3

Cole

Watching Yasmin stand there, humiliated in front of everyone, should have been satisfying. It was what I had wanted, wasn’t it? To see her squirm, to watch her be brought down a peg or two.

Yet, as I stood there nursing a drink I hadn’t even sipped, something inside me twisted—a strange pang I didn’t want to acknowledge.

She stood there, staring at my mother with that silent defiance, her lips pressed together as if holding back every word she wanted to spit out.

That was Yasmin’s specialty, suffering quietly, always trying to prove something.

I knew the words she was holding back. Could almost taste them in the air between us, all the things she refused to say.

Yasmin never shouted. Never broke. Just absorbed it all with that maddening silence.

“How is it,” my mother's voice cut through the murmuring crowd, holding up two identical watches, “that you got the same gift Sarah gave me?”

Sarah, ever the opportunist, clutched my mother’s arm with a well-practiced gasp. “Oh, it’s no big deal, Mother. I sent Cole a sample picture of the watch before I bought it. Yasmin must have seen it and… liked it too.”

I thought I heard a scoff from Yasmin, faint but unmistakable. Maybe I did like seeing her revolt or watching her struggle to hold back. The same way I had once enjoyed offering her money five years ago, just so she could decline marrying me. I was certain she'd grab it and run.

Instead, she'd taken the money that day with a quiet "thank you", folded it into her purse, and still showed up at the altar!

How greedy she was, using her father's illness as an excuse to stay.

I had promised her something that night of our wedding. She wanted gold, didn’t she? Well, I had made it my mission to teach her just how tedious and painful gold digging could be.

I had seen her fussing over what to get for my mother. It was entirely believable that she might have glimpsed Sarah’s idea and copied it.

I never hid my affair with Sarah from her, after all. That was how much hatred and disrespect I harbored for her.

The sugar-sweet tone of Sarah's voice echoed again. "I bet she only liked it."

Yasmin stood there, frozen, her face a mixture of anger and shock, yet she said nothing. Not even a whisper to defend herself. And that infuriated me.

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at her. “Is that true, Yasmin? Did you see the picture Sarah sent me and decide to copy her gift?”

Her gaze shot to mine, sharp and filled with disdain. For a moment, I thought she might lash out, that fiery spirit of hers flaring up again. But then, she turned her head away, swallowing whatever retort she had.

“You won’t say anything?” I muttered, anger coursing through me.

“What would you have me say?” she whispered quietly. “You wouldn’t believe a word I said anyway.”

The murmurs started almost immediately.

“How embarrassing.”

“Imagine copying someone else’s gift.”

“Does she have no shame?”

“Who is she, anyway?”

“Wait… she’s Mr. Cole’s wife? And she’s dressed like that?”

Before I could grow bored of the spectacle, someone in the crowd gasped.

“Wait a minute,” she said, pointing at the watch Yasmin had given my mother. “That’s fake!”

The room erupted.

“Fake? Are you serious?”

“Who gives their mother-in-law fake jewelry?”

Yasmin’s face turned pale. For the first time, she looked genuinely rattled.

“That’s impossible,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I bought that watch myself. It cost a fortune. I had Victor wrap it—”

“Enough!” I cut her off sharply, stepping closer. My voice was low but carried enough weight to silence the crowd. “You had fake jewelry delivered to my mother?”

Just then, a waitress passed by, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Yasmin parted her lips as if to explain but froze instead.

Her face turned ashen, and her eyes widened in panic. Without a word, she bolted from the hall, pushing past the guests as she disappeared through the entrance.

The sight of her fleeing was almost laughable. I smirked, assuming it was just another pathetic attempt to escape her disgrace. Or maybe she was sick, as she had claimed earlier.

Yet, something about the way she fled didn’t sit right with me.

“She’s ruined my party yet again,” my mother hissed, her face a mixture of fury and disdain.

It had been this way last year when Yasmin tripped and fell into the wine cellar. Every year, ever since she became my wife, it has been one drama after another. But tonight was different. For the first time, everyone knew she was my wife.

“You should go on with the party. I’ll have her sent home,” I said coldly, my eyes darting to the spot she had vanished.

But Sarah wasn’t smiling. She stood beside my mother, looking restless, almost angry.

“Is she sick or something?” my mother asked, though it was clear she didn’t care. “She needs to come back here and explain why she thought I was worthy of a fake—”

“Can’t you see, Mother?” Sarah’s voice interrupted, soft but firm, her eyes fixed on the door Yasmin had disappeared through. “Can’t anyone tell? She’s pregnant.”

The word hit me harder than I expected. Yasmin? Pregnant? That couldn’t be.

“What?” I said, my voice low and cold.

Sarah turned to me, her expression a mixture of accusation and triumph. “You told me you’d never have a child with anyone but me, Cole,” she spat, her hands trembling. “You said I was the only woman you saw bearing your children! So this is why you’ve been avoiding me for years?”

“That can’t be,” I muttered, trying to piece together how it could even be possible.

Pregnant? It wasn’t possible. I had been careful. I had watched her take those pills every single day. I had made her visit the doctor. Yasmin couldn’t be pregnant.

“Sadly, she is!” Sarah yelled, her body shaking. “You got another woman pregnant. Another—”

“Sarah!” I snapped, frustrated. Could it be possible that Yasmin was seeing someone else? No. Yasmin wouldn’t dare. She was too loyal—a slave, even. She shuddered at my words and my touch. I had imprinted fear into her. She knew she wouldn’t survive it if she betrayed me.

“How did I miss this?” my mother asked, visibly shocked.

Just then, a maid approached, whispering something in her ear and handing her a slim envelope. My mother’s eyes widened as she pulled out the contents. Without a word, she handed the envelope to me.

I opened it, and my blood turned cold.

Photographs.

Yasmin, half-dressed, lying in the arms of the gardener. A younger, smug-looking man. She was asleep, her head resting against his chest, looking far too comfortable in his embrace.

My grip on the photos tightened, the edges crumpling in my fists.

Just when I thought she might be different, just when I had started to see her in a new light, she revealed her true self in the most dramatic way possible.

“Where did you get this?” I asked coldly, my voice making everyone around me shudder.

“At the entrance of your bedroom, sir,” the maid answered, shifting uncomfortably.

I flipped through the photos, my rage building with each one. At the bottom of the envelope, I found the final piece: a pregnancy test.

The maid added hesitantly, “I found it hidden in the bathroom cabinet, sir. I thought it might be important.”

Important? Important didn’t even begin to cover it.

The room blurred, replaced by a red haze of fury.

I snapped my fingers, and four security guards stepped forward immediately.

“Find her,” I ordered coldly. “Bring her here. Now.”

Before they could leave, the doors creaked open, and Yasmin stepped back into the room.

She looked disoriented, her face pale and her movements unsteady. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on me just as two guards grabbed her arms.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice shaky yet holding a hint of resistance.

“Bring her forward,” I commanded, my voice echoing through the hall.

The guards dragged her to the center of the room, and every eye was on her.

I stepped closer and threw the photographs at her feet. Her gaze fell to them, a mixture of shock and confusion.

Before I could speak, my mother stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face.

“How dare you try to pin a bastard on my son!”