Chapter 93 Chapter 93
In the club's luxurious bathroom.
As soon as the door locked, Sheila's composure crumbled. The hot tears she had been holding back so tightly overflowed, smudging her perfect makeup.
She leaned against the marble sink, breathing heavily.
Before today, she had held on to a cynical hope.
She bet that Nicholas didn't really like that girl.
She thought: He only married her because she's the only one who doesn't give him allergies. It's practical. It's physical, not emotional.
The lack of a wedding ring on Caroline's finger had confirmed this suspicion. Sheila had been euphoric for a moment.
It's just a contract, she thought. Rich people's marriages are transactions. He'll get tired of her. He'll discard her.
As long as Nicholas's heart remained cold, she still had a chance. Nothing was too late.
But today...
The way he looked at her. The fierce protection. The tenderness when talking about ice cream. The contempt with which he treated his own friend so as not to upset his wife.
That wasn't indifference.
It wasn't just convenience.
A sob escaped Sheila's throat as she stared at her shattered reflection in the mirror.
“He likes her...” she whispered into the void, the bitter truth burning her tongue.
No, it was worse than liking.
Nicholas Wolf, the heartless man, was loving that girl.
And against that... Sheila knew she had no weapons to fight.
Nicholas acted that way for one terrible reason: he cared. He liked her.
That was the fact Sheila couldn't swallow, like a piece of glass stuck in her throat.
She could endure a marriage of convenience. She could accept another woman in his bed out of duty.
But to accept that Nicholas's heart of ice, which had remained closed for decades, now beat for a stranger?
That was unacceptable.
“How could he?” she whispered to the mirror, her voice trembling with anger.
She had been by his side for over twenty years. She knew his secrets, his silences, his traumas. If he were to love someone, by right and by logic, that person should be her!
After all, who was that girl? How much was that little woman with no history worth?
“Sheila?”
A deep voice sounded behind her, making her jump in fright.
Sheila raised her red eyes and, through the reflection in the hallway mirror, saw the man standing at the entrance to the rest area.
It was Marcus.
The man in white, with his serpentine aura, watched her. Seeing the tears streaming down the face of the woman he had always put on a pedestal, Marcus' cold expression fractured, giving way to a dark storm.
He walked toward her with long, silent strides.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but laden with danger.
Sheila turned quickly, wiping her face with the back of her hand, trying to put on her mask of perfection.
“I'm fine.” She forced a smile that came out painful and fragile. “Just... I got something in my eye. My bad.”
Marcus didn't buy the lie for a second. He knew her too well. His dark eyes scanned her face, detecting the real pain.
“Don't insult my intelligence, Sheila.” He took a step forward, invading her personal space. “Who made you cry? Was it Nick? Or was it that little woman he dragged here? What did they say to you?”
“It has nothing to do with them, Marcus.” Sheila bit her lower lip, assuming the posture of a martyr. “Stop speculating. I'm really fine, it's just... travel fatigue. Don't worry about me. Go back and keep them company.”
With that, Sheila tried to push past him to escape the interrogation.
But Marcus was quicker.
He grabbed her wrist firmly, preventing her from escaping.
“Come with me.” His tone was commanding. “We're going back there now.”
“What? No!”
“I'm going to ask Nicholas, to his face, if that woman is more important than twenty years of brotherhood.” Marcus growled, his hatred for Caroline bubbling up.
“Let's see if he has the courage to watch you cry and do nothing.”
He began to pull her toward the private room.
Panic seized Sheila. If Marcus made a scene now, Nicholas would hate her. He would choose Caroline in front of everyone, and that would be the ultimate humiliation.
“Marcus, let me go!” Sheila struggled, her voice breaking. “Listen, please! It's not what you think. Don't cause trouble, I beg you!”
Marcus stopped abruptly and turned to her, incredulous.
“You're crying because of him, shaking like that... and you're still defending the bastard?”
He looked deep into her eyes, and a silent, ancient pain passed over his face.
“Do you like him that much, Sheila?” The question came out bitter. “To the point of accepting being walked all over?”
Sheila was taken aback. She stopped fighting, her body going limp. She stared at Marcus for a few seconds, speechless, and the truth of that question brought new tears to her eyes.
Yes. She liked him that much. And it was destroying her.
“Marcus...” Her voice faltered.
“Sheila, you...” Marcus began, but his voice died in his throat when he saw the defeat in her.
“Marcus, please understand.” She held his arm with both hands in a gesture of desperate pleading.
“I just came back to the country. I don't want to be the cause of discord. I don't want to destroy the group. I just want us to sit down together and have a peaceful meal, like in the old days.”
A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek.
“Could you do that for me? Let it go... just for today?”
Marcus looked at the woman he loved in secret. Seeing Sheila beg broke his cold heart, but it also ignited a cold fury against the cause of all this: Caroline.
He clenched his jaw, his facial muscles tense. He clenched his free fist at his side until his knuckles turned white.
“Marcus, please...” she whispered again.
A long, tense silence followed.
Finally, Marcus exhaled heavily, defeated by her manipulation.
“All right,” he said, his voice sharp as a blade. “I agree. For you.”