Chapter 15: I Have a Life, Megan

Carlos stopped, watching her without a word, his expression impassive. The woman inspected her phone with hurried movements, her manicured fingers skimming over the screen.

“Is it broken?” Carlos asked finally, his tone calm but clipped.

She looked up sharply, her eyes meeting his for the first time. Whatever irritation had lingered in her gaze melted away instantly. Her lips parted in surprise, and she blinked rapidly. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s you. The Carlos Antonio.”

He arched a brow, faint amusement tugging at his lips. “Are you?”

“A huge fan,” she said, standing quickly and straightening her posture. Her voice was suddenly breathy, her demeanor completely shifted. “I can’t believe this— I’m actually meeting you.”

“Another fan,” Carlos said calmly, inclining his head slightly. “Which of my work are you into?”

“All of it,” she said without hesitation, her face lighting up. “But especially H-Check. It changed my life.”

Carlos’ expression softened into a practiced smile, though a flicker of irony crossed his mind. H-Check. Cynthia’s invention. His wife— the woman he’d neglected, mistreated— had created something that was saving lives. And here he was, taking the praise.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice steady. “It’s helped a lot of people.”

“It really has,” she gushed. “I used it to predict a possible cancer diagnosis, and now I’m taking steps to prevent it. I owe everything to you.”

Carlos nodded, his smile never faltering. “I’m happy it’s working for you. And your phone? Still intact?”

She glanced at the device in her hand, then back at him. “It’s fine,” she said, laughing lightly. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Good,” he said simply.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then took a bold step forward. “Can I…can I get a picture with you?”

Carlos regarded her for a moment before nodding. “Sure.”

She immediately raised her phone, angling it for the perfect selfie. Carlos leaned in slightly, his practiced smile back in place. The camera flashed, capturing the moment, and she turned to him, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Thank you so much!” she exclaimed, then hesitated again. “It’s my birthday today,” she added, her voice dipping slightly. “Could I…could I get a kiss?”

Carlos tilted his head, his lips curving into a slow smile. “A kiss, huh? Well, it is your birthday.”

“Just a peck!” she said quickly, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Alright,” he agreed, leaning in. But just as he moved to press a light kiss to her cheek, she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“On the lips,” she whispered, her voice almost pleading.

Carlos chuckled softly, then reached up, his fingers brushing against her neck. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The woman melted into him, her hands brushing his shoulders as she leaned closer, but Carlos pulled back just as the kiss deepened.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice low but final. The woman blinked, stunned, her lips parted as if she wanted to protest, but Carlos turned and walked back inside without another word, leaving her standing there in awe.

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Weeks Later...

The Manhattan morning cast soft light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Carlos’s grand estate. Cynthia stirred slightly, her fingers brushing against the silk sheets of the king-sized bed. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the city in the distance. She stretched lazily, the weight of the past two weeks sitting heavily on her shoulders. Paris had been a disaster— nothing more than a staged performance to keep up appearances.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced at her phone on the nightstand. 6:07 a.m. The time stared back at her, a reminder of the day ahead. “It’s time to get ready,” she muttered under her breath, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool tiles met her feet, grounding her.

She made her way to the bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush from the sleek holder beside the sink. The bathroom was immaculate, with pristine white tiles and a large mirror stretching across the wall. As she brushed her teeth, her gaze locked onto her reflection. The woman staring back at her looked like a shadow of who she once was. Her brunette hair was disheveled, and her eyes carried a tiredness she couldn’t shake.

Her mind wandered as she brushed, replaying the arguments and the constant tension that filled her marriage. She spit into the sink and cupped water from the tap to rinse her mouth, sighing deeply as she finished. “This isn’t the life I signed up for,” she whispered to herself.

Back in the bedroom, Cynthia slipped out of her nightgown, letting it pool at her feet. The cool air kissed her skin as she crossed back into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The warm water cascaded over her, washing away the remnants of the restless night. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of peace.

When she emerged, she wrapped herself in a plush towel, her movements deliberate as she prepared for the day. She selected a tailored navy dress from her walk-in closet, pairing it with black heels and a delicate silver necklace. Her outfit was a reflection of her being the wife of the Carlos Antonio: elegant, powerful, and untouchable.

As she descended the staircase, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. She made her way to the kitchen, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors. The kitchen was expansive, with granite countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. To her irritation, Megan was already there, perched casually on the counter, her legs crossed and her attention glued to her phone.

Cynthia hesitated at the entrance. She had no energy for Megan’s antics this morning. She moved toward the coffee machine without acknowledging her sister.

“Morning, sis,” Megan greeted, her tone laced with mockery as she looked up from her phone.

“Morning,” Cynthia replied curtly, focusing on the machine as it hissed to life.

“How was your night?” Megan asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Cynthia’s grip on the coffee pot tightened slightly. She knew better than to let her guard down. Megan was always up to something. “What do you care?” Cynthia responded, her voice flat as she poured herself a cup.

“Because I’m your sister,” Megan said with a grin that was anything but genuine.

Cynthia turned to face her, her eyes narrowing. “You stopped being my sister the moment you decided to take my husband as your own.”

“Come on, Cynthia,” Megan said, swinging her legs off the counter. “You’re still not over this? I’m here to stay, baby.” She ended the sentence with a wink, her grin widening.

Cynthia’s jaw tightened as she took a slow sip of her coffee. “I don’t care anymore,” she said, her tone steady but cold. “But unlike you, I respect boundaries. You don’t see me barging into your wing of the house.”

Megan laughed, a light, taunting sound that filled the room. “Boundaries? In this house? Please. We both own it, remember? You’re the one restricting yourself, sis. Me? I move wherever I want.” She leaned back against the counter, her posture relaxed, as if she had all the time in the world to provoke Cynthia.

Cynthia rolled her eyes, setting her cup down with a little more force than necessary. “Whatever,” she muttered, turning on her heel to leave.

“Off to work, are we?” Megan called after her, the amusement in her voice unmistakable.

Cynthia paused at the doorway but didn’t turn around. “I have a life, Megan. Something beyond playing wife.”

Megan’s next words were like a dagger aimed at her back. “Maybe if you paid more attention to your wifely duties, you wouldn’t have to compete with me.”