CHAPTER 4 - FIGHT AT THE GATE

CHAPTER 4...

RUSSELL'S POV...

I tried to pull my thoughts together, my eyes still fixed on the photo on my screen.

Why Betty's elder brother? Why him? I gasped mentally.

Just then, the phone in my hand buzzed. It was Betty.

"Speak of the devil," I hissed, tossing the phone aside. You ended the wedding yourself, so why are you suddenly being so clingy? I thought with a shrug.

The phone kept ringing on the couch. I left it there, grabbed a notebook and a pen to draft the basic rules for our living arrangements, and headed to my room. After a warm shower, I sat on the mattress with my eyes fixed on the blank sheet, unable to pin down a single word. The photo of Sharon and Gary refused to leave my mind.

Betty had never mentioned to me that her brother was engaged. Why did they break up? I wondered, curiosity suddenly eating me alive from the inside.

After staring at the page for what felt like hours, I managed to scribble down a few words before exhaling a tired sigh and collapsing backward onto my pillow.

"I'll better do this tomorrow. I'm too tired to write or even think," I mumbled, a loud yawn escaping my lips as sleep finally took over.

NEXT MORNING

I woke up early to prepare breakfast. I’ve always hated the idea of hiring a private chef or constantly eating out. Living alone for most of my life taught me self-reliance, even though my family lived only a mile away. Starting my career at such an early stage forced me to move out to protect my private space and keep up with a chaotic schedule.

Walking past Sharon’s room, I gave the door a light knock.

"Is she still sleeping?" I muttered, pressing my ear against the wood. "Sharon? You up?"

When only dead silence answered, I leaned forward. My weight caught the doorknob, and the door cracked open. I lost my balance for a split second, catching the frame before I could trip.

I peeked into the room cautiously. "Sharon?"

To my surprise, the room was empty. The bed was neatly made; it looked as though she hadn't even spent the night here.

Did she ignore my warning last night and run back to her house? That’s not good... Panic flared in my chest. I darted out of the room and sprinted to the lounge to find my phone.

I found it buzzing wildly on the couch. I snatched it up, seeing my manager Dan’s name on the screen.

"I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon, Dan. Couldn't you wait at least two days before calling?" I snapped sarcastically, throwing myself onto the sofa. "What do you want?"

"Russell, you need to get down to the hospital right now," Dan said, his voice tense. "Reporters have your wife completely surrounded. And by the way, how come you never mentioned I was going to be an uncle?"

I stood up abruptly. "What do you mean, hospital? What are you talking about? What reporters?"

"Russell, are you sure you're actually married? How are you completely clueless about your wife's whereabouts?" Dan sighed. "Reporters trailed her from your penthouse to the clinic. They just caught her stepping into a gynecologist's office—"

Before Dan could finish the sentence, I threw the phone down, grabbed my jacket from the stand, and bolted out the door.

SHARON'S POV...

What the hell is going on? Why am I being followed?

I couldn't believe getting married to Russell would be this much of a hassle. What was I thinking when I agreed to this? His massive public profile was going to ruin my life. I couldn't even step outside without a camera flashing in my face. What a nightmare! I groaned internally, hiding inside a private consultation room. My eyes darted around anxiously as muffled footsteps echoed outside the door.

My phone buzzed inside my purse. I snatched it out in a hurry, relieved to see Lili’s name.

"Sharon, are you okay?" Lili burst out the moment I answered. "Photos of you at the hospital are already going viral online. What happened? Didn't you know you were being tailed? Why didn't you wear a hat or a mask? You know how famous Russell is! Are you still there? Should I come get you?"

I swallowed hard, noticing shadows shifting underneath the door crack. I backed away, moving closer to the window.

"You're probably at the office already, Lili. It's fine," I whispered rapidly. "I'll get myself out of here, I just need to wait them out. Thanks for checking up—"

A call waiting beep cut her off. It was Russell.

"Lili, let's talk when I get back. I have to take this." I switched lines immediately. "Russell, what do I do? There are reporters everywhere, I'm trapped!" I panicked, my voice shaking.

"I'm at the hospital. Where are you?" he asked, his tone terrifyingly cold.

Why does he sound so serious? Does he already know? No, maybe I'm just overthinking this. I cleared my throat. "I'm in the private ward section."

The line went dead before I could say another word.

I stared at my screen nervously. Dozens of missed calls and unread messages from my dad and Claire were piling up. I ignored them all. Why are you calling me now? To rub salt in the wound? Call me whatever names you want, but I’m not answering a single person.

