My Husband's Father Wants Me

Chapter 5

5

An hour later... Ethan's study.

I stared at the black-and-white text printed on the papers before me, a suffocating coldness spreading through my veins.

I lifted my gaze, staring across the heavy mahogany desk at Ethan with utter disbelief.

"I cheated? I'm an addict who has repeatedly refused rehab?" I whispered, my voice trembling with disgust.

"You just have to confirm those statements to the press, and I'll wire $100,000 to your account immediately," Ethan replied casually, leaning back in his leather chair. "Don't tell me you don't want to save your mother?"

"Why on earth would I agree to destroy my own life?" I hissed, clutching the edge of the desk. "Do you take me for a complete fool? After three years of marriage, this is how you repay me? By dragging my name through the mud just to pave a clean path for “her”?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Ethan scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm paying you to put on a show for the public. In a few weeks, I'll release another PR distraction. People have short memories. They won't even remember."

My eyes stung, but I forced the tears back. I refused to cry. Not now... and certainly not in front of a man I no longer recognized.

I always knew Ethan wasn't deeply in love with me, but I never realized he was harboring this level of malice.

I squared my shoulders, looking him dead in the eye, and spat out my next words with razor-sharp contempt.

"Do you really think you're worth it?"

Ethan’s posture stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you think you're worthy enough for me to tarnish my reputation over!" I spat. "I'm only twenty-four, Ethan. Do you think if I truly decided to cheat, I couldn't raise a hundred thousand dollars in three days?"

"Don't you dare—"

"Why shouldn't I?" I pressed, taking a step toward his desk. "I've handled your business luncheons, hostings, and charity galas for three years. I know half of your investors and board members. I'm willing to bet at least one of them would gladly pay to—"

"Arabella Morgan!" Ethan roared, slamming his hands onto the desk as he stood up. "Finish that sentence and see if I don't bankrupt Morgan Enterprises before sunrise! I'm sure your father would love to know you were the reason his company folded!"

My chest squeezed tight, the breath knocked out of me.

He had me. He knew my father would destroy what was left of my life if anything happened to Morgan Enterprises.

More than that, Morgan Enterprises was built on my mother's blood, sweat, and tears. If she hadn't trusted my father so blindly... if I hadn't been so naive in my youth, abandoning business to pursue art... my mother would never have handed control over to him.

Morgan Enterprises wouldn't be crumbling, and I wouldn't be reduced to a begging, penniless housewife with no leverage to save my own mother.

"Coward," I muttered under my breath.

I turned on my heel and grabbed the door handle, unable to breathe the same air as him for another second.

"You have twenty-four hours to think over my proposal," Ethan called out behind me, his tone cruel and triumphant. "According to our prenup, you walk away from this marriage with absolutely nothing. Think carefully, Arabella."

I slammed the heavy study door behind me, refusing to grant him another glance, and marched down the hall toward the master bedroom to gather my things.

I pushed the door open—and froze.

Sienna was still there, lying propped up against the headboard of my matrimonial bed, a venomous smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, Arabella," Sienna purred, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I had the maids move your things into the guest room."

"You think this is funny?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You actually think Ethan loves you? Or do you just enjoy playing dress-up as a dead woman?"

Sienna’s smirk vanished instantly. She hadn't expected me to strike her rawest nerve.

"What the f**k are you talking about?" she snapped, her eyes flashing with rage.

"Are you playing dumb, or are you genuinely that ignorant?" I stepped into the room, watching her flinch. "You only targeted Ethan because your face resembles his first love. And he's the only i***t gullible enough not to see—"

"I know you're angry with me!" Sienna suddenly burst into loud, shuddering sobs, her voice pitching up dramatically. "B-but please... leave Ethan out of this! I'm the one to blame for falling in love with your husband! I only wanted to make him happy... I never meant to hurt you!"

A cold chill ran down my spine. I didn't even need to turn around to know Ethan was standing in the doorway behind me.

"What did you do to Sienna?!" he barked, rushing past me into the room.

I turned to him, utterly drained. "You've already cast me as the villain in your sick little story, Ethan. What difference does it make what I say?"

"Then why is she crying?!"

Something inside me snapped.

The years of quiet endurance, the cold neglect, the betrayal, and the sheer audacity of his mistress playing the victim exploded all at once.

I crossed the room before either of them realized what I intended and delivered two thunderous slaps across Sienna's cheeks—left, then right.

“Crack! Crack!”

"Arabella!" Ethan yelled in horror.

"Ethan!" Sienna wailed, clutching her glowing red cheeks. "She hit me!"

"There," I gasped out, my palm stinging from the impact. "Now she actually has a reason to cry."

Before I could brace myself, Ethan shoved me hard.

He didn't hold back. His hands slammed into my shoulders, sending me flying backward. I lost my footing and crashed onto the floor, my knee taking the brunt of the impact.

Pain tore through my leg, but I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a cry.

When I forced my eyes open, I looked up to see my husband holding his mistress in his arms, whispering sweet comfort to her while I knelt bruised on the floor at their feet.

In that single, agonizing second, the final string inside my heart snapped.

My marriage wasn't just broken. It was dead.

~~~

I don't even remember walking to the guest room.

When I finally blinked the haze away, I was standing in the middle of chaos. My clothes, shoes, and personal belongings had been carelessly dumped into trash bags and scattered across the guest room floor.

I spent the rest of the night on my hands and knees, frantically digging through the pile for my bank card—the one containing the small savings I had scraped together from my monthly allowance which I intended to use for my mother's first two doses.

It was nowhere to be found.

By the time the first rays of sunrise filtered through the window blinds, an ice-cold clarity washed over me.

Ethan had taken it.

Yesterday, I had dropped it on the vanity before heading to the charity gala. He had been in the room then.

He had intentionally stripped away my last financial lifeline to force me into signing those filthy PR documents.

‘If I begged him, would he return it?’ The answer was a resounding no.

As I sat amidst the mess, my eyes fell on a black leather portfolio lying discarded near the baseboard.

My chest tightened. It contained the complete portfolio of high-end jewelry designs I had spent months perfecting for the upcoming International Jewelry Design Competition—my secret dream of restarting my career.

Tears blurred my vision, but I forced myself to reach out and pull the folder to my lap.

I had no choice. If I wanted money for my mother's ICU bills today, I had to sell the designs.

‘But who?’

Who would be willing to pay tens of thousands of dollars for the uncredited designs of an unknown artist on a few hours' notice?