Chapter 13: "Lines Crossed"

For a long, jagged moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence in the room pressed heavy against my chest, suffocating.

Gabriel’s stare didn’t waver. It was locked on me, unrelenting, sharp in a way I hadn’t seen since before the crash. The old Gabriel, the one who could slice through boardrooms with a single look, was standing in front of me now—only this time, his blade wasn’t aimed at an opponent across the table.

It was aimed at me.

Finally, he turned away. Just slightly. Enough to let out a slow breath that rattled with something between restraint and anger.

“I need air.”

And then he was gone—out the door, down the hall, his footsteps echoing until the sound faded entirely.

The silence he left behind was worse than his suspicion.

I sank into the chair, my hands trembling as I pressed them hard into my face. He didn’t believe me. Not really. Every word I had said had bounced off the wall he’d thrown up in those sharp, watchful eyes.

I thought I could handle this. I thought I could play both sides—protecting Gabriel while leaning on Sebastian in secret. But now, that careful balance was cracking. Gabriel was slipping, and if I wasn’t careful, I would drive him straight into Emily’s waiting arms.

My phone buzzed against the table.

I jumped. Snatched it up.

Sebastian.

My thumb hovered over the screen, my pulse hammering.

I answered.

“Eve,” his voice came through low and steady, carrying that calm charm he always had. The kind of voice that could talk someone out of a storm. “You sound rattled.”

“He knows,” I whispered. “Gabriel saw. The laptop, your name. Everything.”

A pause on the line. Then a sigh. “And how bad was it?

I shut my eyes, the image still carved into my mind—Gabriel’s sharp eyes, his clenched jaw, that dangerous silence.

“Bad. He doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Then we don’t have time,” Sebastian said. “Emily’s going to keep pressing harder every day. The lies, the pictures, whatever game she’s playing—it won’t stop. If Gabriel’s already suspicious, you need proof. Hard proof. Something so real he can’t deny it, not even with that scrambled memory of his.”

Proof. The word hit me like a weight. Proof was what I wanted, what I needed. Proof that Emily was lying. Proof that the pregnancy was fake. Proof that Gabriel hadn’t just… forgotten me but had been manipulated.

Proof could save me.

But the thought of Gabriel finding out that I was conspiring with Sebastian—someone he hated, someone he never trusted—made my stomach turn.

“What if I lose him? I whispered. “What if digging deeper just—pushes him further away?

Sebastian’s voice softened, almost tender. “Eve. You already lost him once. Don’t let Emily take him again.”

My throat closed up. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.

I hated that he was right.

I hated even more that, at that moment, I needed Sebastian.

My grip on the phone tightened. “Fine. Do it. Find me the proof.”

When the call ended, I sat there in the dark, staring at the silent door Gabriel had walked through.

My husband thought I was lying.

My rival thought she was winning.

And I was standing on a knife’s edge, my marriage balanced on which way I would fall.

Emily sprawled across her velvet couch, the glow of the lamp catching the rim of her wineglass. Half-empty. She swirled the red liquid lazily, her lips curved into the kind of smile that only came when things were tilting in her favour.

Her phone lay on the cushion beside her, screen still lit from the post she’d made hours ago. The comments were pouring in, relentlessly.

“Poor Gabriel. His wife looks cold.”

“Emily is glowing. That baby will be so loved.”

“Eve should just step aside. She’s embarrassing herself.”

Emily chuckled. The internet was predictable—hungry for drama, easy to steer. All she had to do was dangle a piece of bait, and the wolves would tear me apart for her.

But tonight wasn’t about the comments. Tonight was about what came next.

She picked up her phone and opened her gallery. Row after row of carefully collected photos. Screenshots. Cropped images. Videos slowed down to catch me at the worst possible second. Most of it was taken through the eyes of strangers—Emily’s little network of “friends” scattered across the city. Some bribed, some manipulated, some just eager to please.

She tapped on one video and let it play.

Me, outside a boutique, looking over my shoulder like I was hiding. Another clip of me stepping out of Sebastian’s car one late evening. Our conversation was muffled, but their closeness was obvious. Another, me in tears at the courthouse months ago, just before filing for divorce.

Individually, meaningless. Together? Damning.

Emily’s smile sharpened.

The beauty of lies was how well they clung to truth. Twist the context, pair it with the right words, and suddenly innocence becomes guilt.

She poured the last of her wine into her glass and raised it in a mock toast to the empty room.

“To you, Eve,” she murmured. “To the woman who doesn’t know how to lose gracefully.”

She sent the first file.

An email. Anonymous. Attached are photos of me and Sebastian, timed carefully to look like a late-night rendezvous.

The subject line: “Your wife isn’t as faithful as she seems.”

And the recipient? Gabriel.

Emily exhaled slowly, satisfaction coiling through her veins. This wasn’t just about humiliating me anymore. This was about control. About twisting the knife deep enough that I wouldn’t crawl back from it.

But then, her phone buzzed again.

A message from one of her watchers.

> “Spotted Sebastian at the courthouse today. Looking tense. Talking to someone in records. Digging.”

Emily’s smile faltered.

She sat up straighter, pulse skipping. Courthouse. Records. Digging.

Her fingers tightened around the glass stem until it almost snapped.

Sebastian. Of course. She should’ve known I would call him back in. That smug bastard was sniffing around, and if he pulled at the wrong thread, everything could unravel—her fake sonogram, the staged photos, all of it.

Emily’s lips pressed into a thin line.

So. The game was changing.

She set down her glass, reached for her phone again, and began typing furiously. She needed to cut Sebastian out before he dug too deep.

And she knew exactly how.

Her eyes glittered as the plan unfolded in her head.

Gabriel wasn’t the only one she could poison against me.