At Obsidian Clubhouse
Aveline was stopped at the gates of the Obsidian. The clubhouse wasn't ant for the public or any new money. It was made for the old money, magnates, and royalties. A place for connections, business deals, and, more than that, a hub for information.
The Ashfords were one of the founders of the club, thus, everyone knew Damien way too well. The Laurents were old money, too, yet Aveline had never bothered to set foot there. She never felt the need. But now...
Her eyes locked onto the taillights of the Bugatti as she rolled the window down, flashing her identity card from her mobile. The security head at the gate took a quick mont to verify the mbership before the gates opened.
By the ti Aveline reached the entrance of the club, Damien was gone.
Getting out of the car, she ignored the strange looks from the valets and sprinted inside, desperately scanning the dark, sleek, and mysteriously luxurious entrance hall. Each hallway led in different directions for various places, yet there were no signboards, adding to the secrecy.
"Where did he go?" Aveline mumbled, disliking how she had lived such an oblivious life that she was clueless about the place.
She rushed down one hallway, stumbled into a massive library, then into the opulent club, then the bar, and finally a fine-dining restaurant. Each ti, earning frowns from those inside. Breathing heavily, she rushed down another hallway when a man in uniform labeled Obsidian finally appeared.
"Miss, are you looking for soone?" The man was respectful despite her disheveled state in nightwear. Because he knew well, she wasn't just a random person.
"My husband... I an, Damien Ashford..." Aveline sounded a bit desperate, and the realization hit her hard. Damien had never introduced her to anybody as his wife.
The man paused for a second upon hearing her ntion Damien Ashford as her husband. Nevertheless, he bowed his head before speaking. "Mrs. Ashford, this hallway leads to the conference rooms. Director Ashford hasn't arrived this way."
Aveline turned to rush off but hesitated. "Could you help find him?"
The man bowed again, but apologetically. "Mrs. Ashford, if you aren't aware, privacy and confidentiality are the pri keys of Obsidian. Please call Mr. Ashford to know his location, then I could guide you."
Aveline knew that rule and many more rules that made Obsidian untouchable, yet she stupidly expected the man to help her find her husband.
She hurriedly thanked him and rushed out, unaware that he glanced at the security cara after she left.
...
Aveline wandered through the largest arcade built for Obsidian mbers. She didn't even find a single person there. Frustrated, she pushed open the door to a private lounge, where a group of n were enjoying their drinks.
She wasn't in a state to recognize any of them as her eyes darted through the dimly lit room. When she didn't find Damien, she lowered her head in apology and rushed out.
She was about to enter another private room when a couple exited from a different room, their backs turned to her.
Aveline froze.
She recognized Damien like the back of her hand. His broad shoulders, his posture, the way he carried himself, it was him. But what made her freeze was the handbag and blazer in his hand and the drunk woman in his arms.
Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to believe it was his sister. But it wasn't.
"Love... Love... Love..." was all she could hear, the rest of his words fading before they reached her ears.
Aveline's gut twisted, the pain slicing through her like a dagger being thrust into her stomach and twisted rcilessly. Tears continued rolling down her cheeks without control.
Yet, despite everything, she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to assu. Maybe, just maybe, the woman was Damien's ex, and they had broken up. Maybe she was clinging to Damien because he was married, and maybe he called her "Love" out of habit.
Old habits die hard.
'Then why did he lie to ? Why did he say he never loved anyone before?' Aveline asked herself, watching the couple enter the elevator.
'He must have had a reason.' Aveline tried to pacify herself.
She sprinted to the elevator and saw the floor indicator light up. Fifth floor.
She took another elevator, her heart racing, her hands trembling.
Arriving at the fifth floor, she saw Damien and the woman enter a presidential suite.
Aveline stood in front of the closed door, holding on to her last shred of hope that Damien would leave after dropping the woman inside.
But as minutes blurred into an eternity, the door remained shut.
Aveline began trembling like the last leaf on a branch amid a blizzard. Her hand lifted several tis to ring the bell, but she failed to press it. Her breath turned ragged, her legs wobbled, and she felt like she was going to faint.
Then...
A hand tapped a key card on the scanner of the door.
Without thinking, without looking at the person beside her, Aveline rushed inside.
And froze.
The carnal noises scread at her to turn around, to run, to pretend she never heard it. To walk away before she saw sothing she could never unsee.
But her legs refused to move.
Her mind tried to reason that it was soone else. 'Not him. It couldn't be him.' But her eyes had seen far too clearly.
It was Damien. Her husband.
The supposed loyal husband who had refused a remarriage.
He was having an affair.
'Was everything between us a lie?'
'Was my entire marriage a lie?'
'Did I travel back in ti to witness my husband pleasuring another woman?'
Aveline didn't even realize her feet had carried her forward. The bedroom door was ajar. And inside, Damien was explicitly intimate with a woman.
Tears stread down Aveline's face. Her stomach twisted violently. Nausea rose. Her chest ached, tightening like a vice around her ribs, making it hard to breathe.
She couldn't think when her whole world was collapsing. Her knees buckled, yet she didn't fall. She was trapped in place, forced to witness her own destruction.
The 'Love' of her husband was Vivienne Sinclair.
The woman who was screaming in pleasure beneath her husband was Vivienne Sinclair.
The woman who had murdered her.
The woman who was supposed to enter their lives when Aveline was dying was already in her life.
The gentleness, the kindness, and the love Damien had shown her felt like a façade.
His late-night etings. His important client. It was all clear now.
Vivienne Sinclair wasn't just his past or future.
Vivienne Sinclair was his present.
Aveline staggered back as reality struck, crushing her world.
She ran.
She didn't know how far. She didn't know how long. But she ran until the cold night air bit into her skin, until she collapsed onto her knees.
She hadn't begged for a second chance, only the truth. And now, the truth was ruthlessly tearing her apart.
Her fingers twitched, pressing against her ears, desperate to unhear it, to undo it. But it was too late.
She sobbed.
She scread.
She shattered.
'What did I do to deserve this?'
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