Wife vs. Intern, A Luxury Showdown

Chapter 5

The door to Ethan Sinclair's office swung open without warning.

Emily Dawson stood in the doorway, clutching a stack of files, her face still marked with shock.

"Starting today, Emily Dawson will take over as my personal assistant," Ethan's voice was icy, his words cutting through the room. "Olivia, pack your things."

The assistant office fell into stunned silence.

Olivia's coffee cup slipped from her trembling hand and shattered on the floor, the dark liquid splattering across her carefully chosen heels.

"Mr. Sinclair, I've worked for you for seven years," Olivia's voice shook, her words laced with disbelief. "And you're replacing me with an intern?"

Ethan pulled a folder from his drawer and slammed it onto the desk. The surveillance images inside were damning—showing Olivia deliberately sabotaging Emily.

"I could overlook you contacting my wife behind my back," Ethan's eyes were sharp as a blade, locking onto Olivia. "But abusing your authority to suppress a newcomer? Is this what you call professionalism?"

Olivia's face drained of color, her mouth opening but no words coming out.

"Now. Immediately."

Ethan pressed the intercom. "Security, escort Ms. Hamilton out."

Outside the office, several assistants stood gathered, their eyes red-rimmed from the tension.

Olivia stiffened, pulled her employee badge off, and placed it on the desk with a resigned motion.

"Olivia..." The youngest assistant burst into tears.

Olivia wiped her face, forcing a smile that looked more painful than any tear.

"Remember what I always say—in the workplace, keep your eyes sharp," she said, her gaze sweeping over the crowd before landing on Emily. The younger woman instinctively took a half-step back.

But Ethan stepped closer, pulling Emily into his side with a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, his warm breath brushing against her ear. "I'm here."

Olivia took one last glance at the office, at the place where she'd spent seven years of her life, and then walked toward the elevator without looking back.

The moment the glass doors closed, she let the tears fall.

The cold war between Ethan and me arrived without warning.

He checked into the Four Seasons Hotel, leaving me in the dark until Emily Dawson came to collect his laundry, a small smirk betraying her hidden satisfaction.

"Mr. Sinclair said..." She hesitated, her eyes flickering away before she forced herself to speak.

"Get to the point," I cut her off, my patience worn thin.

"He asked me to pick up some clothes," she said quietly. "He won't be back for a while."

I scoffed.

A brilliant move—humiliating me while giving Emily false hope.

The housekeeper had already packed up Ethan's belongings neatly. Emily's fingers trembled as she grabbed the suitcase, a nervous look on her face.

"Mrs. Sinclair..." She hesitated again. "Mr. Sinclair wants me to add you on WeChat... for easier communication."

I stared at her for three long seconds, my gaze unblinking until she lowered her head, clearly uneasy.

"Tell him," I said, each word deliberate and cold, "to stay the hell away."

Emily froze. She probably couldn't understand why I still held the upper hand, even after Ethan had moved out.

For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, but she quickly masked it.

The housekeeper sighed softly. "Madam, just give in. He's always been so good to you. Why would he suddenly—"

I didn't respond.

Good to me? So good that he sent another woman to deliver his messages?

My phone buzzed with a text from Ethan: "Business dinner tonight. Won't be home for dinner."

I tossed the phone onto the couch, ignoring the message.

Was he waiting for an apology?

Ridiculous.

What exactly should I be sorry for?