Chapter 2:The Moment of Truth: Confrontation and Shattered Illusions

Chapter 2: The Moment of Truth

Emily's POV

Everybody knows.

They all knew my husband was sleeping around—everyone except me.

I can see it now in the pitying glances the staff gave me over the years. The whispered conversations that stopped the moment I entered a room. The way Julia’s mouth twitched with barely hidden smugness whenever I visited Nathan at work.

It wasn’t just loyalty or professionalism that made them avert their gazes—it was pity.

My throat tightens as I push through the revolving doors of St. Claire Enterprises. The cool blast of air conditioning does little to cool the fiery rage bubbling inside me. This building, once bearing my father’s name, now feels foreign—like a mausoleum where the remnants of my trust, my pride, and my love have come to die.

My heels strike the gleaming marble floors with sharp, deliberate clicks, echoing through the expansive lobby. Every step feels like a war drum announcing the battle I’m about to wage.

Nathan will see me today, whether he likes it or not.

The whispers start the moment I walk in, but I don’t care. Let them talk. Let them watch. Let them know that I’m done being the quiet, obedient wife.

“Mrs. St. Claire,” Julia’s voice chirps from behind the receptionist’s desk, saccharine sweet and just as fake as her acrylic nails. Her carefully curated smile wavers as I stop in front of her, glaring down at her. “Do you have an appointment to see Mr. St. Claire?”

An appointment? To see my own husband?

I lean closer, lowering my voice to a deadly calm. “I don’t need an appointment.” I raise my hand, flashing my wedding ring like a badge of authority.

Her smile falters, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. St. Claire has given strict instructions—”

“Don’t lie to me, Julia,” I snap, cutting her off. “I know exactly what this is.”

The color drains from her face, and she looks down at her computer screen, fumbling for an excuse. I don’t give her the chance. I shove past her, my fury too far gone to be contained by petty gatekeepers.

“Mrs. St. Claire, you can’t just—” Julia calls after me, but her voice fades into the background as I stride toward Nathan’s office suite.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I push the double doors open without knocking. And there they are.

Nathan lounges in his chair, his posture relaxed, his expression smug as if he owns the world. Sitting on the edge of his desk is Camille, her slim fingers brushing against his tie.

She looks up first, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Emily. What a... surprise.”

Nathan’s gaze follows hers, but there’s no shock, no guilt, not even a flicker of remorse. Just mild irritation.

“Well, well,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair like he’s a king and I’m a peasant interrupting court. “If it isn’t my darling wife. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

My stomach churns at his mockery, but I refuse to let him see how much this hurts. My gaze flicks to Camille, who seems all too comfortable in her role as mistress. Her hand rests protectively over her stomach, and the sight makes my blood boil.

“So it’s true,” I say, my voice trembling with barely contained fury. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? The lies, the deceit—and now this?” I point to Camille’s stomach, my voice rising with every word.

"On our wedding anniversary, Nathan!" my voice was starting to shake, "What did I ever do to deserve this?" I want to fall to the ground as the pain of this realization continues to weigh on me.

Nathan sighs, standing up and brushing past Camille like she’s an afterthought. He strolls toward me with maddening calm, his hands in his pockets.

“Do you really want to do this here, Emily?” he asks, his tone almost bored.

“Yes,” I spit back. “Right here. Right now.”

“Fine.” He shrugs, then gestures toward Camille. “She’s pregnant. And guess what? Unlike you, she can actually give me an heir. Something you’ve never been able to do.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. My knees buckle, but I force myself to stay upright, refusing to show weakness.

Nathan doesn’t stop. “I need an heir for the family business, Emily. You knew that when we got married. And after five years of you failing to deliver, I had to make other arrangements.”

My family Business! My dad handed that over to me before his death, and I handed it all over to this scum of earth on our fourth wedding anniversary.

The room tilts, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I’ve heard the whispers, endured the passive-aggressive comments from his family, but hearing it from him? The man I trusted, the man I loved?

“You’re a monster,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Nathan chuckles, as if I’ve told a joke. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It’s the 21st century, Emily. Maybe it’s time you got with the times. Find someone else to... help you out. Since I clearly can’t.”

I stare at him, the man I once thought was my partner, my protector. Now, all I see is a stranger—a cruel, heartless stranger.

I take a shaky step back, my heart breaking even as my resolve hardens. “You’ll regret this,” I say, my voice steadier now, sharper.

Nathan smirks. “Doubtful.”

I turn on my heel, not trusting myself to say anything more. The sound of Camille’s giggle follows me as I storm out of the office, my vision blurred with tears of rage and humiliation.

The lobby feels suffocating, the whispers louder now, but I don’t care. I just need to get out, to breathe, to think.

And that’s when I collide with him.

A tall, impeccably dressed man with piercing eyes that seem to see straight through me. He looks down at me with a mix of annoyance and intrigue, his brow arching as I struggle to steady myself and I look up, startled, to see a man who could only be described as... devastatingly handsome. His suit is tailored to perfection, and his eyes—cold, calculating, and utterly dismissive—scan me with the same indifference I’ve come to despise.

“Watch it,” he says, his tone cold and clipped.

I blink up at him, my anger momentarily forgotten. There’s something about him—something dangerous, something commanding.

“Who are you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't need to pretend, beggar," He smirks, pulling a business card from his pocket and handing it to me without a word.

As he walks away, I look down at the card, my hands trembling.

Adrian Blackwood.

CEO, Blackwood Hotels & Resorts.

The arrogance. The audacity.

I stumble through the revolving doors, still clutching the card, and finally catch a glimpse of myself in the glass. My hair is a mess, my lipstick smeared, and my shirt buttons are mismatched. I look like a madwoman.

No wonder he thought I was a beggar.

The realization sends a fresh wave of anger surging through me. Anger at Nathan, at Camille, and now, at this smug stranger who dared to dismiss me like I was nothing.

Sliding into the back of a waiting cab, I grip the card tightly, my fingers trembling.

“Rough day, miss?” the driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I don’t respond. My eyes drop to the card in my hand, and I read the name printed in bold letters.

Adrian Blackwood.

The name rings a bell, and I pull out my phone, typing it into the search bar. The results are instant, and the headlines make my breath catch.

“Adrian Blackwood: The Ruthless King of the Hospitality Industry.”

“Youngest Billionaire Hotelier, Known for Taking Down Competitors with Precision.”

I stare at the screen, a slow smile spreading across my lips. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve found my way out.