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Chapter_68
Adding Fuel to the Fire
I realized my question had been a mistake, but it was too late. Matthew’s lips twitched slightly, as though he had rehearsed what he was about to say. He regained his composure and replied, “It was Lauren’s lover!”
The shock of his answer hit me hard. I stood there, momentarily speechless, trying to process the absurdity of his words. It was clear he had no intention of owning up to his actions, instead deflecting the blame elsewhere.
“Honey, please believe me and give me another chance,” he continued, his voice desperate. “We must secure ATL Empire, don’t let this small issue distract us. You founded Tanum Corporation, and I know you want to expand. I made a mistake, but you can’t give up on our goal because of it.”
After a pause, he pulled me into a tight hug. “Chlo, I was wrong,” he whispered.
I felt a flicker of doubt within me—Matthew knew exactly how to push my buttons, to make me second-guess my decisions. He always knew my weak spots, my fears, and insecurities. His words wrapped around me like a web, threatening to pull me back in. But no, I couldn’t let myself fall for this again.
I pushed him away gently, refusing to let him control the situation. I had to stay clear-headed, especially now that I knew how much Matthew still protected his sister, Melanie. This wasn’t just about the affair anymore—it was about control, manipulation, and power.
I left his office, reminding myself not to give in.
Back at my desk, I scrolled through the trending topics online again, something nagging at me. We had missed something. The person who had caught Matthew and Lauren in the hotel—the one who’d triggered the scandal—hadn’t been identified. I asked Ivanna to dig deeper, to find out who had been the source of the photos.
Soon enough, a post surfaced online asking for the identity of the person who had caught them. The post quickly gained traction, with people commenting and speculating. The mystery only added fuel to the fire. It was as if everyone was now watching Matthew’s every move, eagerly waiting to see how the situation would unfold.
As I left the office early, I could feel the weight of the eyes on me, the curious gazes of my colleagues. It was impossible to ignore. I had become the center of gossip and judgment. I realized something disturbing: a man caught cheating wouldn’t suffer as much scrutiny as his wife. The public was more interested in me, the betrayed wife, than in Matthew, the cheater. It was a cruel irony, but one I had to endure.
When I finally reached home, I collapsed onto the living room couch, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. The house felt unbearably empty without Ava around. I cried silently, feeling the isolation deep in my chest. The home that had once felt like a sanctuary now seemed like a prison. I knew I wouldn’t stay here forever—soon enough, I’d have to leave.
But what lay ahead? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had sealed my own fate, and now it was too late to turn back. I had pushed everything too far, and now everything was crumbling around me. The success I had been fighting for seemed closer than ever, but so was the end of this chapter. I had no idea what the next one would look like.
It was already late when Matthew finally returned home, exhausted from whatever damage control he’d been doing. The light flickered on, and he saw me curled up on the couch. His face softened with surprise and concern. He rushed over to me. “Chlo, why are you lying here? Have you eaten?”
His voice was gentle, full of the genuine worry I had once found comforting. But now, it only felt hollow. I looked up at him, feigning resentment.
“Do you think I feel okay when you cheated on me?” I asked, my voice cold.
His expression went grim, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, the agitation crept back into his tone. “I told you I was wrong! I didn’t expect things to turn out like this. Please, stop behaving like this.”
I pulled away from him, controlling my temper with difficulty. I wasn’t about to let him twist this situation to make me feel sorry for him. Without saying a word, I went to my room, changed into comfortable clothes, and then entered the kitchen.
Matthew sat alone in the living room for what felt like an eternity before finally coming to the kitchen door. He hesitated, clearly unsure of how to approach me.
I didn’t ask him what he wanted, but after a few moments, he sighed deeply. “Chlo,” he began cautiously, “I think… I need your help.”
I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him, my expression cold and unreadable. “With what?”
He met my gaze, and for the first time in a long while, I saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I think…” he began, then trailed off, as though searching for the right words.
I waited, unsure of what he was going to say next, but ready to hear yet another round of excuses, apologies, or whatever he thought might win me back.