His Forgotten Wife, His Greatest Mistake

EPISODE 9: THE UNWELCOME VISITOR

The Sterling Group headquarters occupied the top forty floors of one of the tallest buildings in Geneva.

Every inch of the structure reflected the influence of the Sterling family. Five years ago, walking through these halls would have intimidated me.

Now they simply felt familiar.

I stood in my office overlooking the lake, reviewing a proposal from the Asian division while three separate screens displayed market projections for the next quarter.

My assistant, Elise, stepped inside carrying a tablet.

Her expression was unusual, and I noticed it immediately.

"What is it?" I asked.

She cleared her throat and responded in a low tone. "There's a visitor downstairs requesting a meeting."

"I have appointments all afternoon." I said with a frown.

"He says it's important."

"Then he can send an email." I answered without looking up.

Elise took a deep breath before responding. "I suggested that, but he refused."

That finally got my attention, and I set the document down and turned to her swiftly.

"Who is it?" I asked, but Elise hesitated for a second, before replying.

"Slade Wilder."

For several seconds I simply stared at her. Not because I was surprised. But because part of me had expected this ever since the foreclosure meeting.

Slade had never handled losing well.

Unfortunately for him, this wasn't something he could fix with determination and money.

"What happened?"

"The lobby denied him access."

I nodded my head in understanding. The Sterling Group wasn't that easy to enter without permission.

"He refuses to leave." Elise continued, and I leaned back in my chair and began to ponder on it.

What could possibly be important enough for Slade Wilder to cross an ocean and appear at my office uninvited?

After a moment, I sighed. "Give him ten minutes."

Elise blinked. "You want to see him?"

"I want to know what he thinks he's accomplishing."

She nodded, then left the office, while I returned to my reports. But I couldn't read a single word anymore.

Ten minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and I heard footsteps approaching the door.

When I looked up, I found Slade standing directly in front of me, he looked tired and exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for days.

That was the difference between the man I remembered and the man standing before me now.

For several moments neither of us spoke. Then I gestured toward the chair opposite my desk.

"You have five minutes."

His expression changed instantly. Perhaps he had expected hostility. Instead, he received indifference.

Slowly, he sat down and gazed at him.

"Five minutes," I repeated in case he didn't hear me clearly.

Slade cleared his throat and finally spoke. "You look different."

I nearly laughed. That was how he wanted to start?

"I hope you didn't fly to Switzerland to discuss my appearance."

"No." He replied, tightening his jaw.

I didn't say anything afterward. I had nothing to say. Another silence followed. Then Slade took a slow breath, and decided to speak again.

"I came to apologize."

"I see." I blurted, my eyes fixed on my phone.

Slade furrowed his brows instantly, probably surprised by my reaction.

Five years ago they would have mattered. Five years ago I would have replayed them endlessly while I celebrated our union.

But now, it meant nothing. Absolute nothing.

"I should never have hit you." Slade continued, but I got too busy and I couldn't pay attention to him.

"You aren't going to say anything?" He asked after a while of silence.

I folded my hands on the desk, and settled my gaze on me. "What exactly would you like me to say?"

He opened his mouth, then closed. For once since I knew him, Slade Wilder had no answer.

Eventually he looked away. "I found things in the mansion."

That caught my attention slightly, and I couldn't help but ask. "What kind of things did you find?"

"A notebook." He replied, and I turned away immediately.

I knew the notebook he's talking about. I had forgotten about that book years ago. And now that he's found it, I believe he knows everything.

"Iridessa..." He called slowly, different from the way he usually does. "Why did you pay for her treatment?"

"Compassion isn't a transaction, Slade." I replied in a calm tone.

Several moments passed before he spoke again. When he did, his voice sounded rough.

"I was wrong about a lot of things."

I almost smiled, but I forced my expression to remain neutral.

"A lot?" I asked, and he gulped down and nodded slowly.

Once again, silence settled between us. But I couldn't entertain him any longer. He had said his piece, and I believe it's the right to leave.

Just when I was about to speak, Slade interrupted instantly.

"Who is the boy?"

My heart sank in my chest as I looked up at him in shock. Which boy is he talking about?

Suddenly, realization dawned on me and I couldn't help but to shoot him glare, while my heart twitched in anger.

"You came here to apologize."

"I did."

"Then you should have left after doing so." I concluded, leaning against the chair.

Slade tightened his jaw instantly. "I deserve answers Iridessa."

I scoffed and shook my head. "You deserve absolutely nothing. You lost the right to ask questions about my life five years ago. I owe you no explanation."

Before he could speak, the office doors flung open and Cassian stormed inside, with two security guards behind him.

"Get away from my sister." He roared, glaring at Slade who had suddenly lost his voice.

Slowly, he stood up and faced Cassian immediately.

"I just wanted to talk."

"You had five years to do so, it's over now, and you wasted every single one." Cassian replied with a stern face.

The atmosphere turned lethal, and I sighed and shook my head.

"Cassian." I called and glanced at me. "The meeting is over."

My brother visibly forced himself to calm down, while Slade looked between us. Suddenly, his eyes darted to the desk, and he froze for a second as something caught his attention.

It was the piece of paper that's placed near my laptop.

The paper had a colourful drawing. Crayon figures standing beneath a bright yellow sun.

That paper belonged to Ares Sterling. Written in uneven five-year-old handwriting at the bottom.

Slade continued to stare, while I turned my attention back to him. At the same, Cassian's expression darkened.

"Leave." He ordered. For a moment I thought Slade might argue.

Instead he slowly looked away from the drawing, then at me. But there was something different in his eyes now.

"I'll go." He said slowly. Cassian pointed a finger at the door.

Without another word, Slade turned and began to head toward the door. But stopped abruptly and glanced at me.

"I'm sorry, Iridessa." He muttered, and walked away, shutting the door behind him.