Chapter 2: The Architect of His Illusion
Chapter 2: The Architect of His Illusion
Before the sheer cruelty of her words could fully register in my exhausted mind, the heavy wooden door of the recovery room swung open. Dominic’s executive assistant, Brooke, stepped inside. She didn't look like an assistant today. She wore a smug, radiant smile and a tight, cream-colored designer dress, one hand resting protectively on the gentle, barely-there curve of her stomach.
“A baby boy,” Brooke announced, her voice echoing with pure, unadulterated triumph as she walked over to stand at Dominic's side. “Twelve weeks along. The doctor confirmed it this morning.”
For a agonizing second, the room seemed to spin on its axis. The betrayal was so sharp, so utterly brazen, it stole the air from my lungs. The smell of hospital antiseptics suddenly made me nauseous. But as I looked at the three of them—a circle of vipers standing over a bloody, exhausted mother—a different kind of energy began to pulse through my veins. A cold, calculating fury. I refused to give them the satisfaction of watching me break.
Dominic casually tossed a gold-plated Montblanc pen onto my rolling hospital tray. It clattered loudly against my water pitcher.
“Sign the papers. My lawyers have already drawn up the terms,” he commanded. “I’ll let you keep the downtown apartment for three months so you can figure things out. You should be thankful I’m being this generous.”
I glanced down at the legal documents before looking back at the man I had married six years earlier. Back then, he owned one ill-fitting suit and carried far more debt than savings. He honestly believed the sprawling tech company, the luxury penthouse, and the exclusive gala invitations with his name embossed in gold existed because of his own sheer brilliance.
He had entirely forgotten who had opened every single door. He had forgotten that my family’s trust quietly owned the very ground he walked on.
“Three months?” I asked quietly, keeping my face a blank, unreadable mask.
May you like
Olivia smiled, a terrifying stretch of thin, heavily-injected lips. “A woman who gives birth to daughters should learn her place and take what she is given.”
I kissed Grace’s warm forehead. Picking up the pen, I bypassed the financial agreements and signed only the final page—the one confirming I had received the documents—knowing full well it was legally meaningless. Dominic didn't even check. He laughed, leaned over to kiss Brooke's neck right in front of me, and walked out, his mother trailing close behind like a faithful hound.
