Chapter 2: SHE NEEDS ME

Shiva’s Point of View

I sit there, frozen, still reeling from the words that left Emeric’s mouth just moments ago.

“Didn’t you marry me for the money?”

The question loops in my mind like a broken record, leaving behind a sting I can’t shake. Did Emeric always think that? That I only wanted his wealth? That I had trapped him in this marriage? The weight of the accusation presses down on me, suffocating in its cruelty.

"Is that really what you believe?" I ask quietly, my voice barely audible as I look at him. "That I married you for the money? That I forced you into this?"

Emeric's expression is unreadable, the same cold mask he always wears, but there's a flicker in his eyes—something dark, something cruel. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he picks up my half-finished glass of wine from the table and takes a slow sip. The silence stretches between us, heavy and unbearable.

“You don’t love me,” he finally says, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink that echoes in the quiet room. His voice is calm, detached, like he's stating a fact instead of accusing me of something so vile. “I already know that you cheated on me with other men.”

I blink, confused and hurt. Cheated? On him? My heart races, and I search his face, desperately trying to understand. "Cheated on you?" I whisper, incredulous. "Emeric, what are you talking about? How could I ever—"

Before I can finish my sentence, Emeric pulls out a stack of photographs from his suit. He looks down at them, his expression hardening further, and then, without warning, he throws them at me. The photos scatter through the air, like a shower, falling like broken pieces of our marriage, landing around me in a chaotic way.

I kneel down, my hands trembling as I pick up one of the photographs. It’s me, having dinner with an older man—a man with silver hair, a sharp jawline, and a distinguished air about him. The next photo shows the same man leaning in to kiss my cheek.

My stomach drops. That’s Logan. My father.

I stare at the photos, angry and amused all at once. How could Emeric not know who Logan is? How could he think that I would ever cheat on him, especially with my own father?

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Emeric, you’ve got this all wrong,” I say, trying to explain. “That man... I wasn’t cheating on you. I would never do that. That man is my---”

Nonetheless, he cuts me off before I can finish, his voice sharp and dismissive. “We both know what this marriage really is, Siobhan. Nothing more than an arrangement,” he sneers, bitterness dripping from every word. “An agreement made by your grandfather. You don’t need to pretend to be the loving wife anymore.”

My chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. The way he reduces our entire relationship to nothing but a cold business deal, a contract neither of us had a say in. It was never supposed to be like this.

“You don't need to play the loving wife in front of me now.” Emeric picks up one of the photos, the one where dad kisses my cheek, and waves it in front of me like it’s evidence of my betrayal. His eyes narrow, cold and calculating. “Now I know what you really prefer. Men a bit more... mature, don’t you?”

I want to scream, to throw something at him, to make him see how ridiculous and hurtful he’s being. “How can you say that,” I say, my voice shaking with frustration. “Logan Hill. You know him. How could you not—”

But before I can finish, Emeric’s phone rings, slicing through the tension between us. He glances at the screen, and his expression softens in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.

The name flashing on the screen? Should I still need to confirm it is Barbara?

Of course. It’s always Barbara.

Emeric declines the call, his eyes flicking back to me, but his mind is already elsewhere. He stands up and grabs his car keys off the table.

“I’m going to see Barbara,” he says flatly, already halfway out the door.

I stand up too, my body trembling with disbelief. “Emeric, it’s our anniversary. Barbara? Really? You’re leaving to see her?”

He pauses at the door, his back to me. The silence that follows is deafening.

I feel the anger boiling up inside me, and before I can stop myself, I shout, “Do you still have feelings for her? Is that it?”

His hand tightens on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “She needs me right now,” he says simply.

I take a step closer, my voice rising, desperation creeping into my tone. “And I don’t? I need you too, Emeric. Today is our third anniversary.”

For a moment, I think he might turn back, that he might say something to make all of this less painful. But he doesn’t. He leaves in silence, closing the door behind him without another word.

The echo of the door shutting feels like the final blow. Like the definitive end of whatever hope I had left in this marriage. My hands are still shaking, my heart racing as I stare at the empty space where Emeric had stood just moments ago.

I look down at the check he left on the table—a million dollars, as if money could fix everything. As if that’s all I ever wanted.

“Fuck this,” I mutter under my breath. I grab the check and tear it in half, then again, and again until the pieces are nothing but confetti scattered across the floor.

I won’t be bought. Not this time. Not ever.

I march to my closet, pulling out the sexiest dress I own—a black, figure-hugging number that leaves little to the imagination. If Emeric thinks I’m some gold-digging, cheating wife, then fine. Let him think that.

I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the number I haven’t dialed in years. My fingers hover over the screen for a moment, hesitating, but then I press send.

A single text message.

“I need someone to help me forget Emeric tonight. You coming?”