Chapter 9: Shattered Trust

The door clicked shut behind Gabriel, and silence swallowed the room.

Only the faint hum of the chandelier above remained, buzzing like a taunt.

I stood frozen, my chest heaving, my fists trembling at my sides. Across from me, Emily leaned against the sofa, one ankle lazily crossed over the other, a queen savouring her coronation.

“Round one goes to me,” Emily whispered again, softer now, as though the words were a lullaby meant to haunt.

I didn’t answer. She couldn’t—not without lunging across the room and clawing the smirk off Emily’s face.

Instead, I turned, heels clicking hard against the marble, and left without a word. If I stayed another second, I would break. And if I broke in front of Emily, I might never recover.

---

The elevator doors closed, sealing me in with my reflection. My face looked ghostly in the mirror—mascara streaks, bloodless lips, wild eyes that didn’t belong to me. I barely recognised the woman staring back.

My throat ached as though I had swallowed glass.

I had lost him. Not completely—but enough. Enough for the doubt to set in, enough for Emily’s lie to poison everything.

Gabriel’s face replayed in my mind again and again—the flicker of confusion, the hesitation, the way he looked at Emily’s hand on her stomach.

He didn’t remember. He couldn’t.

The sonogram, the confrontation, the betrayal—all of it had been erased in that crash. His memory had rewritten history. And in that blank space, Emily had found fertile ground to plant her seed of poison.

Maybe… deep down…. You already know it’s true.

The words rang in my skull until I wanted to scream.

I pressed my palm to the glass wall of the elevator, as if the coolness could make me steady, but it didn’t.

Emily was winning.

And I couldn’t keep pretending that love alone would save my marriage.

---

The lobby greeted me with indifferent stares. Suits and dresses shuffled past me, their eyes sliding over my tear-streaked face without slowing. The world kept spinning, uncaring, as mine unravelled.

I stumbled out onto the street, the cool evening air rushing into my lungs like fire.

Everywhere I looked, I imagined whispers. The drivers at the kerb. The woman with her phone. The couples crossing the street. They know. They’ve seen. They believe her.

Was Emily already spreading it? Of course she was. Why else would she be so calm? So smug?

By the time I flagged down a cab, I was shaking—not just from anger, but from the dawning realization.

If Gabriel doesn’t believe me, no one will.

---

The ride home blurred past. I hardly noticed the neon signs, the traffic or the voices of strangers. I was locked in my mind, replaying every word, every glance.

He raised his hand to silence me.

Not to hit me, but to shut me up.

That small gesture burnt deeper than the betrayal itself.

When the cab stopped, I almost didn’t move. I almost stayed there, hoping the city would swallow me instead.

But I forced my legs to carry me up the steps of the townhouse I once called home.

My sanctuary felt foreign now, like a museum of a life already lost. The framed photographs mocked me—Gabriel kissing my cheek at the gala, our wedding picture with his arm around my waist and the trip to Italy where he’d carried my shoes across cobblestones.

Lies. All of it.

My knees buckled, and I sank onto the stairs, curling into myself like a child.

For the first time since this war began, I felt powerless.

---

Minutes—or hours—passed. I didn’t know.

My phone buzzed beside me, jolting me upright. For a split second, my heart leapt. Maybe it was Gabriel. Maybe he’d chosen me after all.

But it wasn’t.

It was worse.

Emily.

A photo filled the screen.

My heart dropped.

It was a picture of Gabriel and Emily together, smiling. Intimate. Her arm hooked through his, his face relaxed, his lips curved into the kind of smile he hadn’t given me in years.

The caption:

“The truth always comes out. #FamilyFirst”

My stomach turned. Family? Family?!

I dropped the phone like it burnt me.

And that’s when it hit me, sharp and cold:

If I stayed passive, if I kept letting Emily strike first, I would lose everything. My marriage, my dignity, my life as I knew it.

Gabriel’s hesitation tonight had been the warning. He was slipping through my fingers, and Emily was tightening the noose.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. Slowly, a different expression took root.

Not despair. Not helplessness.

Rage.

If Emily wanted war, she’d get one.

And I would not play fair anymore.

I sat frozen on the edge of the sofa, my chest heaving, the silence of the house pressing down on me like a weight. The phone lay face down on the rug, but I could still feel it pulsing through the air, like poison spreading in my veins.

My knuckles whitened as I picked it up again. I scrolled back to the photo—Gabriel, smiling, relaxed, happy. With her.

Not me, the wife he’d built a home with. But Emily.

And that caption—FamilyFirst.

My lips curled. A bitter, humourless laugh escaped my throat. “Family? You wouldn’t know family if it bled in front of you, Emily.”

For the first time in weeks, the tears stopped. My eyes felt sharp and steady.

If Emily wanted a war, fine. But wars weren’t won with tears. Wars were won with strategy.

I pulled up my messages. My finger hovered over one contact, one I hadn’t dared reach out to in months. Not because I couldn’t—but because I hadn’t needed to. Until now.

She pressed the call.

The line clicked after two rings.

“Eve?” The voice was deep and cautious. Male.

My pulse jumped. Memories tangled with the sound—conversations late at night, reassurance when my marriage first cracked, someone who had seen my pain without asking questions.

“Sebastian,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I need a favour.”

A pause. Then, “Say the word.”

My hand trembled as I closed my eyes. This was it—the first move. Not begging Gabriel, not weeping over Emily’s claws in my life. This was me taking control.

“I need information. On Emily. Everything. Where she goes, who she meets, how she pays for things. I want every skeleton dragged out of her closet.”

Silence hummed through the line for a moment. Then a low chuckle. “So it’s like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.”

My reflection glared back at me from the darkened TV screen. This wasn't me who baked cookies for school fundraisers or who ironed Gabriel’s shirts before board meetings. That woman had been buried the moment Emily posted her smug little caption.

This me was ready to claw back my life.

“Consider it done,” Sebastian said. “You’ll have your first report in forty-eight hours.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t let it show. “Thank you.”

The call ended.

For the first time in days, I inhaled without shaking. I looked down at my phone one last time, at the hateful photo.

My thumb hovered over the image, and instead of deleting it, I saved it into a private folder.

Evidence.

Because this wasn’t just about fury anymore. It was about proving—when the time came—that Emily had built her throne on lies.

And I would be the one to pull it out from under her.

My eyes flicked to the clock. Midnight.

I leaned back against the sofa, staring into the shadows. My jaw tightened.

Emily thinks she’s won round one. She hasn’t even seen what I’m capable of yet.