Chapter 2: Shattered Illusions and Cold Truths

When Derek Pearson came out of the office, Natalie was already gone. The silence in the foyer was thick, almost accusatory, as if the house itself noticed her absence.

His shirt collar was slightly open, exposing his defined collarbone and a slice of his chest, the kind of detail that used to send a jolt of excitement through me—like the night I first saw him after tennis, sweat glistening, shirt unbuttoned just so, and my heart doing somersaults. But tonight it just made my heart ache.

Seeing the empty dining table, Derek frowned slightly. He picked up a fork and set it down again, surveying the room like he was searching for something he’d lost but wouldn’t admit to missing.

"Not eating?" he asked, his voice even but with an edge that said he already knew the answer.

I took a deep breath, blinked back the stinging tears, squatted down, and started cleaning the carpet near the dining area. It was one of those plush, custom-made rugs, the kind you only see in Architectural Digest, now full of tiny puncture marks from someone’s high heels. I picked at the fibers, desperate to smooth them out, but the marks stayed—a silent reminder of who’d been there.

"Natalie." When I didn’t answer, Derek’s voice turned cold, like the room temperature had dropped ten degrees. "I asked you a question."

I didn’t look up, but asked softly, "Why didn’t you ask Aubrey to change into her slippers?" My voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with exhaustion and something dangerously close to accusation.

"You let her stomp all over the rug in those heels. You know what that does." My words came out sharp, splintered by resentment I couldn’t hide.

I lowered my eyes, staring at the ruined rug, bitterness welling up inside. Every scuffed loop and crushed fiber felt like a personal insult.

Thinking of Aubrey’s fair, smooth legs, I grew even more upset. I could almost see them again, glowing under the recessed lights. The image gnawed at me, more than I wanted to admit.

Without thinking, I yanked up the carpet, balled it up, and threw it in the trash. The motion was impulsive, almost defiant—a little rebellion in the middle of my own kitchen.

As the trash lid opened, Derek saw the food I’d dumped inside. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then the mask slid back into place.

The only sounds were the trash can opening and closing and my stifled sobs. It felt cavernous, empty in a way that made my skin crawl.

He looked down at me, on the verge of breaking down, his face expressionless. The coldness in his eyes cut deeper than any words.

"No one asked you to cook." His tone was dismissive, almost bored. "If you can’t do it, let Aunt Carol handle it."

Derek didn’t spare me another glance. He simply called out to Aubrey, "Come back and pick me up."

"Let’s have dinner."

"Mm."

"Oh, and order another one of those rugs Natalie liked before." His voice echoed down the hallway, and he barely looked at me. "No—order ten."

Derek slowly put on his shoes, adjusted his Apple Watch, and didn’t look at me again. He checked his reflection in the entryway mirror, straightened his cuffs, and left without so much as a backward glance.

Even though I’d dressed up carefully tonight, wearing a sexy, beautiful little dress, he remained so self-controlled, proper, and cold. The effort I’d put in felt invisible.

My phone buzzed twice: [What’s going on, sis?]

It was Aubrey. Her messages came in rapid succession, the notification banners lighting up the dark screen.

[Mr. Pearson is really tired today, lots of physical work—he must be hungry.]

[Is it that the food you made isn’t to his taste? Let me tell you, Derek likes light home-style dishes at night, doesn’t eat much in the way of carbs, and also…]

My thumb hovered over the screen. Each buzz made my grip tighter, until I nearly cracked the phone case. Images of Aubrey’s thighs and her tight, hip-hugging skirt flashed through my mind again. My cheeks burned with jealousy and shame.

I couldn’t hold back—I turned off my phone, then rushed to grab Derek. The desperation made my feet slip on the tile, but I didn’t care. I reached out and caught his arm just as he was about to leave.

I looked up at him, crying: "Don’t go." My voice was raw, shaky.

Seeing the surprise on Derek’s face, I repeated, "Don’t go."

"Don’t see Aubrey. You absolutely can’t have dinner with her."

"And you can’t…" My words trailed off, tangled in anger and longing. We’ve been married for three years—why should I need her to teach me how to take care of you? Why…

"Natalie." Derek looked at me in disbelief, clearly not expecting such a strong reaction from me. He actually looked shaken for a split second. He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably, completely thrown by my outburst.

Just as he was about to say something, Aubrey returned. She lingered in the doorway, her expression unreadable but her smile perfectly practiced: "Mr. Pearson."

"Let’s go."

I didn’t want her to see my embarrassment, so I kept my head down, staring at the rug-less floor.

I had never asked Derek for anything, but this time, I truly hoped he would stay. The hope in my chest felt like a balloon about to burst.

After a long silence, Derek bent down slightly, and Aubrey naturally reached out to straighten his tie. They stood there together—one calm and composed, the other elegant and refined—a perfect match in every way that counted. For a split second, I saw what everyone else must see: the successful man and his polished assistant, made for each other.

Just before the door closed, I suddenly noticed, beneath the folds of Aubrey’s skirt, a large expanse of pale skin. She really wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The realization gutted me.