Chapter 115: Chapter 115

A few hours later... Scott returned.

I hadn’t told anyone he was coming back.

I didn’t tell Ace, or Mary, or any of the other staffs in the house, not after what I’d heard that morning, after the way their voices had curled around my name like something rotten, I hadn’t felt generous enough to offer them preparation. Let them be caught exactly as they were.

I stood near the foyer when the front door opened. The staff were scattered. Some in the back halls, some near the kitchen, some lazily moving about as if the day were ordinary. But it wasn’t.

Scott stepped inside, travel-worn but unmistakably imposing, his presence filling the space instantly. His gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing, and I watched disappointment flicker across his face when he realized no one had rushed forward to greet him.

There was no orderly welcome. No, nothing at all.

Just silence.

I walked toward him anyway.

“Welcome home,” I said.

I said those words only out of respect and respect alone.

Scott looked down at me, as he stared deeply into my face. “You didn’t tell anyone I was coming?”

“No,” I replied flatly. “I didn’t.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, but before he could ask why, footsteps rushed toward us.

My despicable mother.

She appeared like a storm breaking loose, barefoot and dramatic, her face already twisted into practiced misery. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t slow down. She threw herself straight into Scott’s arms like that was where she belonged there.

“Oh, Scott,” she cried, clutching at his shirt. “You have no idea how hard it’s been. I’ve been so hurt, so alone—”

Scott’s body stiffened.

“I came here for you,” she went on, voice shaking. “I was scared. I was sad. And my daughter... your wife. Yes—your wife pushed me. She tried to hurt me. She tried to kill your child. Our baby. Our sweet precious baby.”

I folded my arms as she mentioned their baby and waited to see how Scott would react to the things she had said.

Scott gently but firmly pulled her away from him. His expression hardened so quickly it was almost frightening.

“Cut the bullshit, Claire,” he said. “Seriously. Stop. You’re being ridiculously stupid right now and I have no time to deal with this bullshit at all.”

Claire froze.

“I’ll deal with you,” Scott continued coldly, “but not like this. And not now.”

She blinked rapidly. It was so clear that she was not expecting that response.

“And let me be very clear,” he added, his voice carrying. “You won’t be staying here long. So, before I get back to you, you’d better get your affairs in order.”

Claire opened her mouth.

“And one more thing, Claire,” Scott said, cutting her off, “you’ll need to find the father of that child you’re carrying.”

The room went dead silent.

“Because it damn sure isn’t me.”

With that, Scott turned and walked past her, heading deeper into the house without another glance.

I smirked.

Claire stood there, stunned, her mouth slightly open, her dramatic posture collapsing in on itself. Slowly, she turned toward me, her face twisting into anger.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “You think you’ve won?”

I laughed.

Not a polite laugh. Not a nervous one. A full, incredulous laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep and bitter.

“I never realized just how foolish you were mother,” I said between breaths. “Or how desperate you are... until now.”

Her hand flew up.

She was about to strike me.

“Don’t.”

Mary’s voice cut through the air as she entered the foyer.

Claire’s hand froze midair.

Mary looked between us, confusion flickering across her face before she forced a smile. “Good afternoon, Sabrina.”

I didn’t respond. After all I’ve heard, I couldn’t bear to even force a smile to talk more of even giving her a response.

Mary’s smile faltered. “Is Mr. Scott home?”

Claire scoffed. “Mind your business.”

Mary stiffened. “I was just—”

“You should be more concerned about keeping your mouth shut,” Claire snapped. “Especially when grown people are talking.”

Mary flushed, clearly offended, but she held her tongue.

I turned to my mother. “You have bigger problems than me,” I said calmly. “Like figuring out how you’re going to explain your fake pregnancy.”

Her eyes widened.

Before she could respond, a voice echoed from above us, cutting through everything like a blade.

“Sabrina,” Scott called from the top of the stairs. “Come up here. Now.”

I climbed the stairs slowly, Scott stood inside the bedroom when I reached the landing.

Suitcases lay open on the bed and floor. Boxes were stacked against the walls, some half-packed, others overflowing with clothes I hadn’t bothered folding. Dresses spilled out. Shoes lay scattered, mismatched. Jewelry boxes sat open, empty, their contents already tucked away.

Scott’s eyes swept the room once, twice, then landed on me.

“What is all this?” he asked quietly.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, crossing my arms. “What does it look like?”

His jaw tightened. “It looks like you’re moving out.”

“I’m preparing,” I corrected.

His head snapped up. “Preparing for what?”

I met his gaze evenly. “To leave.”

For a moment, he didn’t react.

“Leave?” he repeated. “Sabrina, what are you talking about?”

“I’m fed up,” I said simply. “And I’m done.”

Scott exhaled sharply and stepped farther into the room, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not leaving.”

I laughed once, humorless. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Yes, I do,” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. “I mean—no. That’s not what I meant. I’m saying this can be fixed.”

I pushed off the door and walked toward the bed, picking up a sweater and folding it. “You say that like it’s the first time.”

“Sabrina,” he said, following me. “This house is a mess. Your mother is here. Everyone’s on edge. You’re upset. I get that. But you don’t walk out of a marriage because of a little drama.”

I dropped the sweater into a suitcase and zipped it halfway. “You call this a little drama? A little drama?”

He stopped in front of me. “Yes.”

I looked up at him.

“It’s a child, Scott” I said. “I feel so trapped here.”

His face fell.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly. “You’re not trapped.”

I shook my head. “I was pushed into it. You know that. This isn’t love, Scott. None of it is. It’s just all a deal.”

He flinched, just slightly.

“I tried,” I continued, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it calm. “I really did. I tried to be your wife. I tried to fit into this house, into your life. I swallowed my feelings, my anger, my humiliation. I stood beside you while your staff judged me. I defended you when my own mother crossed lines she never should have crossed.”

“I know,” Scott said quietly.

“No, you don’t,” I snapped. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here acting surprised.”

He reached for me. I stepped back.

“Sabrina,” he said, his voice lower now. “I’m not letting you leave.”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

He sighed, frustration creeping in. “Where would you even go?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“It is when you’re my wife.”

I laughed again. “You only remember that when it’s convenient.”

“That’s unfair.”

“So is this marriage.”

He stared at me. “You think I don’t care?” he asked incredulously. “And you think I married you just to decorate my life?”

I hesitated.

That pause was answer enough.

Scott clenched his fists. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

Scott stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You think leaving will fix this?”

“No,” I admitted. “But staying is destroying me.”

His expression softened.

“I can fix it,” he repeated. “I’ll send Claire away. Permanently. I’ll do everything right this time.”

I swallowed hard. “What about the baby?”

“That baby is not mine, I promise you.”

He reached for my hands this time, and I didn’t pull away.

“Don’t go,” he said quietly. “Please.”

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered.

“You’re my wife.” His grip tightened. “I need you.”

I closed my eyes.

“I need you,” he insisted.

I pulled my hands free. “You need someone better than me.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

Finally, his shoulders slumped. “Just… stay,” he said quietly. “At least until we talk this through properly.”

I looked around the room.

“I don’t believe you anymore,” I said.

“Please,” he said again.

I turned away, zipping another suitcase. “I need space.”

He watched me for a long moment, then nodded stiffly. “Fine. Take space. But you’re not leaving.”