Billionaire's Prisoner

5. Office Drama

Emma stood before the mirror one last time. The wine red dress clung to her body in a way that felt foreign, exposing more skin than she was comfortable with. This wasn't her color. Hell, this wasn't her life.

But here she was.

She leaned closer to the mirror, applying lipstick with shaking hands. The woman staring back at her looked like a stranger. When did I become this person? When did I become someone who books hotel rooms for... for that?

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, then opened her banking app. The numbers stared back at her, cold and unforgiving.

A sigh escaped her lips.

After the debt collectors. After Mom's medical bills. After everything.

She had barely three hundred dollars left.

"Ten grand a week," she whispered to her reflection. "How the hell am I supposed to pay ten grand a week?"

Her throat tightened. Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford anymore. Which meant one thing.

I have to ask Oliver for money. Again.

The thought made her stomach turn. She checked the time. Almost five. He still wasn't home. Of course he wasn't.

Emma grabbed her purse and keys. She knew exactly where he was. Where he always was.

With her.

Emma had only been to Jones Corporation twice in three years of marriage. She preferred it that way. Fewer people knew her as the CEO's wife, which meant fewer pitying looks. Fewer whispers.

But everyone knew Shelby Brown.

Everyone knew Oliver and Shelby were inseparable. That they looked like a couple. That they acted like one.

What's the worst that could happen? I run into her again? She throws another tantrum?

Emma gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Let her.

The Jones Corporation building loomed over her like a glass giant. Emma stepped inside, her heels echoing against the marble floor. The lobby was pristine, cold, expensive.

Just like Oliver.

She approached the reception desk. The woman behind it looked up, her expression shifting from bored to suspicious in seconds.

"Hello. How can I help you?"

The tone was clipped. Unfriendly.

Emma removed her sunglasses slowly and leaned against the desk. "I'm here to see my husband. Oliver Jones."

The receptionist blinked. Then blinked again.

For a moment, she just stared.

Finally, she found her voice. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My husband," Emma repeated, her tone calm but firm. "Oliver Jones. The CEO. I would like to see him."

The receptionist's eyes narrowed. "We get women like you every week. How do I know you're not lying?"

Of course. Of course they do.

Emma didn't flinch. I knew it would come to this. Without a word, she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded document. She placed it on the desk with deliberate grace.

"Here. Our marriage certificate." Emma spoke with confidence.

The receptionist leaned forward, squinting at the paper. Her face went pale.

It was real.

Completely real.

The receptionist even typed down the certificate number in thr website of government, and to her wonder, the names showed up exactly as they mentioned on the document. Our CEO... is he really married to her?

Before she could say anything, the front doors swung open.

Shelby Brown walked in like she owned the place. Designer heels. Perfect hair. A smile that could sell diamonds.

The receptionist immediately stood, her entire demeanor changing. "Hello, Miss Brown. Good evening."

"Good evening," Shelby purred. Then her gaze landed on Emma.

Her smile faltered. The question came out of her lips before she could stop it. "What are you doing here?"

Emma straightened. She didn't answer.

The receptionist, still flustered, spoke up. "She claims to be Mrs. Jones. She even showed me a marriage certificate."

Shelby's smile twitched. Just slightly.

But Emma saw it.

"So the mistress walks in unchecked," Emma said coolly, "while the wife has to show proof?"

A few heads turned in the lobby. Some had already heard what Emma said.

Shelby's jaw tightened. Her reputation was everything. A top model couldn't afford a scandal. Especially not one that labeled her as a homewrecker.

She stepped forward, snatching the certificate from the desk. Her hands trembled slightly as she examined it.

"These documents can be forged," Shelby said, her voice sharp. "I didn't think you'd stoop this low, Emma. All for a man like Oliver?"

Emma arched a brow. "You're right. He's not worth it. But my name on that paper is."

"So what? It's fake." Shelby dismissed her.

"But, Miss Brown, I even checked the government website..." receptionist spoke up again.

"I said this is fake." Shelby threw the certificate at the receptionist. "Can't you tell by looking? Honestly, I don't know why Oliver keeps people like you around."

That b***h! She will stop at nothing. Emma wanted to slap her hard, as Shelby kept running her mouth. But she knew it was useless. Hence, instead she took out her phone and called Oliver.

“Oh, are you calling Oliver? I think he doesn't pick up unless the number is saved,” Shelby added for everyone to hear. So what her name is on the document? It proves nothing. Unless Oliver accepts you.

You might be the wife, Emma but I am the only one in his heart and he will never accept you in front of everyone. Shelby thought with a smile. And he never picks up your phone anyway.

And as she expected, Oliver didn't answer Emma’s phone. The receptionist looked at Emma with open suspicion now.

"Many women are after Oliver," Shelby said loudly, playing to the growing audience. "And I don't blame them. But it's your job to keep them out of the office. Why haven't you called security yet?"

Emma's rage simmered beneath her skin. But her fingers moved quickly across her phone screen.

She typed a message to Oliver.

"Get your ass down here at the reception in three minutes. Or I will get Grandpa involved and tell him about your little mistress."

She knew he could ignore her call.

But he wouldn't ignore that. Specially when his inheritance was on the line. And also, he wouldn't want to lose this lottle side slut of his.

The receptionist stood. "Miss, please leave the premises."

Emma didn't move. "Give me three minutes. Your CEO will be here."

"Miss—"

"Three. Minutes."

Oliver frowned at his phone screen.

Emma never came to the office. Emma never threatened him. Emma never cared about Shelby.

What the hell is going on?

He hurried down the stairs, his mind racing.

When he stepped into the lobby, he saw her immediately.

Emma.

In a wine red dress that hugged every curve. Her hair down. Makeup on.

She looked so different.

Almost unrecognizable.

Then his eyes found Shelby.

Damn it.

Shelby's face drained of color. She rushed to his side, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"Babe. What are you doing here?"

Before Oliver could answer, Emma stepped forward. Confidence dripping off her voice. "He's here to see his wife. Not his mistress."

Shelby flinched, as she complained, “Babe, did you hear that? She’s insulting me again.”

Emma let out a dry laugh.

“Insulting you? By calling you a mistress? What else should I call you— a w***e? Or a leech feeding off a married man?”

Gasps rippled through the office. Employees who had gathered to witness the scene began to murmur.

“Wait… so Miss Brown isn’t his wife?”

“Unbelievable. She’s just the sidepiece?”

“That woman— is that Mrs. Jones? She’s gorgeous.”

“Is our CEO seriously cheating?”

The whispers grew louder, shame wrapping around Oliver like a noose. His jaw clenched.

“That’s enough, Emma,” he snapped. “Why are you here?”

Emma stepped forward, her heels clicking against the floor. She grabbed Oliver’s wrist, yanked him away from Shelby, and leaned in close, her voice low and venomous.

“I need a hundred thousand. Cash or card, husband?”