Chapter 56 A Friend
JAMES’ POV
The bathroom doors opened and Melissa stepped out, steam trailing behind her as she reached back to shut them. The faint scent of her expensive body wash filled the room almost immediately. I lay stretched across the bed, phone in hand, scrolling without really paying attention to anything on the screen.
Something felt off.
Melissa never took her bath this early unless she was planning to go somewhere. On days she stayed home, she usually waited until later, threw on something light, barely touched her makeup, and spent the rest of the day lounging around like the house itself was built for her comfort alone.
Today was different.
I watched her walk over to her makeup stand, wrap a towel tighter around her body, and sit down. She reached for her foundation, carefully dabbing it onto her face, blending it with slow, deliberate movements. That alone told me everything. This wasn’t casual. This wasn’t routine.
So she was going out.
The question was — where? And to who?
My jaw tightened slightly as I stared at her reflection in the mirror. Whenever Melissa went out, it almost always ended the same way, overpriced lunches, random shopping sprees that somehow always came back to my credit cards. She never asked. She never considered whether it was a good time. She just spent.
And lately, with everything going on at the company, that was the last thing I needed.
“Where are you going?” I asked, sitting up on the bed.
She paused mid-motion, her comb hovering in the air as she stared back at me through the mirror. There was no guilt on her face, no hesitation either. Just that usual look of mild annoyance, like my question was an inconvenience.
“Well, a friend of mine called,” she said calmly. “She said she wanted us to talk, so I’m going to meet her.”
A friend.
Today, of all days?
I raised a brow, irritation creeping up my spine. “You know my mother is coming today,” I said. “She said she wanted to speak with you, and now you’re just going to bail?”
Melissa scoffed softly and turned back to the mirror, continuing to comb her hair like the conversation barely mattered. “I never said I wanted to speak with your mom,” she replied. “Neither do I want to hear what she has to say. She decided to come on the wrong day. I’m not canceling my important plans just to please her.”
My fingers curled into the sheets beneath me.
“Do you realize she’s my mother?” I said, my tone sharpening despite my effort to keep it calm.
She finally turned fully around to face me, one hand resting on the makeup stand. “Exactly,” she said. “She’s your mother, not mine. So please, I’d like to concentrate.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
I clenched my jaw, staring at her, feeling that familiar mix of anger and resentment boil under my skin. The way she spoke — about my family, about my mother like they were inconveniences she tolerated simply because she married me.
I hadn’t hit a woman before. I never had. But moments like this made dark thoughts cross my mind, thoughts I pushed down every single time, at this rate if she didn’t check herself I’ll be forced to give her a beating to remind her where and who she was in this house, because it was already getting too much, The disrespect, the entitlement, the way she spoke to me like I was nothing more than a walking wallet.
She didn’t see me as her husband.
She saw me as a provider.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated softly in my hand. I glanced down and saw my mother’s name on the screen.
She’s here.
A small sigh escaped me. She came earlier than expected, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she could speak to Melissa before she left and knock some sense into her.
I got off the bed without another word and walked out of the room, leaving Melissa to her mirror and her plans.
I opened the front door to see my mother standing there, handbag in hand, her expression warm but serious.
“Mom, it’s good to see you again,” I said, stepping aside to let her in.
“Same here, son,” she replied as she walked inside. “How are things at the house?”
“They’re fine,” I said automatically, even though that was far from the truth. “Please, have a seat.”
She settled onto the couch, placing her bag neatly beside her. I sat across from her, already feeling uneasy. There was a look in her eyes I recognized concern mixed with disappointment.
“You know why I rushed here to speak with you?” she asked.
“No, not really,” I replied, genuinely confused.
When she called to say she was coming, she hadn’t explained much. Just that it was important.
She leaned back slightly, studying my face. “You want me to spell it out on the walls for you before you realize why?” she said. “Your name has been all over the internet lately, James. And not for good reasons.”
My chest tightened.
“I was shocked when I saw it at first,” she continued. “But instead of jumping to conclusions, I decided to come here and hear it from you. The formula you created years ago — it’s having side effects?”
I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath
“And from your reaction alone,” she added quietly, “I know it must be true.”
There it was.
This was exactly what I’d been dreading. The one person whose opinion still mattered to me finding out. I had tried to control the narrative, tried to keep things contained, but news like this never stayed hidden for long.
“It is,” I admitted.
She shook her head slightly, disappointment flashing across her face. “Then why haven’t you fixed it?” she asked. “You’re the one who created the formula. Or were you waiting for something like this to happen before realizing there was a problem?”
“It’s not that easy, Mom,” I said, rubbing my temple.
“What’s not that easy?” she pressed. “You sounded confident when you told me you created it years ago. You stood in my house and bragged about it. So what’s so hard about making a few adjustments now?”
I swallowed hard.