Eda Roman POV:

The phone rang for a full minute. Each long, monotonous tone scraped against my eardrums. Finally, the ringing stopped, replaced by the mechanical click of the automated voicemail system. Over the past three years, eighty percent of the calls I made to Axel ended exactly like this.

I pulled the phone away and hit the redial button. I pressed my thumb so hard against the glass screen that it left a damp, smeary print of sweat.

I called him five consecutive times. Five times, the call was brutally rejected, sent straight to voicemail after a single ring.

On the sixth attempt, the line suddenly connected. But the voice that answered didn't belong to my husband. It was Mark, Axel's Chief Assistant.

Mark used his flawless, professionally polite voice. He informed me that the CEO was in the middle of a critical investment portfolio review.

I cut him off mid-sentence. I talked fast, the words tumbling over each other. I told him there was a life-or-death emergency at home and I absolutely needed to speak to Axel, even just for ten seconds.

Mark paused. I heard the rapid, precise clacking of a keyboard on his end. He was checking the schedule, treating my father's life like a calendar conflict.

His voice returned, colder this time. He flatly refused. He stated that the meeting was classified as Level S, and strict company protocols forbade any personal interruptions.

I gripped the phone with both hands. I explained that my father's leukemia had mutated. My voice broke, a pathetic, desperate sob leaking out of my throat.

Mark didn't miss a beat. He offered a dismissive platitude, promising to leave a memo on Axel's desk, but added that based on the itinerary, Axel wouldn't see it until late afternoon.

Right as he spoke, the background noise on the call shifted. Through the speaker, I distinctly heard Axel's deep, resonant laugh, followed by the clinking of glassware. It wasn't a tense, closed-door financial review. They were socializing.

I snapped. I demanded to know if Axel was standing right next to him.

Mark's tone didn't change. He simply said the cellular reception in the boardroom was poor, and he abruptly terminated the call.

I stared at the black screen of my phone. A massive, suffocating wave of betrayal crashed over me, pulling me under.

I turned my head slowly. I looked through the rectangular glass window of the hospital door. I watched the steady, weak rise and fall of my father's chest.

I took a deep breath. I reached up and aggressively wiped the wetness from the corners of my eyes. The fragile, pleading girl vanished. My gaze turned hard and entirely cold. Softness had never bought me anything in the Foley empire but contempt. My survival instinct, buried deep in my bones, finally woke up.

I turned away from the glass. I walked toward the elevator bank. My first few steps were shaky, but by the time I hit the button, my stride was rigid and unyielding.

I walked out through the sliding glass doors of the hospital lobby. The biting Seattle wind hit my face like an open-handed slap, clearing the remaining fog from my brain.

I stepped up to the curb and threw my arm out. A yellow cab pulled over. I yanked the door open and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat.

The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, asking for an address. I met my own reflection in his mirror. My face was the color of chalk.

I gave him the address of the Foley Group Headquarters. My voice was completely flat, stripped of all emotion.

The cab wove through the heavy downtown traffic. I stared out the window at the towering skyscrapers and the blur of pedestrians. I felt entirely detached from the world outside the glass, like a ghost haunting my own life.

I unclasped my cheap handbag and pulled out a tube of lipstick. I uncapped it, using the reflection of the tinted car window. I dragged the dark red color across my bloodless lips.

It was my war paint. It was the only armor I had left. I refused to walk into that hostile fortress looking like a victim.

The cab jerked to a halt in front of a massive, imposing glass tower. It was the absolute center of Axel's power.

I handed the driver a crumpled bill. I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the pavement. I tilted my head back, squinting against the harsh glare reflecting off the giant silver Foley logo above the entrance.

I pulled the lapels of my worn trench coat tighter across my chest. I took a breath and marched straight toward the revolving doors.

The moment I stepped into the sprawling, cavernous lobby, the blinding reflection of the polished marble floor made me dizzy.

Several receptionists at the massive front desk spotted me. Their hushed conversations stopped instantly. They exchanged knowing, judgmental glances.

I ignored them. I walked in a straight line toward the private executive elevators. Before I could reach the call button, two massive security guards stepped into my path, crossing their arms.

They looked down at me with blank, stony faces. They demanded I produce an appointment QR code, treating me exactly like a corporate spy or a random solicitor.

"I am Axel Foley's wife. Move."

