Chapter Twelve: Time seemed to stop
Emma got home that cold evening from her dad's workplace where she had gone to see him. She hadn't seen him since their wedding and had missed him so much that she thought of going to say hey which she already did.
The sky was gloomy and low fingers of thunder could be heard accompanying minimal lightning. It was going to rain.
After exchanging pleasantries with the gateman and driver, Emma's fingers shook ever so slightly as she slid the silver key into the huge oak door of the stately Astor home..
A faint click resonated in the large entrance hall as she went inside, the familiar aroma of lemon polish and expensive perfume greeting her.
The heels of her shoes clicked on the marble floor, a staccato cadence that mirrored the rapid pounding of her heart.
She stopped, taking a long breath to stabilize herself, eagerness writhing in her gut like a mischievous cat. She didn't want to run into Jason. He had been behaving funny since he spotted her with his cousin the previous night. She didn't understand why however, she simply didn't want his tension that night.
The house was so silent, everyone had retreated to their rooms. She glanced at her wristwatch, it was 8pm. Oh, she didn't realize it was so late.
She climbed up the stairs, advancing to her room.
Going through the hallway, the lights in Jason's study were still on, signaling that he was probably not sleeping yet and in there.
“He's not asleep yet?” She thought to herself.
She wanted to go directly to her room but felt it wouldn't do not harm to simply say hey to him.
With a prepared grin poised to adorn her lips, she slid off her coat, draped it over the crook of her arm.
She proceeded towards Jason's study, the muted baritone of his voice seeping through the closed mahogany door which stood at the end of the corridor.
"Jason?" she called out quietly, her voice laced with a musical note, hoping for a reaction to her unannounced visit.
Only silence greeted her, and the hum of talk proceeded unabated, oblivious to her presence.
Emma approached nearer, her fine brows furrowing as the sounds got louder, more clear. There was laughing too—a woman's laughter—light and flirty, intermingling with Jason's deeper laughs.
The music felt strange, out of place in the safety of their shared lives. Emma's fingertips touched the wall, running down the textured wallpaper, feeling the raised patterns as if they might settle her in the world she knew.
Her heart thrummed in her ears, each beat an eager drumroll as she neared the threshold of the door. A sliver of light from inside the study pierced across the darkening corridor, forming long shadows that danced mockingly at her feet.
"Jason," her voice raised in intensity, no longer a soft question but a demand for attention as she put her hand against the thick wood, preparing to pry it open and show the cause of her anxiety.
Her eagerness had changed, now a living monster with claws of doubt and dread that threatened to take away the frail fabric of trust sewn between them.
With a delicate but strong shove, she turned the knob and the door slid inwards, displaying the intimate tableau that devastated Emma's world into unrecognizable bits.
Time seemed to stop as her sight locked upon the intertwined bodies on the bed—Jason and his assistant, Lisa. Their limbs tangled together in an embrace that was everything from innocent.
The colors of the room, once warm and welcoming, now taunted her with their brilliant hues—a sharp contrast to the chilly dread that crept in her gut.
For a minute, no one moved, as if the image were a painting, catching the treachery in exquisite detail. The secretary's hair ran over Jason's arm like liquid amber, a subtle witness to the closeness exchanged between them.
Emma's breath seized in her throat, each inhaling a battle against the smothering truth that crushed down upon her.
Then, as if a spell had been broken, calm gave way to turmoil. The blankets rustled noisily, slashing through the quiet like a siren's shriek. Jason's head shot up, his eyes connecting with Emma's.
He felt a bit guilty. He didn't intend for her to see this. He didn't really expect her to be here at all. What's wrong with this woman?
"Emma," he said, his voice piercing the calm that had befallen the room, although it sounded empty, devoid of the warmth she previously imagined was reserved for her.
The dull aching in her chest burgeoned into a maelstrom of emotions. Anger rushed, hot and violent, blending with the sharp sting of hurt that lacerated her heart.
Disbelief gnawed at her head, the sight before her clashing forcefully. She knew he didn't love her but she had never anticipated he'd go as far as bringing his secretary to the house?
Within the depths of her wide, betrayed eyes, a storm brewed—a tornado of grief and wrath, whirling between the shards of her broken love illusions.
Emma was glued to the place, the elegant curve of her neck narrowing as she swallowed the vomit of embarrassment. Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides, claws sinking crescents into her hands as she sought to ground herself in the face of Jason's inexplicable deceit.
The unexpected burst of action shattered Emma's paralysis. Lisa, Jason's secretary, draped a discarded jacket over her naked shoulders, her cheeks reddened with a remorse that was too little too late. Her desperate effort to hide the evidence of their indiscretion was as fruitless as attempting to unring a bell.
Jason, his hair unkempt, sat up. The lines of his face, once so familiar and beloved to Emma, were engraved with an irrefutable responsibility. He could see the disgust in her eyes. His mouth opened, then closed—no words were coming from lips. He gazed at Emma not with the tenderness of a husband but with the desperation of a guy caught in the act.