Chapter 8
On her way home, Myra received a call from a curious Tilly, who was eager to know how the meeting had gone. Myra shared the details with her, only leaving out the parts she felt unnecessary. After hearing the results, Tilly was ecstatic, but she didn’t hang up until she had pried about Myra’s dreamboat—her playful way of referring to Tony.
Perhaps Myra was elated because someone as significant as Hart Group had acknowledged her design. But by the time she reached home that night, it was nearly ten o’clock, and Eve was already fast asleep.
As Myra drove through the gates of the Chase Residence, she noticed the black Lamborghini parked inside the driveway. She turned off the ignition and, to her surprise, heard soft giggles and playful voices from inside the car. It wasn’t long before she recognized one of the voices—it was Elsie’s.
Myra’s earlier joy evaporated in an instant, replaced by a cold rush of resentment that swept through her. Her heart sank as she sat motionless in her car, the weight of it pulling her down. It felt like her soul was withering, and she could feel every ounce of energy leaving her body.
She switched off the lights of her car, and though the car across from hers had its lights off as well, the garden lights illuminated the scene inside—the sight of Elsie hastily putting on her skirt and jacket. Elsie cast a knowing look at Sean before the two of them embraced in a passionate kiss. The sight pierced Myra’s heart like a fresh wound, raw and painful, as though salt was being rubbed into an open cut.
Myra wasn’t sure how long she sat there, watching them through the window, but the time seemed to stretch on. The pain grew numb, and only when Sean finally drove out of the gates, likely on his way to spend the night with Elsie, did she pull herself from the stupor.
She stumbled out of her car, her limbs heavy, and walked into the house like a ghost. She made her way straight to the bathroom, desperately needing to wash her face to clear the fog in her mind. But as she turned on the faucet, her legs gave way beneath her, and she sank to the floor, burying her face in her knees.
Sean had never been like this. There was a time when he had been kind and gentle toward her. He never once hurt her with harsh words or accusations, even when she clung to him for dear life. But now, it was as though he no longer saw all she had done for him, and the man who once made her feel loved had broken her heart in ways she couldn’t have imagined.
The sudden cold of the water splashing onto her clothes snapped her out of her thoughts. She shuddered as she saw the faucet still running, water spilling over and soaking her clothes and the floor around her. With difficulty, she managed to pull herself up and turn off the water.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, pinched with exhaustion, and she tried to force a smile, but the result was far from reassuring—her attempt only made her look more hollow.
Just as she stepped away from the bathroom, the front door of the villa opened. Myra heard the familiar sound of footsteps, and though she didn’t turn to look, a bitter thought crossed her mind: Why should I try so hard to please him when he hates me this much?
She continued walking up the stairs, but before she could make it to the top, she felt a strong hand grab her wrist, halting her in her tracks. The force behind the grip was like a boulder. “Where did you go tonight?” Sean’s voice was cold as he tightened his hold on her wrist.
Myra winced at the pain but forced herself to suppress it. She turned to face him, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I had a dinner appointment.”
“With whom?” His gaze locked onto hers, demanding an answer.
Her eyes, beautiful and clear, held no malice—just a quiet intelligence. Her features were delicate, soft, and unassuming, but in this moment, they were also tinged with something that might have unsettled him. For a brief second, Sean seemed to hesitate, lost in the depths of her gaze.
If she wasn’t despicable, he thought, perhaps he could still try to work things out with her. But the thought vanished just as quickly as it appeared.
His face darkened, and with a sarcastic tone, he sneered, “Were you having dinner with a bunch of other men again? Was it really just a dinner appointment, Myra? Or were you fooling around behind my back? Why don’t you tell me how those business meetings of yours went?”
By the end of his sentence, his voice had turned sharp, laced with suspicion and anger.
Myra’s gaze met his without wavering. She knew exactly what he was insinuating. The bitterness of the moment washed over her, and despite the ache in her chest, she felt an ironic sense of emptiness.
She pulled her arm from his grasp with a slight stagger, her movements deliberate but steady. “Why do you want to know? Are you mad because I had a business meeting with a male client?” Her voice was calm, but her words were sharp as they cut through the tension.