Eda Roman POV:

The guard on the right registered my name, but he didn't flinch. A flicker of blatant contempt crossed his eyes, and he kept his broad shoulders squarely blocking the elevator doors. To the security detail of the Foley Group, a wife with no shares and no corporate title ranked significantly lower than a mid-level manager.

He unclipped the radio from his belt. He pressed the button and lazily called the front desk to verify if the CEO's wife had a scheduled appointment.

The lobby was busy. Employees carrying coffees and briefcases slowed their pace. They whispered to each other, their eyes tracking me like I was a circus act having a public meltdown.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. I locked my knees and kept my spine completely rigid. I refused to look down, refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing my humiliation.

The sharp, rhythmic click of expensive heels echoed from the adjacent elevator bank. The whispering crowd immediately parted, clearing a wide path.

Keri Lane walked toward me. She was wearing a perfectly tailored, bone-white Chanel suit. She moved with the fluid, commanding grace of a queen inspecting her subjects.

She stopped two feet in front of me. Her eyes slowly dragged up and down my body, lingering deliberately on the frayed cuffs and pilled fabric of my old trench coat. The corner of her mouth twitched upward into a mocking sneer.

She raised a manicured hand and waved the security guards back. Her voice was loud enough for the lingering audience to hear, dripping with a fake, sugary concern as she asked what I was doing here.

I wasn't going to play her corporate theater game. I stared straight into her eyes and demanded she unlock the medical funds from the family trust immediately.

Keri dramatically gasped, bringing her fingers to her lips. She played the victim perfectly, claiming she was just following the strict compliance rules of the board, and that audits took time.

I closed the distance between us. I lowered my voice to a lethal whisper, warning her not to play her sick power games with my father's life.

The fake sweetness vanished from Keri's eyes, replaced by pure, freezing malice. Her smile returned, wider this time. She loudly declared that the Foley Group maintained rigorous risk control protocols, and she couldn't break the law just because I was the CEO's wife.

The employees watching us murmured their agreement. I could feel their disgust radiating toward me. To them, I was just a hysterical, gold-digging parasite throwing a tantrum.

A bitter, angry laugh ripped out of my throat. I raised my voice, demanding to know if she was holding my money hostage to line her own pockets.

Keri's expression tightened. She took a step closer, invading my personal space. She leaned in, bringing her lips inches from my ear so only I could hear the poison.

She whispered that Axel didn't give a damn if my father lived or died. She hit the deepest, rawest nerve I had, reminding me that if Axel actually cared, he would never have handed control of my finances to another woman.

My entire body began to shake. The blood roared in my ears. I raised my right hand, fully intending to slap the smug smile off her face.

Before my palm could connect, Keri's hand shot out. She clamped her fingers around my wrist with surprising, vicious strength.

She violently shoved my arm back. The force threw me off balance. I stumbled backward, my ankles twisting in my cheap shoes, barely catching myself before hitting the marble floor.

Keri calmly smoothed the lapels of her white jacket. She purposefully arched her back, drawing my attention to the collar of her suit. Pinned to the fabric was a massive, brilliant-cut sapphire brooch.

My eyes locked onto the blue stone. My pupils contracted sharply. I knew that brooch. I had pointed it out to Axel in an auction catalog just last month, telling him how beautiful the vintage setting was.

Keri watched my face pale. Her smile turned victorious. She reached up and gently stroked the sapphire, loudly sighing that Axel had just given it to her as a gift for her three-year anniversary at the company.

It felt like a sledgehammer slammed directly into my sternum. All the oxygen rushed out of my lungs. I was begging for fifty thousand dollars to save a life, and Axel had casually dropped hundreds of thousands on a trinket for his mistress.

Keri watched me suffocate. She looked deeply satisfied. She turned her back to me and casually ordered the front desk to escort the trash out.

The two massive guards lunged forward. They grabbed me, one on each side, their thick fingers digging painfully into my biceps. They started dragging me toward the revolving doors.

I thrashed wildly. I kicked my legs, the rubber soles of my heels scraping against the pristine marble, creating a loud, screeching friction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the heavy steel doors of the freight elevator slowly sliding open.

I stopped resisting for a fraction of a second, letting my weight drop. Then I stomped my heel down with all my strength, driving the stiletto point straight into the left guard's foot.

He grunted and his grip loosened. I violently twisted my torso, ripping my right arm out of the other guard's hold.

I bolted. I ran like a cornered leopard, abandoning all grace, sprinting blindly toward the open steel doors.

Keri shrieked, her composed facade breaking as she ordered them to grab me.

