Thrown out of my Husband's Company.

Lillian’s POV

My fingers tremble as I dial Micheal's number, heart pounding.

Each unanswered ring feeds my frustration.

Across from me, the receptionist meets my gaze with a smug look. I glance at her name tag, reading it quickly.

"I will tell Michael exactly how you've treated me, and, Ms. Müller, I will also be filing a complaint against you."

"Sure you are," she scoffs, crossing her arms. When my call goes straight to voicemail, her mocking laughter grates on my nerves.

"Another wannabe," she sneers, sizing me up. "Coming here thinking you can get his attention. And in that? At least try something with a higher price tag next time. ”

My face flushes, anger and embarrassment blend. I step forward, my hand itching to slap her smug face.

But she grabs the phone on her desk, eye glinting.

"Security, please, We have a disturbance in the lobby."

In moments, two guards appear, their expressions unreadable as they approach. One of them, a bulky man with arms like steel beams, reaches for me.

"Wait,"

I shout, jerking my arm away, but his grip is too strong. He holds me, his fingers digging with impersonal force as if I were no more than a nuisance.

"Let me go!” I say, voice rising as I struggle against him. My attempts to wretch free only make his hold tighten.

"You're making a fool of yourself. Just leave quietly before this gets worse."The receptionist steps closer, her voice a low hiss.

My breath catches in my throat.

"Michael will fire you！"

Her smirk only deepens as the guards start to pull me toward the door. My heels skid against the polished floor as I dig in, resisting.

"I'm his wife," I say through gritted teeth. 'Let me talk to him—one call, that's all I need to prove it."

"Enough," the guard says, his voice firm as he drags me forward.

"No! I'm not leaving until I see my husband!" I shout, ignoring the stares of people around us.

They lift me slightly off the floor as they pull me closer to the door. I thrash, trying to pry myself loose, my fingers clawing at their arms. But they don't so much as flinch.

The receptionist's laughter follows me as they drag me outside. I nearly twisting my ankle as I'm forced backward.

The lobby, with its gleaming lights and sparkling chandeliers now feels hostile and cold, a place I no longer belong.

Finally, they shove me out into the biting winter air. I stumble, fall hard into the icy snow.

For a moment, I sit there, dazed, wet snow seeping through my coat, it's chill biting through the layers to my skin.

A light rain begins to fall, soft and cold against my face.

I slowly push myself up, my hands shaking with both cold and fury.

What should I do? The thought of calling Michael flits through my mind. He’ll have an explanation for this!  But will he answer if I call again?

Then I see him.

Michael steps out of the building, tall and composed, his dark hair perfectly styled, his expensive grey suit tailored flawlessly to his athletic build.

His green eyes, which always held warmth for me, seem cool and distant under the dull grey sky.

He radiates confidence, wealth, and a charm that once made me feel safe. But now, seeing him, my heart twists painfully.

Beside him is a stunning blonde, clinging to his arm, her flawless makeup undisturbed by the weather.

"Honey, it's raining," She pouts, glancing up at the drizzle.

"Honey?" The word hits me like a slap. I don't recognize this woman, but she clings to him like she has every right.

The receptionist’s voice rings in my ears: Catherine. So, this is her—the woman who everyone here thinks is Michael’s wife.

It's painful to watch how close she is to him; how familiar they seem. I can't stop myself.

"Funny seeing you here," I call out.

Michael's head snaps up, his green eyes widening in shock, the quickly darkening with something unreadable.

The blonde eyes me with open confusion and a hint of irritation.

"Who are you?" she demands, clutching his arm tighter, like I'm some threat.

I take a deep breath, fighting the tremor in my voice, struggling to keep the tears at bay. I look at her, then at him, the man I thought I knew.

"Who am I?" I say, letting out a bitter laugh. My gaze fixes on Michael.

"Yes, Michael, tell her—who am I"