The Ceo's Forgotten Wife
Her reflection in the polished steel doors showed a woman standing taller than yesterday, but with eyes haunted by the storm to come.
The office smelled of coffee and leather. Adrian was at his desk, calm on the surface, but his hands were clenched. He didn’t smile when she entered.
“Sit,” he said, voice low. “We need to talk.”
Isabella obeyed. She didn’t need him to tell her that the world had begun whispering, watching, judging.
“Photos leaked,” he said bluntly. “Not the official ones.”
“I saw them,” she admitted. “And?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Clara’s behind this. She got a photographer to follow us last night.”
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