Chapter 123 .

Chapter 123 .
Viola. 

The silence after the birthday wasn't a peace. It was a frozen wasteland. We moved around the penthouse like ghosts haunting the same space, careful not to touch, barely speaking. The only warmth was Eloise. She was a babbling, toddling sunbeam, oblivious to the arctic divide between her parents. Mark doted on her in his spare moments, which felt fewer and farther between. His love for her was the one real thing left, a bridge over a chasm I couldn't cross.

A week after the birthday disaster, I decided to try. Not for me, but for her. For the family she deserved. I needed to talk to Mark about preschools. A normal, married-people conversation.

I didn't call ahead. I just went to his office, Eloise on my hip, a list of potential schools in my bag. Maybe seeing her, seeing us as a unit, would thaw something.

Carl drove us. He'd been quiet lately, his loyalty a silent, uncomfortable weight. He knew. They all knew.

The sleek Sterling Tower lobby felt alien. I didn't belong here anymore. I took the private elevator up, my heart a nervous flutter. Just be normal, I told myself. Just talk.

The door to his office was ajar. I heard her voice first. Emily's. That bright, attentive tone. "...just feel so clumsy. And you've been so kind to put up with me."

I stopped just outside, Eloise squirming. Peering through the crack, I saw it.

Emily was perched on the edge of his massive desk, one hand resting lightly on her ankle. She was wearing a skirt. It was hiked up just enough. Her other hand was on Mark's forearm. He was standing close, leaning in, his back to me. His posture wasn't professional. It was intimate. Concerned.

"It's no trouble, Emily," he said, his voice low, the same tone he used to use with me when I was upset. "These things happen."

Something hot and jagged tore through the ice in my chest. Rage. Pure, undiluted rage. It swept away the hurt, the loneliness, the pathetic hope. This wasn't just neglect. This was a betrayal happening right in front of me.

I didn't knock. I pushed the door open.

The scene froze. Emily's eyes went wide, a perfect picture of startled innocence. Mark turned, and I saw a flash of irritation-at me, for interrupting-before his face smoothed into a neutral mask.

"Viola. This is a surprise."
"I bet it is," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I set Eloise down on a nearby leather chair. "Stay right there, sweetheart." She stared, sensing the tension.

Emily quickly slid off the desk, wincing dramatically. "Oh, Mrs. Sterling! I'm so sorry, I was just... my ankle..."

"Looks fine to me," I cut her off, my eyes on Mark. "Get your hands off my husband."

Mark's jaw tightened. "Viola, don't make a scene. Emily was just upset."
"Upset?" I took a step closer, my gaze slicing to Emily, who was now doing a convincing impression of a wounded fawn. "You look pretty comfortable perched on his desk. Is that part of your job description? 'Personal comfort specialist'?"

Emily's eyes welled with instant tears. "How can you say that? Mr. Sterling has been nothing but kind and professional! I would never-" She looked at Mark, her lower lip trembling. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble."

Her performance was masterful. And Mark was buying it. I saw his protectiveness flare, directed at her.

"That's enough, Viola," he said, his voice a warning growl. "Apologize to Emily."
"Apologize?" The laugh that came out of me was bitter and sharp. "For what? For walking into my husband's office and finding his secretary glued to him?"

The last thread of my control snapped. I didn't think. I just moved. I crossed the space between us and slapped Emily clean across the face.

The sound was loud, shocking in the plush office. Her head snapped to the side. A perfect red handprint bloomed on her porcelain cheek.

For a second, there was absolute silence. Then Emily gasped, her hand flying to her face, real tears now spilling over. She looked at Mark, her expression one of pure, devastated shock.

Mark moved.

It was so fast. One second he was standing there, the next his hand was a blur. The back of his hand connected with my cheek with a force that whipped my head around and sent me stumbling back. Pain, white-hot and shocking, exploded across my face. My ear rang.

I caught myself on the edge of a bookshelf, my hand to my stinging cheek. I could taste blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my lip. I looked at him, my vision swimming.

He was breathing hard, his eyes blazing with a fury I had never, ever seen directed at me. Not when I'd lied, not when I'd run. This was different. This was fury for her.

"Get out," he snarled, each word a shard of ice. "Get out of my office. And don't you ever touch her again."

The words were the real blow. The slap was nothing. This... this was the killing stroke.

I looked from his furious face to Emily, who was now sobbing softly into her hands, peeking at me through her fingers. A tiny, triumphant gleam in her eye.

Then I looked at Eloise. She was standing on the chair, her little face crumpled in confusion and fear. "Mama?"

That broke the spell. I wouldn't let her see this. I wouldn't let her see her father like this.

I walked over, picked her up, and held her close, shielding her face from them. Without another word, without looking back, I walked out of his office.

The elevator ride down was a blur. Carl saw my face, the red mark already darkening, the blood on my lip. His own face went stony. "Mrs. Sterling..."

"Just drive us home, Carl."

In the car, Eloise clung to me, quiet now. I held her, rocking slightly, staring out the window but seeing nothing. The ice in my chest was gone. In its place was a hollow, howling void.

He had hit me. He had chosen her. He had cast me out.

The war was over. I had lost.

But as the city streets blurred past, a new, cold certainty began to form in the void. This wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning of a different kind of fight. And this time, I had nothing left to lose.