I threw my body sideways, squeezing through the closing gap of the freight doors. I slammed my fist against the button for the top floor, hitting it over and over.

The heavy doors slammed shut, cutting off Keri's voice.

"I have to see him today."

Eda Roman POV:

The freight elevator lurched to a halt on the top floor. The steel doors slid apart, and I launched myself out of the cabin like a bullet leaving a chamber.

I immediately collided with a massive metal catering cart parked in the hallway. I didn't care about the pain in my hip. The ticking clock of my father's failing organs was the only thing screaming in my head.

A silver carafe tipped over. Hot, dark coffee cascaded off the edge of the cart, splashing heavily against the hem of my trench coat. The fabric soaked up the brown stain instantly.

The catering staff gasped and yelled at me. I didn't even turn my head. I locked my eyes on the heavy, double mahogany doors at the far end of the corridor and sprinted.

Mark heard the crash. He stood up from his sleek assistant desk outside the boardroom. When he saw it was me, the color drained entirely from his face.

He ran around his desk, throwing his arms wide to intercept me. He yelled that the meeting was in session and I could not go in.

I didn't stop. I dropped my shoulder, sidestepped his grabbing hands with a burst of adrenaline, and threw my entire body weight against the heavy wood of the boardroom doors.

The doors burst open with a loud, hollow boom that echoed like a gunshot. The ambient hum of the room died instantly. The air inside the boardroom turned solid.

I stood in the doorway, chest heaving. Around the massive, oval obsidian table sat over a dozen high-ranking executives in tailored suits, alongside a delegation of Japanese clients.

Every single pair of eyes snapped toward the doorway. They stared at my stained coat, my messy hair, and my wild, desperate breathing.

Sitting at the head of the table, Axel Foley froze. He clicked off the red laser pointer in his hand. The muscles in his jaw tightened, pulling his brow into a deep, furious crease.

He locked his icy blue eyes onto mine. The sheer, crushing pressure of his gaze hit me. My heart gave a pathetic, involuntary shudder. Years of being ground down in this marriage had wired my nervous system to physically recoil from his anger.

The Japanese clients looked startled. They leaned toward their translators, whispering in confusion, clearly disturbed by the intrusion.

Mark sprinted into the room behind me, panting heavily. He bowed deeply toward the table, sweating through his shirt as he frantically apologized to Axel for failing to stop me.

Axel didn't even look at Mark. His eyes remained fixed on me, scraping over my ruined clothes like a sharp blade. The disgust radiating from him was palpable.

I forced air into my lungs. I stepped over the threshold, pushing against the invisible wall of his authority. I opened my mouth to speak.

I barely got the word "Axel" out before he raised his left hand. It was a sharp, chopping motion. A command for absolute silence. It cut off my vocal cords instantly.

Axel turned his head toward the Japanese delegation. He spoke in fluent, flawless Japanese. His tone was incredibly warm, sickeningly gentle, apologizing for the unexpected disruption.

The moment he finished, he snapped his head back to me. The warmth evaporated. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated ice.

A few of the executives exchanged smirks. I heard a faint, suppressed snort of laughter from the far end of the table.

A wave of intense, burning shame washed over my skin. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, using the pain to anchor my spine. I refused to back down.

I raised my voice, projecting it across the massive room. I yelled that my father was dying and I needed the fifty thousand dollar trust approval right now.

The words hung in the air. Fifty thousand dollars. In a room where they were discussing billion-dollar transnational mergers, the amount sounded so trivial, so incredibly pathetic.

Axel's eyes darkened to a terrifying shade of midnight blue. He thought I was throwing a tantrum, weaponizing a minor issue to publicly humiliate him.

He pushed his chair back and stood up. His massive frame cast a long, dark shadow across the polished table. The aggressive energy rolling off him made the executives shrink back in their seats.

He walked slowly around the table, stopping barely half a meter in front of me. The familiar, expensive scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne filled my nose, suffocating me.

I looked up at him. For a split second, a pathetic spark of hope flared in my chest. I thought he was going to ask what was wrong with my father.

Axel leaned down. He brought his mouth close to my ear, his breath cold against my skin.

He didn't ask about the hospital. He didn't ask about the leukemia. He delivered his verdict in a voice devoid of a single ounce of human empathy.

My body went completely numb. The blood drained from my extremities, leaving me paralyzed, staring blankly at the knot of his silk tie.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind me. The building's security team had arrived in the hallway, waiting for their boss to give the order.

"Get out."