Chapter 2: Confrontation and Shattered Illusions

Emily's POV

I storm through the revolving doors of St. Claire Enterprises, barely noticing the gleaming marble floors or the whispers trailing behind me. This used to be my building with a different name, my father’s legacy. Now, it feels foreign, like a mausoleum of all the trust I’ve misplaced. My heart pounds furiously in my chest, every step echoing my rising anger.

Nathan is going to see me today, whether he likes it or not.

“Mrs. St. Claire,” the receptionist, Julia, calls out, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She was once a maid in our home, fired by Nathan after he accused her of seduction. “Do you have an appointment to see Mr. St. Claire?”

An appointment? To see my own husband? My fists clench involuntarily. "I don't need an appointment," I snap, flashing her my wedding ring like it’s a key to the kingdom.

Julia's smile fades as her eyes narrow. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Orders from Mr. St. Claire—strict protocol."

She’s lying. I know she is. Nathan’s control over me, his life, my life, has reached even here. I shove past her, no longer caring for the whispered gossip around me.

I head straight for Nathan's suite, my heels clicking against the polished floors like war drums. I need to see this. I need him to explain it to my face.

The door swings open, and there they are—Nathan, leaning back in his chair, and Camille, lounging like a queen on the edge of his desk. They're in the middle of a conversation, but they freeze the moment they see me.

“You’re buying me a yacht?” Camille giggles, her voice grating against every nerve in my body. “With the company’s money? You know how to spoil a girl, Nathan.”

My heart plummets. My company’s money. The one I gave up for him, because he convinced me I wasn’t good enough to run it?

Nathan’s gaze shifts to me. Not shock, not guilt—just mild irritation, as if my arrival is nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Well, look who it is,” he says, leaning back further in his chair, his lips curling into a smirk. “What a surprise.”

Camille’s eyes dart between us, but the smug expression on her face doesn’t waver. I can see her hand moving protectively over her stomach. The child. His child.

“You’ve got some nerve,” I say, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and hurt. “You think I wouldn’t find out? Camille? The lies? The... the child?”

Nathan stands, brushing past Camille as if she’s an afterthought, and saunters toward me with that infuriatingly calm demeanour. “You really want to do this now, Emily? Right here?”

I stare him down. “Yes.”

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Alright. You want the truth? Here it is.” He gestures toward Camille. “She’s pregnant. And guess what? Unlike you, she can give me an heir. Something you’ve never been able to do.”

I feel the room tilt for a moment. His words hit me like a physical blow. The world has told me this. His family, society, everyone. But him? Hearing it from his lips is like being stabbed.

“You couldn’t give me a child,” he continues, his voice cold. “I need an heir for the family business, Emily. You can’t even give me that—let alone anything else.”

He gestures casually to Camille. “But Camille? She’s giving me everything you couldn’t. And I’m tired of pretending that isn’t what I need.”

I stumble backward, my knees buckling. The room feels like it’s closing in, and I feel myself slipping, but Nathan is there—catching me just before I hit the ground.

“Careful,” he says with a chuckle, as if we’re playing some sick game. “You’ve always been clumsy.”

My mind flashes back to the day we met in college—me tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, him catching me with that same smile. How charming I found it back then, how... safe he made me feel. But now?

Now, I see the manipulation. The same lines, the same tricks.

I yank my arm away, disgusted with myself for ever falling for it.

“Oh, don’t look so hurt,” he says, his voice softening with false sympathy. “It’s the 21st century, Emily. Time to be a little more open-minded. Maybe you’ll find someone to impregnate you too.” His voice is pure venom, and I can feel it sinking into my skin.

“I never thought you’d say those words to me,” I whisper, shaking my head. “The whole world has said it, but from you...”

He shrugs, entirely unremorseful. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, staring at the man I once gave everything to. “You’re right,” I manage. “There’s nothing I can do. But maybe you should be more open-minded too, Nathan. Maybe I’ll find someone to... give me a child. Since I’m so ‘barren,’ after all.”

He scoffs, completely unfazed. “Good luck with that.”

My stomach twists as I watch him stroll back toward Camille, his hand rubbing her stomach. That final, possessive act solidifies what I’ve known for a while—Nathan St. Claire is gone. And so am I.

I turn and walk out, the door slamming shut behind me. The lobby feels like a blur as I push through the crowd, barely noticing where I’m going. I’m lost in a sea of rage and heartache, my thoughts swirling uncontrollably.

Before I can get my bearings, I slam into something hard—no, someone.

“Watch it.”

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.

“Who—?” I start, but he cuts me off, reaching into his pocket and handing me a business card.

“Who does he think he is?

As I push through the revolving doors and finally catch my reflection in the glass, I understand why everyone has been staring. My hair is a mess, my lipstick smeared, and—oh god—one of my shirt buttons is mismatched. I look like I just crawled out of bed after a bender. No wonder he thought I was a beggar.

A sudden wave of anger surges through me—anger at Nathan, at Camille, at Adrian Blackwood for being so smug, and most of all, at myself for letting this happen.

I slide into the back of the waiting cab, fuming. The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. “You coming from the club, miss?”

I stare at him, not even bothering to respond. Instead, I punch the back of the seat in frustration, letting out a strangled breath.

"I'm sorry miss," he apologizes.

My phone buzzes in my lap. Adrian Blackwood. I G****e him, my fingers trembling. The results hit me like a freight train.

“The youngest, wealthiest hotel magnate in the country,” I murmur to myself. “Ruthless. Powerful. Unstoppable.”

And then, I smirk. Maybe I just found my way out.