Chapter 005

Nicholas had gathered so much courage following his wife downstairs, but the moment she stopped in the kitchen, that courage drained out of him. He paused by the doorway, one hand sliding to the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair. He had never prepared for a moment like this.

Never imagined it would come to this. And he knew, he knew too well, that one wrong move could destroy everything he had been desperately keeping under control for the past years.

‘You’re her whole world,’ he reminded himself silently.

‘She can’t lose you.’

Clinging to that thought, he forced himself to move, crossing toward the dining table while Fatima remained by the kitchen sink, washing dishes.

“Leslie will leave,” he said at last. His voice came out barely above a whisper. His fingers slid along the back of a chair, hesitating, unsure whether to sit.

“That’s good.” Fatima didn’t turn to look at him. Still, her voice carried something, steady, controlled, but with the faintest edge of fear beneath it. It was subtle, but Nicholas caught it, and it gave him just enough confidence to continue.

“So… what did you have planned for us?” he asked, trying to sound casual, hopeful even. He had always known Fatima to believe him over everything. Maybe, just maybe, she was still blinded by love, willing to let this pass.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she finished washing the last dish, dried her hands, and reached into the cupboard for a glass. She filled it with water and walked toward him. For a brief second, Nicholas stiffened, half-expecting her to throw it in his face. But she didn’t. She placed it calmly on the table, pulled out a chair, sat down, and gestured for him to join her.

“W-what?” He stared at her, stunned. “I… I…” The words failed him completely.

“I’ll keep the house here,” Fatima said evenly. “You can keep the one in Florida. I assume you wouldn’t want Bonnie leaving school in the middle of the year. She’s just started making friends.”

The calmness in her tone shattered the little courage Nicholas had. Moments ago, he’d been certain he still had control. Now, the words coming out of her mouth told him otherwise.

“What?” he asked again, disbelief written all over his face.

“We bought both houses together,” she continued. “There was no prenup. That means—”

“Okay, you must’ve hit your head harder than we thought,” he cut in, dropping into the chair. Desperation crept into his voice as his eyes scanned her, from the bandage on her head down to her hands, as if searching for proof that this was some kind of joke. Fatima had a tell. When she was nervous, she bit her finger. If she did that now, he’d know she wasn’t sure.

But her hands rested calmly on the table. No trembling, no fidgeting, steady.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I didn’t plan to do this yet. But I guess we’re doing it now.”

“Doing what?” His voice rose despite himself. “Fatima, what are you saying? Are you suggesting a divorce?”

“The kids are asleep,” she replied. Her eyes flickered, struggling to hold his gaze, but she forced herself to keep it. She needed him to see she wasn’t weak. “I don’t want to wake them.”

“And I’m sure they wouldn’t want to hear their mother suggesting divorce either.”

“Just like they wouldn’t want to hear their father say another woman’s name at the altar.”

Nicholas let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh my God, we’re still on that?” He shook his head. “I explained what that was.”

“And I believed you,” Fatima said, her voice tightening, “until I saw you undressing her in front of—”

“It was a mistake. A moment of weakness,” he cut in quickly, convinced she was referring to what had happened earlier. “Seeing you hurt, with that bandage on your head, it scared me and—”

“Before I fainted,” she interrupted, her blood boiling as the memory surfaced, “I saw you two last night.” The room felt heavier. “Even after that,” she continued, her voice quieter now, strained, “I was still ready to put it behind us. A moment of weakness. That’s what I told myself.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Nicholas snapped, instantly defensive. He’d been so careful. How had she seen them? Then it hit him, the chauffeur. He’d assumed the man had already driven off. He’d been so lost in Leslie that the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

“I see,” Fatima murmured.

She stood, pushing her chair back, clearly ready to walk away. Seven years. Men get bored, this was what people said, and now she was living it. She refused to cry in front of him. Seeing him like this stirred too much emotion, and she feared if she stayed, she might lose control and start yelling. That wasn’t who she was. That had never been their marriage.

“So we’re clear?” Nicholas asked. His voice sounded calm as he reached for the glass of water and took a sip.

“Actually, no.” Fatima turned back. “How long has this been going on?” She sat down again, facing him fully. “How long have you been sleeping with her behind my back?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing his palms together. “Does it matter, Fatima? Yes, Leslie is pregnant with my child, but nothing is going to change.”

Her calm unsettled him. He shifted slightly but refused to show it. He couldn’t tell if she was about to forgive him or if she was clinging to the property discussion, which could only mean one thing: divorce. And that was not an option. He couldn’t face his parents with a failed marriage. It didn’t work that way.

“How. Long?” she repeated slowly, lowering her voice so she wouldn’t wake the children.

The images from the footage she’d seen flashed in her mind, the way Nicholas moved with Leslie. He had never touched Fatima like that, never. Over seven years, he’d always been on top, always restrained. Light cheek kisses. Nothing like what she’d witnessed, him biting Leslie’s fingers, losing control. Some time ago, she’d tried to spice things up, but he’d turned her down, claiming he wasn’t into ‘freaky stuff,’ that sex was man on top, lights off, no foreplay.

Now she wondered, had he avoided it with her because he was doing it with someone else?

“Three years,” Nicholas finally said. 

Fatima blinked. “You’ve been cheating on me for half our marriage… with your business partner?”

“Lower your voice,” he warned. “Don’t make it sound so bad. I’m a man – these things happen.” He chuckled nervously. “Listen, Tima. Leslie will be taken care of. You’ll remain my wife, and Leslie and I—”

“Will get married,” Fatima cut in. Nicholas froze, thrown off. “Top drawer in your office,” she continued. “The divorce papers. Sign them first thing tomorrow.”

No tears, no raised voice, no shaking hands, just finality, and somehow that was far worse than screaming.

“I’m not letting that happen,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife.”

“I am your wife,” Fatima nodded. “So tell me, how is another woman carrying your child?”

“That was a mistake, Tima,” he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t mean it. “You’re still under medication,” he added quickly. “Take a nap. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“I’m very much aware of what I’m doing,” she replied, her voice steady even as fire burned inside her. Leslie was pregnant? “And it’s ex-wife now.”

Before he could react, she pushed her chair back and stood. No slammed doors. No drama. She picked up a magazine from the table and walked away with controlled, measured steps, far too composed for a woman ending a six-year marriage.

It hit Nicholas hard.

Was he living in some parallel universe? On any other day, Fatima begged him to come home for dinner, begged him not to leave, even begged for his touch. She had followed him earlier despite being humiliated in front of honored guests. If this was the same woman, she could’ve said no at the altar. She could’ve asked for a divorce right then.

But now…? No tears, pleading, nothing?

He was Nicholas. Her husband. The father of her children. A man who knew he was a catch. He deserved tears.

“Hold on,” he snapped, jumping to his feet. Fatima froze, her heart slamming violently against her chest. She stopped with her back to him, shoulders stiff, fighting the tears she refused to let him see.