Chapter 7: The Confrontation

I bit my lower lip hard, tasting blood in my mouth. I wanted to rush over and question Natalie—why did you do this to me? Why did you let my daughter call someone else "dad"?

My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. Rage surged in my chest, but I forced myself to stay rooted. I didn’t want to cause a scene, not in front of Lily.

But I held back.

I swallowed the words burning in my throat. I wasn’t going to let them see me break.

Natalie could have been more careful with me, more clever, not leaving the phone she used to message Ryan in such a conspicuous place, or showing up at the exact place I was going on a business trip.

A part of me wondered if she wanted me to find out. Maybe she was tired of pretending, tired of hiding. Maybe this was her way of letting me go.

But this marriage—I should let it go too.

The realization felt like stepping off a ledge—terrifying, but oddly freeing. I was done clinging to something that had never been real.

I put my luggage in the room. Brooke, who came on the business trip with me, bounced over and knocked on my door.

She rapped on the door, a smile in her voice. Brooke was always upbeat, even jet-lagged. Her laughter echoed down the hall.

"Mr. Grant, let’s go eat together."

She looked at me with hopeful eyes, a little shy but mostly hungry. Her optimism was a welcome distraction.

I took a deep breath:

"You go ahead. I’m not hungry."

My stomach growled in protest, but I ignored it. I needed a minute alone to collect myself.

Brooke’s disappointed voice came from outside:

"But I don’t speak any foreign languages. If you’re not there, I’ll go hungry."

She pouted, trying to guilt-trip me. I almost laughed, despite everything. Brooke reminded me of the interns back in college—endearingly clueless but eager to please.

Brooke is one of the younger coworkers in the company, my assistant. She’s always cheerful, seems to have no worries, works diligently, and since becoming my assistant, hasn’t made any big mistakes. She’s a reliable subordinate.

She brought a little light to the office, kept things running smoothly when I was buried in paperwork. If not for her, I’d have missed half my deadlines last quarter.

I had no choice but to open the door.

She was waiting, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. Her smile widened when she saw me—relief, gratitude, maybe even a little affection.

When Brooke saw me, her previously downcast face immediately broke into a smile.

It was infectious—I couldn’t help but smile back, even if it was just for show.

Pathetically, I actually hoped Natalie and the others wouldn’t be in the restaurant, so my fragile self-esteem could be preserved.

I scanned the lobby, tension in my shoulders. The idea of running into them again made my skin crawl. I just wanted one meal where I didn’t have to pretend.

Maybe even fate was helping me. I looked around, and sure enough, the three of them were gone.

I exhaled, feeling the knot in my chest loosen. The coast was clear, at least for now.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Brooke gave me a puzzled look, but I shook my head, brushing it off. No need to drag her into my mess.

I don’t know why, but even though I wasn’t the one who cheated, I was more nervous than them.

It didn’t make sense, but I felt exposed, like I was the one sneaking around. Maybe that’s just what being unwanted does to you.

Maybe it’s true what they say—the unloved one is always the third wheel.

The phrase stuck with me, echoing in my mind. I wondered if it would ever be different.

I wolfed down a lot. How could I not be hungry? I hadn’t had a drop of water all day, my stomach was already empty.

The food was bland, but I barely tasted it. I ate like I was making up for lost time, barely pausing to breathe.

"Ethan."

A familiar voice sounded above my head. I looked up and met a pair of indifferent eyes.

Natalie stood there, arms crossed, face unreadable. I felt my heart drop to my shoes.

"Are you following me?"

Her words were icy, her gaze challenging. For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. My fork clattered against the plate, drawing stares from nearby diners. The clink of silverware and low hum of conversation made the moment feel unreal, like I was watching my life through a pane of glass.