's voice boomed across the studio.
The model screamed, stumbling backward to escape the angry wife’s rage. But Emilia's fingers were inches from her face, her nails sharp and ready to draw blood.
And then…
More than twenty mouths dropped open in perfect synchronized horror as Emilia Romano, society wife and pillar of elegance, launched herself at the terrified model with a feral scream that echoed off every wall of the studio.
“He’s married. YOU b***h!”
- Writer
