Chapter 4: Behind Locked Doors
The VIP suite on the fourth floor was a quiet sanctuary of plush cream carpets, leather armchairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering skyline of the city. But the luxury felt like a cage. As soon as the heavy oak door clicked shut behind us, locking automatically, the fragile truce between Julian and me shattered completely.
I walked over to the antique mahogany writing desk, resting my palms against its cold surface. My legs were shaking beneath the heavy silk dress. The fake belly felt heavy, ridiculous, an anchor dragging me down into the mud of my own desperate choices.
"I didn't want to do this, Julian," I said quietly, staring at my own reflection in the darkened windowpane. "The miscarriage six months ago... you didn't even take a day off work. You walked out of the hospital room to take a call about a merger while I was still bleeding. When the foundation dinner was announced, you told everyone at the club that the heir was on the way before I even had time to heal. I was terrified of what you'd do when you realized my body couldn't give you what your ego required."
Julian turned away from the door, his face hardening into a mask of pure disdain. He loosened his bowtie, yanking the silk knot down with a sharp, frustrated jerk.
"So you lied?" Julian asked, his voice dangerously low. "You strapped a pillow to your stomach and walked into a room full of the most powerful people in the city, expecting what? That nobody would ever look twice? That you could just fake a birth certificate down the line?"
"I bought us time," I turned to face him, my eyes burning with unshed tears that I refused to let fall. "Time to figure out how to leave you without ending up on the street with nothing. You control every bank account, every asset, every title deed. I was trapped, Julian. This was the only way I could breathe."
Before Julian could fire back a response, a sharp, rhythmic rapping echoed against the heavy oak door of the suite. It wasn't a tentative knock; it was the sharp, authoritative pounding of someone who owned the building.
Julian frowned, stepping toward the entryway. "Who the hell is that? I told security not to let anyone—"
May you like
He swung the door open. Standing in the hallway, bathed in the harsh light of the corridor, was Vivienne. Her dark blue strapless gown was immaculate, her posture rigid. But what caught my breath in my throat was what she held in her right hand.
It was her smartphone, the screen glowing brightly, playing back a continuous, high-definition loop of video footage captured from the high-angle security camera mounted in the upstairs powder room hallway.
