The Unwanted Wife's Dazzling Public Divorce

"The third-quarter forecast for the European luxury market indicates a conservative but steady two percent growth, driven primarily by the new fragrance line." Isla Hayes's voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the Beaumont Corporation boardroom like a calm, steady anchor.

Her gaze remained fixed on the report before her, feeling the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes—none of them friendly. The polished mahogany table reflected their condescending stares back at her.

She was here representing the family matriarch, Eleanora Beaumont—a fact that earned her a seat at this table but not an ounce of respect. To them, she was merely the woman Julian Beaumont had been forced to marry.

Just as she was about to turn the page, the heavy boardroom doors were violently thrown open with a resounding crash, startling everyone present.

A woman strode in, a whirlwind of vibrant color and heavy perfume, a stark contrast to the sea of gray and navy designer suits in the room.

Amber Stone, the supermodel spokesperson for Beaumont's latest advertising campaign, was wearing an extraordinarily ostentatious fuchsia dress better suited for a nightclub than corporate headquarters.

"Ms. Stone, this is a private meeting," Mr. Davenport, the chairman, said, signaling for security, his face tightening with displeasure.

"Don't bother," Amber said, her voice dripping with theatrical confidence. She walked straight past the security guards. "What I have to say concerns the future of the Beaumont family. I believe everyone here will want to hear it."

Isla's heart felt as if it had been plunged into ice water. It stopped for one second, then resumed, slamming against her ribs with painful, heavy thuds. She recognized Amber instantly—the woman from the tabloid photos, the ones plastered across gossip sites showing her laughing with Julian as they exited hotels together.

Amber's eyes, glittering with malice, found Isla's across the long table. A smug, triumphant smile spread across her perfectly glossed lips. She stepped closer, stopping a few feet from Isla's chair, then placed a hand protectively over her still-flat stomach.

"I'm pregnant," she announced to the silent room. "And it's Julian Beaumont's child."

A wave of shocked murmurs and sharp intakes of breath rippled through the boardroom. Every head turned to stare at Isla. Her face turned pale, a stark contrast to her dark hair. In that terrible fraction of a second, her carefully maintained composure shattered completely, and a sharp pain, like a piece of broken glass, pierced through her chest. She could feel the blood draining from her face, her fingertips turning cold.

She forced herself to remain utterly still, her hands hidden beneath the table, her fingers digging into the soft leather of her chair so hard she could feel the strain beneath her nails.

Amber's voice, laced with false sweetness, cut through the murmurs.

"Well, Mrs. Beaumont," she said, drawing out the title like an insult, "will you do the honorable thing and step aside?"

Isla lifted her chin, the coldness in her veins crystallizing into steel. She met Amber's gaze.

"I believe it's highly inappropriate to discuss private matters in a corporate setting," she said, her voice coming out colder than she'd intended. "Furthermore, Ms. Stone, I believe your contract includes a morality clause. Making a public spectacle like this is quite clearly a breach."

Amber's face flushed with anger, a crack appearing in her carefully staged performance. For a moment, she was speechless. Then, she let out a harsh laugh, her voice turning ugly. "Contracts don't matter when you're carrying the heir. Unlike some people, who are clearly barren."

The word hit Isla like a physical blow. It was a deep, unhealed wound—the source of her mother-in-law Caroline's constant taunts, a private shame she carried every day. Her stomach clenched into a tight, painful knot.

Just as a sharp retort rose to her lips, the main doors opened once more.

This time, it was Julian Beaumont.

His presence silenced the room instantly. He stood there, tall and imposing in his tailored suit, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the scene with cold fury.

Amber's entire demeanor changed in an instant. The triumphant aggressor vanished, replaced by a pitiful victim. Tears welled in her eyes, her lower lip trembling. She rushed to Julian's side, clutching desperately at his arm.

"Julian, darling," she wailed, "she was so mean to me. She threatened to fire me."

Julian's gaze moved from Amber's tear-streaked face to Isla's—pale, yet unbowed. Isla held his eyes, a desperate, silent plea within them. Protect our dignity. Protect the family's reputation. Please.

His expression remained cold. He didn't say a single word to her. Not one.

He gently disengaged his arm from Amber's clinging grasp, and for one crazy, hopeful second, Isla thought he would push her away. Instead, he placed that same arm protectively around Amber's shoulders, pulling her against his side.

He turned his icy stare to the stunned board members. "This meeting is adjourned."

Then, he walked straight past Isla as if she were a piece of furniture, as if she were completely invisible, and spoke to Amber in a voice gentler than any Isla had ever heard him use.

"Let's go. You're unwell; you shouldn't get so agitated."

He began to lead the smirking, triumphant Amber out of the room, completely ignoring his wife. The board members quickly averted their eyes, their faces a mixture of pity, contempt, and morbid curiosity. The profound, public humiliation washed over Isla like a nauseating wave, leaving her feeling utterly exposed, stripped bare and abandoned in the middle of the hostile room.

He paused at the door, his back still to her. Without turning around, he issued one last, cold command that echoed through the silent space.

"Isla," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "You will drive her to the hospital for tests. Make sure she's comfortable."