chapter 6
The next morning brought something unexpected.
A call from Emma.
Michael’s childhood friend.
She’d been quiet lately, but her name flashing on my phone screen made my gut tighten.
I answered.
“Lily,” her voice was honey-sweet. “I was wondering if you’d mind if Michael helped me with a property transfer this week. It’s nothing big, just a few papers.”
“Is this the same property he helped you scout last year?” I asked.
There was a pause.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s just a formality.”
I didn’t say anything.
But I heard it.
Michael’s voice from upstairs.
Emma again? Why now? I haven’t spoken to her in months. Lily won’t like this. I don’t want her to misunderstand.
I ended the call.
And I smiled.
Because for the first time, he was the one afraid of losing me.
The moment I ended the call with Emma, something shifted inside me.
I had no reason to feel threatened. I was Michael’s wife, after all. Legally. Publicly. Financially. But emotionally? I wasn’t so sure.
Emma had always been part of his world, long before I was ever introduced into the carefully negotiated chaos that was our marriage. She had the kind of history with him that I could never recreate. Shared summers, inside jokes, childhood secrets.
I had business deals. A marriage certificate. And now, apparently, a seat beside him at breakfast.
Yes, because when I walked into the kitchen that morning, Michael was already sitting at the table. Shirt slightly wrinkled, hair unkempt in a way that made him look younger, more human.
And next to him, two plates.
One for him.
One for me.
He glanced up as I entered. His expression gave nothing away.
But his thoughts?
She came. She slept in my room last night. She’s here now. I don’t want this to end. Should I say something? Ask about her plans? Compliment her? Tell her she looked peaceful in her sleep? No, too weird.
“You made breakfast?” I asked.
He looked down at the toast and scrambled eggs on the plate like they’d personally betrayed him. “I tried.”
I took a bite.
It was edible.
Barely.
But I smiled anyway. “Not bad.”
Michael blinked. Then frowned. “You’re lying.”
I kept eating. “Maybe. But I’m still eating it.”
She’s eating it. That’s all that matters. She’s still here.
We rode to the office together.
In the same car.
The driver nearly choked on his own spit when he saw us both getting in. I couldn’t blame him. For three years, we’d never even been seen on the same floor of the house, much less the same vehicle.
At the office, people gawked. Whispered. The ever-gossipy finance director nearly dropped her coffee when she saw me step out of the car first, and then Michael following behind.
We walked side by side through the polished glass doors of Johnson Group headquarters.
It felt like entering battle, shoulder to shoulder.