A sharp knock rattled the door. I lunged forward and pulled it open. It was Russell, wearing a black face mask. Before I could even breathe a greeting, he pulled me back into the room, fished a spare mask from his pocket, and slipped it over my face.

Then, he just stared at me.

"What's with the look? Did I do something wrong?" I asked, averting my gaze from his piercing eyes.

"So, you're pregnant?" he asked flatly.

I looked away, tightening my jaw and refusing to answer.

"Sharon!" he barked, anger bleeding into his voice.

"Let's talk about this at home," I muttered, pushing past him out into the corridor.

He followed closely behind. To my surprise, the hallway was clear. The reporters were gone, as if they had never been there at all. I swallowed the lump in my throat, scanning every face cautiously as we hurried toward the elevator.

The drive back to the penthouse was agonizingly quiet. The silence was heavy and suffocating. Neither of us uttered a word, but the tension in the car was thick, fueled by the impending confrontation waiting for us at home.

Do I really have to tell him about this pregnancy? I thought, frowning out the window. I don't want to. Why does he keep pushing? This marriage is supposed to be over in a few months anyway, so what's the big deal?

As we pulled into the penthouse driveway, a car screeched in right behind us at a dangerous speed, swerving violently to block our path.

"What the hell is going on? Who is that?" Russell muttered, leaning over the steering wheel to get a clearer view.

The driver's side door of the blocking car burst open, and Gary stormed out.

My heart dropped straight into my stomach.

What is he doing here? I panicked, glancing at Russell, who was already glaring at me with a mix of suspicion and rage.

We both got out of the car.

"Gary..." I called out, rushing toward him.

Gary looked at me, his eyes burning with pure hatred. "So this is how it is. I call off the wedding a day before, and you get married to someone else that exact same afternoon? What is this, Sharon? Is he the one? Is he the father of the bastard you're carrying? Is that why you married him? You were just waiting for me to walk away so you could run back to your lover boy!"

He laughed bitterly, his face so contorted with rage that I barely recognized the man I had loved.

"You're a joke, Sharon. While you were with me, you acted so innocent, but behind that sweet face, you're nothing but a whore. A cheap slut!"

Every insult that left his mouth tore away a piece of the love I had harbored for him for seven years. How could he? How could he say those things to me? Tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and stinging. My knees buckled, suddenly feeling too weak to hold my weight.

"Watch your mouth, man!" Russell roared, snapping me out of my despair.

Before anyone could move, Gary threw a blind punch, catching Russell squarely in the jaw. Russell staggered backward from the unexpected impact, the corner of his lip splitting open and bleeding.

But as Gary lunged to throw another punch, Russell anticipated it. He delivered a swift, brutal kick to Gary’s midsection, sending him crashing onto the pavement.

Russell turned to the estate security guards who were already rushing over.

"Get this garbage out of my sight," Russell ordered coldly. He turned back to Gary, who was struggling to push himself up. "If I ever see you near my wife again, I’m getting a restraining order. Get the hell off my property!"

Russell grabbed my wrist, pulling me tightly toward the building.

Tears blurred my vision completely as we stepped into the elevator. A slut. Seven years of memories, college milestones, and shared dreams ended with him calling me a whore. I had turned down countless men over the years out of loyalty to him, and this was my reward. He didn't even care to ask what happened. He just assumed the worst.

When we reached the apartment, Russell yanked his hand away from mine. The sudden movement snapped me back to reality. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, sniffing back a sob.

Russell stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, his expression completely unreadable.

"Let's eat first. I'm hungry," he said quietly, before turning into the kitchen.

I stared after him in utter disbelief. Why is he being so calm? He just got punched in the face, and he was far angrier at the hospital than he was now. Shouldn't he be screaming at me? Demand to know why I lied? A sharp prickle of curiosity cut through my sadness.

Slowly, I walked over to the sofa and sank into the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. For some strange reason, trying to decipher his behavior completely distracted me from the heartbreak of Gary's betrayal.

A few minutes later, the rich, savory aroma of fried eggs and sizzling hotdogs filled the air. My stomach gave an embarrassing, loud rumble.

Looking over, I saw him setting two plates on the dining table. I cast my pride aside and walked over, pulling out a chair. One of the plates was clearly meant for me.

"Are you keeping it? And who's the father?"

The questions dropped out of his mouth so casually that the fork slipped from my hand, clattering against the floor.

"You visited the clinic," Russell added, sitting down across from me with a perfectly relaxed expression. "What did the doctor say?"

He sounded like we were just discussing the weather. I tried to swallow, but it felt as though a heavy lump of lead was lodged firmly in my throat.