Wife vs. Intern, A Luxury Showdown

Chapter 8

Emily Dawson was left standing in the Sinclair estate's garden, her high heels sinking into the muddy earth.

It had been three months of silence, and this was the first time Ethan Sinclair had set foot in this house.

When he pushed open the door, he froze.

The living room was empty—not even the antique grandfather clock he cherished remained.

I had cleared everything out, including the wages for the live-in housekeeper.

"You planned this all along?" His voice trembled, filled with disbelief.

I stood in the foyer, staring at what used to be our home.

The wedding portrait that had once graced the wall was gone, leaving only a bare, empty space.

Ethan suddenly rushed forward and pulled me into an all-encompassing hug, his grip so tight it almost crushed my ribs.

"I never touched her," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin.

"Sophia, you know that—"

I caught the faintest trace of perfume on him—the same scent Emily wore.

"Get rid of the baby," he said in a rough whisper.

"Let's start over."

I let out a cold, humorless laugh.

"This is my child. Why should I?"

"You know everything!"

He suddenly pushed me away, his eyes bloodshot and desperate.

"I never even held her hand!"

"Yeah, you're such an innocent angel."

I wiped away the tears I hadn't even realized I was shedding.

"But you let her come here to pack your things. You took her to every gala. You let her post those suggestive photos online—"

Ethan staggered back, his face pale.

"You always said you hated it when I bullied people."

My voice wavered.

"But did you ever see the satisfaction in her eyes every time she looked at me?"

Outside, the rain started pouring, pounding against the windows like a relentless barrage.

"You knew she liked you, didn't you?" I asked softly.

"How many times did I warn you?"

Ethan collapsed onto the carpet, his voice hollow.

"Her smile... it reminded me of Lily. I just... couldn't stand seeing her upset."

Lily Sinclair, his sister, who died when she was eighteen.

"I never meant to—"

His words trailed off into silence, and the sound of raindrops hitting the glass filled the void.

I turned and walked toward the bedroom, knowing that some mistakes couldn't be undone with regret.

Just like trust—once broken, it could never be mended.

Ethan Sinclair refused to sign the divorce papers.

In the days that followed, he hired a new assistant—a sharp, no-nonsense Harvard Business School graduate.

Rumor had it that this new hire was specifically brought in to replace Emily Dawson.

One night, the butler called in a panic, telling me that Ethan had drunk himself into unconsciousness in the wine cellar.

When I arrived, he was slumped next to an oak barrel, his expensive suit soaked in red wine.

It took all my strength to drag him to the sofa.

Surprisingly, Ethan was docile in his drunken state, letting me wipe his face and change his clothes.

Just as I was about to leave, he suddenly grabbed my wrist, his usually composed eyes bloodshot, his voice rough.

"Don't go... Let's not get divorced, okay?"

He pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"If you want to keep the baby, we'll have it."

As for Emily, Ethan hadn't outright fired her, but the cold reception she received from the executive office spoke volumes.

Once the untouchable executive assistant, she now had to route even the simplest documents through the secretary.

At the café, Emily's makeup couldn't hide the dark circles under her eyes.

She got straight to the point:

"I saw you on my first day at the company," she said bitterly.

I raised an eyebrow, signaling her to continue.

"I was serving tea while you and Ethan discussed wedding gifts for a friend."

She smirked.

"You didn't even look at me. Someone like Ethan—without his work, I'd never have a chance. But you? You just got lucky."

I waved to the waiter and ordered her a latte and tiramisu.

Her fists clenched, clearly provoked by my gesture.

"At the auction, I told Ethan it wasn't right for a subordinate to sit in the back while the boss drove. That we'd switch places when we saw you."

A smug look spread across her face.

"He didn't object."

I stirred my coffee slowly, the spoon making a soft clink against the porcelain.

"A spoiled brat like you, living off your family—what gives you the right to keep Ethan?"

Finally, she dropped the act.

"Oh? And did you get him?"

I set the spoon down and met her gaze.

Emily's face twisted with frustration.

"If I wasn't a threat, why would you be divorcing him?" she shot back, barely holding her composure.

I smiled.

"Because I cheated. I'm carrying someone else's child. Shouldn't you know that best?"

"You—!"

Her hands trembled with rage.

"A jobless, temperamental hag with a bastard—you think Ethan would want you?"

I stood up and slapped her—hard.

"First, I'm still two years younger than Ethan," I said, looking down at her.

"Second—say 'bastard' again. I dare you."

She clutched her cheek, stunned by the blow.

"Third," I grabbed my bag and stared her down, "that slap was long overdue, you idiot."