The Wolfs Table
677 Words
Morning came, but it brought no peace.
Emma sat at the long dining table, her fingers tracing circles against the white linen. The breakfast she had arranged sat untouched—croissants still steaming, fresh fruit gleaming under the chandelier. The coffee in her cup had gone cold hours ago.
Adrian hadn’t joined her. Again.
She told herself not to wait. She told herself to eat, to live her life whether he showed up or not. But still she lingered, her stomach tight with a nervous hunger she couldn’t satisfy.
When the sound of footsteps finally echoed across the marble floor, her heart lurched. She looked up, hope flickering like a flame.
Adrian strode in, phone pressed to his ear, jacket tossed carelessly over his shoulder. He didn’t glance at her as he spoke into the receiver. “No delays. Close the deal. If Volkov hesitates, remind her she has more to lose than I do.” His tone was steel.
Emma’s mouth went dry. She wanted to say good morning, but the words died on her tongue.
He ended the call, sliding the phone into his pocket. His eyes landed on her finally, sharp as blades. “You’re still here?”
Her chest tightened. “I… I thought we could have breakfast together.”
Adrian’s jaw flexed. He glanced at the untouched food, then at her. “Do you think I have time for this?”
Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “It’s not about time. It’s about us.”
That earned a laugh—short, humorless. He picked up a croissant, tore a bite, then set it back down. “There is no ‘us,’ Emma. You’re my wife in name, nothing more. Don’t make it complicated.”
The words sliced through her. She forced her lips into a trembling smile, refusing to let him see her break. “You don’t mean that.”
He leaned closer, his voice low, cruel. “Don’t I?”
Emma’s eyes stung, but she blinked hard. She wouldn’t cry. Not again.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach. For two days she had hidden the truth, too afraid to say it aloud. But she couldn’t hold it any longer.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.
The words hung in the air, fragile and trembling.
Adrian froze. His expression didn’t soften, didn’t flicker with joy the way she had dreamed. Instead, his eyes darkened, and for the first time, true fury crossed his face.
“Pregnant?” he repeated, the word venomous. “With whose child?”
Emma’s throat closed. “Yours, of course. Adrian, I would never—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice thundered, filling the dining hall. “You think I don’t see how pathetic you are? Clinging, begging for scraps of my attention? And now this? A trick? You expect me to believe this child is mine?”
Her heart pounded. “It is yours. I swear it.”
But he was beyond reason. He seized her wrist, yanking her to her feet. “You’ve humiliated me enough, Emma. I won’t be trapped by your desperation. End it. Tomorrow. Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she shook her head violently. “No. This baby is all I have. I won’t—”
The defiance shocked even her. For the first time in years, she pushed back against him. She pulled her wrist free, her voice rising. “You can break me, Adrian, but you won’t take this.”
His nostrils flared. The silence that followed was more terrifying than his rage.
Then, slowly, dangerously, he advanced.
Emma’s back hit the edge of the staircase. Her breath caught. “Adrian—”
The storm in his eyes broke. His hands shoved her chest, hard.
Time slowed.
The world tilted as her body lurched backward. The marble steps rushed up to meet her, each edge a blade. Her scream tore the air, then cut off as her head struck the cold stone.
Everything went black.
- Writer
