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CHAPTER 3: THE WIFE
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2026-04-17 09:36:47I’d spent sixteen years making damn sure Sebastian Hale would never find me, and now someone was helping him look.
That thought ate at me all night. I sat at the kitchen table until after midnight, eyes stinging from the laptop screen. The blurry photo of that guy in the dark jacket stared back at me while I tried every reverse image search I could think of. Nothing came up. No name, no social media, no work history, nothing. Normal people always leave some kind of trace online. This guy didn’t. That scared me more than anything. I wrote down every little detail I could remember from the two times I’d spotted him outside my building, the rough dates, the time of day, what he was wearing, even how he stood with his weight on his back foot. I wasn’t a detective, but I knew one thing for sure: if you write the details down, they stay real. The ones you don’t can twist on you later when you need them most. By 1 a.m. I finally gave up, closed the laptop, and went to bed. I lay there in the dark, heart heavy, thinking about that watcher, the strange text, and Sebastian’s tired grey eyes staring out at the city like it had worn him down to nothing. I barely got four hours of sleep. It would have to do. --- Thursday morning hit way too fast. I got to Hale Industries seven minutes early and used the time in the lobby to watch everyone. People moved stiffly, their smiles tight and fake. You could feel the tension rolling off them. I knew that feeling too well. Patricia met me at the elevator. We rode up together while she talked quickly about the new vendor list. I nodded and answered, trying to keep my voice steady. The second the boardroom door opened, my heart started racing. Sebastian was already sitting there. He looked up the moment I walked in. Something raw flashed across his face, relief mixed with real pain. It hit me hard in the chest. “Ms. Reed,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Good morning.” “Mr. Hale.” I sat down fast and gripped my folder tight. “The venue lighting brief has problems. I need answers.” “Of course you do,” he replied, giving me a small, tired smile. His eyes stayed on me a second too long. “Ask me anything.” --- This meeting felt sharper and more real than the last one. Sebastian actually paid attention. He asked good questions and pushed back on two of my vendor choices with smart reasons. He’d clearly read everything. I hated that I had to respect him for it. “The east terrace is listed for two hundred people,” I said, keeping my eyes on the paper so I wouldn’t look at him too much. “But your AV team said there’s a structural issue with the speakers. If we’re expecting two-fifty, we’ve got trouble.” “We’re expecting two-eighty,” he answered calmly. I looked up fast. “That wasn’t in the brief.” “I know. I’m telling you now.” “Then I need three more days to fix the floor plan.” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “You have them,” he said without hesitation. “Whatever you need.” Patricia typed quietly in the background. Sebastian kept watching me with that intense stare I kept telling myself was just business. The morning light showed the dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping any better than I was. I refused to feel sorry for him. I swallowed the ache in my throat and forced myself to focus on the numbers, pressing my pen hard into the page. --- The meeting wrapped up at 11:15 a.m. I was packing up my folder when the door swung open without a knock. A tall man with silver hair walked in. Broad shoulders, expensive suit. He moved like he owned the whole damn building and never needed permission for anything. His eyes swept the room, then landed on me with a cold calculation. “I didn’t know the contractor was still here,” he said to Sebastian, like I wasn’t even in the room. Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Victor. The meeting just finished.” Victor Hale. The father who built the company and treated his own son like a business transaction. He looked me up and down, sizing me up like something he might cut from the budget. “Ms. Reed,” he said slowly, testing my name. “I’ve heard a lot about your firm.” “Good things, I hope,” I answered, trying to sound calm even though my skin was crawling. He gave a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Informative things.” Sebastian stood up quickly. “Victor, I’ll come find you after—” “No need.” Victor stared at me again, like he was already three steps ahead. “I just wanted to put a face to the name.” He paused at the door, his voice dropping low. “Welcome to Hale Industries, Ms. Reed. I hope your time here gives you exactly what you’re expecting.” The door clicked shut behind him. The room suddenly felt a lot colder. --- I rode the elevator down alone, my chest tight. When I stepped out into the cold autumn wind, my hand shook as I reached for my phone to call Marcus. Behind me, the revolving door spun. A polished blonde woman stepped out. Nice coat, perfect hair. She glanced at her phone, then froze when our eyes met. My stomach dropped. I knew that face from newspapers and society pages. The same face that had haunted me for sixteen years. Claire Sutton-Hale. Sebastian’s wife. We stood frozen on the sidewalk, the cold wind whipping between us. Two seconds felt like forever. She didn’t look shocked. She looked ready. That terrified me more than anything. She spoke first, her voice quiet but clear. “I know exactly who you are, Naomi,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “We need to talk. Right now.” My heart slammed against my ribs. Eight years of hiding, of building a safe life for me and my daughter, of holding everything together, it all suddenly felt like it was about to break apart right here on this freezing sidewalk. What did she know? How long had she known? And why did it feel like my whole world was seconds away from crashing down?
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I packed a bag for a weekend away with Sebastian, and for once I didn’t feel like a woman executing a plan.I felt like a woman who actually wanted to go. That difference hit deeper than I expected.I stood in my bedroom, the bag gaping open on the bed, and noticed everything that was missing: no performance, no armor of composure, no version of myself built only for survival. Just me, choosing shirts and jeans, letting my fingers linger on soft fabrics while my mind wandered toward two quiet days that asked nothing from me.Isla appeared in the doorway.She looked at the bag, then at me. The quiet satisfaction on her face was the look of someone who had watched her long game finally click into place.“What?” I said.“Nothing.” She leaned against the frame, arms loosely crossed. “You just look like someone who isn’t afraid of anything anymore.”“I look like I’m packing a bag,” I said, but the corner of my mouth twitched.“Same thing,” she answered, soft. “Jade’s coming Saturday. We’re
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