Chapter 3 It's My Car

By the time I got to the lobby, I had already been waiting nearly 20 minutes for the car that was supposed to take me to the hospital.

The receptionist made a call, glanced at me before beginning hesitantly. "Mrs. Westbrook... I'm sorry, but the car was reassigned. They need it for an airport run."

I followed her gaze to the side entrance, where the driver was loading luggage into a black Bentley.

It was my Bentley.

My father had given it to me as a wedding gift. However, I had somehow lost the right to use my own damn car to get to the hospital after Matthew added it to the company's executive fleet.

I could still remember what he had told me the year before.

"You agreed to put it in the company fleet, Elena. That means it follows the company schedule, and the drivers work for the company. They're not our personal chauffeurs. If you need to go somewhere, call a car like everyone else."

He was out of town at the time, and I was covering for him while several clients flew in for negotiations.

I stayed with them every night for nearly two weeks, going over contracts and revisions, often leaving the hotel well after midnight.

One night, it was raining so heavily that three of my rides canceled on me. So, I called Matthew and asked if one of the company drivers could pick me up.

His answer was simple.

"Elena, we can't have company staff running personal errands for us."

Yet, Bianca mentioned over dinner that she was nervous about going home alone after dark just last week, and Matthew immediately set down his glass just to drive her home himself.

When I brought it up later, he had the gall to look annoyed. "She's been entertaining bankers for us all week. The least I can do is make sure she gets home safely. Why are you making an issue out of this? You're my wife. I shouldn't have to explain every little thing I do for an employee."

As if I hadn't already spent years putting the company first.

The first distribution property Westbrook Group operated after we married had been mine. My father left it to me, and Matthew said there was no reason to keep its management separate now that we were married.

So, I agreed.

Later, Matthew removed my nameplate from the table when I tried to attend a property operations meeting.

"You own the property, and you're my wife. No one will feel comfortable raising a question or a disagreement if you're sitting in there with me. I don't want people thinking every decision gets made by Mr. and Mrs. Westbrook behind closed doors. Sit this one out. I'll fill you in afterward."

So, I kept stepping back.

First, I gave up control of the property. Then, I gave up my seat at the table. Yet, none of that stopped Matthew from expecting me to audit the books, cover every shortfall, and fix whatever went wrong.

…

Meanwhile, the old injury in my shoulder kept getting worse. Something else would pop up and require my urgent attention every time I tried to schedule treatment.

Bianca, by contrast, had been with the company for barely a month. However, she was already seated beside Matthew, accepting everyone's gratitude as though she had earned her place there.

My phone lit up repeatedly as he added me to several client group chats.

"Contact Elena directly for anything unresolved over Christmas. She'll be staying behind. Send everything to her. Don't call me."

He hadn't even bothered to ask me first because he knew he didn't need to.

All he had to do was give people my name.

He knew I wouldn't leave a client waiting, even if it meant working through the night or paying out of my own pocket.

I opened my message thread with the HR director and typed, "I'm being admitted to the hospital tonight. I won't be available for company matters during my surgery or recovery, and I did not agree to take on any additional handovers. Please make other arrangements."

After I sent it, I muted all my work chats and sent work calls straight to voicemail. I left notifications on only for the hospital and Uncle Gabe.

Then, I headed toward the side entrance.

The driver had just put a garment box in the trunk. His phone sat propped up nearby, Bianca's voice coming through the speaker.

"Are you still loading? What's taking so long? I've been sitting here waiting."

I stopped beside the Bentley. "Who reassigned my ride?"

A brief silence passed before Bianca's voice brightened. "Elena? Oh, were you waiting for that car? Matthew told them to bring my luggage first. I thought you'd already left."

She gave a small titter. "He told them not to bother you with it because he thought you'd get upset again. And with your shoulder and everything... you really shouldn't be getting worked up right now."

I stared into the open trunk.

"Just wait a little longer," she continued. "The driver can come straight back after he drops everything off. Your surgery's tomorrow, isn't it? Getting to the hospital a little later won't make a difference."

Her tone turned almost playful. "Matthew's the one waiting on the plane. You know how impatient he gets."

I reached for the nearest suitcase and dragged it toward the edge of the trunk with my left hand.

The driver hurried over. "Mrs. Westbrook, please. Let me."

"Take the other one out, too."

He hesitated, but he unloaded both suitcases and placed them beneath the covered entrance.

"Wait. What's happening?" Bianca demanded through the phone. "What are you doing with my bags?"

The driver glanced at me before saying, "Mrs. Westbrook needs the car to go to the hospital, so I'm taking your luggage out."

"What?"

A rustle came from the other end.

"Elena, don't touch my things! My dresses and jewelry are in there! It's one thing if you're upset with me, but don't take it out on my stuff!"

The driver handed me the phone, and I said, "Your luggage is fine. Get another car. I'm taking this one."

Bianca argued, "Matthew already said I could use it. You can't just take it."

"Actually, I can. This is mine."

For the first time, she had nothing to say.

I glanced down at the key fob in my hand, where my father had engraved my name before giving me the Bentley as a wedding gift.

Matthew and the company had been free to use the car whenever they needed it for five whole years. Yet, I was somehow expected to ask another woman for permission to use my own car when I needed it to get to the hospital.

Bianca recovered quickly.

"Okay, but Matthew specifically told the driver to bring my luggage first. Don't put him in the middle of this." She paused before adding, "And I have meetings at the gala, Elena. I'm handling the 80-million-dollar credit line now. If my things don't get there and it causes a problem, what am I supposed to tell the bank?"

My eyes fell on the garment box.

A balance-due slip was still clipped to the side.

Bianca kept talking, "Oh, and can you remind Finance about my trip expenses? Matthew already approved everything. They can reimburse me once the credit line clears.

"And if the boutique calls again, just tell them the balance will be taken care of. They keep calling me about it."

That was when I finally understood why she sounded so confident.

The gowns, the jewelry, the seat beside the CEO—she had already started spending money that hadn't even appeared in the company's account.

What she did not know was that it never would.

I handed the phone back to the driver, then opened the rear door. "Take me to St. Rose Medical Center."

Bianca kept calling my name as I shut the door.

…

As we pulled away from the building, the driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Straight to the hospital, Mrs. Westbrook?"

I looked out the window. "Yes. Straight there."

The words came more easily than I expected, and something inside me finally loosened. I wasn't rushing off to solve someone else's problem for once before taking care of myself.

After I checked in, I received a message from Uncle Gabe.

"It's official. The funds have been withdrawn. The notice is going out now to Westbrook Group's CFO and designated contact."

A second message followed.

"Are you at the hospital?"

I replied, "I'm checked in. Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

Matthew had already promised several vendors they would be paid after Christmas, so once word got out that the money was gone… Well, I knew the calls would start coming.

In the past, every one of them would have eventually been passed to me. I would have apologized on Matthew's behalf, negotiated for more time, reassured everyone, and somehow kept things from falling apart.

But this time, it was out of my hands.

I didn't open a single spreadsheet or answer another work-related message. Instead, I turned off my phone, put it in the bedside drawer, and gently slid the drawer shut.

Then, I pulled the blanket around me and closed my eyes.

For the first time in years, I actually slept like a baby.