Chapter 3

Charlotte's POV:

I hesitated, noticing the gift box bore the unmistakable marks of a previous drop.

She was clearly running a scam—trying to make me pay for a cup that had already been broken before I ever touched it.

Qiana's voice dripped with dramatic flair. "This is a piece from the royal collection, personally sourced as a gift for Mr. Windsor. A man of his standing deserves something extraordinary. Do you have any idea how much effort I put into finding it?"

She clutched the box to her chest, visibly distressed. "There are only a dozen of these glasses left in existence. Every single one that's gone is gone forever."

I didn't bother defending myself. A cold smile curved my lips instead. "If they're that rare, maybe you should've held on tighter."

"I never even reached for it before you let go. Don't tell me you broke it yourself and now you're trying to pin it on me."

A flicker of panic crossed her face. Mason was quick to play the hero.

He stepped between us—but it was Qiana he shielded, pulling her behind him as he turned his icy stare on me.

"Qiana isn't feeling well, and she's still going out of her way for the company. And here you are, making a scene. Do you have any sense of the bigger picture?"

No sense of the bigger picture?

If Owen and I hadn't poured ourselves into landing client after client—skipping sleep, skipping meals—the Scott Group would never be where it stands today.

But that's how it goes. When someone stops loving you, everything you do becomes wrong.

In his eyes, Qiana could never stoop to something like this.

Naturally, it was me—shameless, vindictive me—throwing mud at the woman he cared about.

A hollow exhaustion settled in my chest. I was done arguing. I turned to leave—but Qiana spoke first.

"Charlotte's an artist. She may not know much about business, but her taste is impeccable."

"Why don't you find a replacement gift for Mr. Windsor?"

She gave the damaged box a little shake. "After all, you're the one who ruined the gift I worked so hard to choose. Making it right with a new one seems only fair."

"Time is running out—our meeting with the Windsor Group is right around the corner. We need to make a good first impression."

The Windsor Group's president, Robert, was the most powerful figure in Emerald City—the undisputed head of the Windsor family.

By reputation, he was cold, ruthless, and nearly impossible to impress.

So that was Qiana's game. She was terrified her gift wouldn't land, and she was offloading the risk onto me.

If I chose well, the credit would circle back to her—after all, it was only necessary because I'd ruined her original pick.

If I chose poorly, that was on me. And her original gift, of course, would surely have been perfect.

The nerve of her. I could practically hear the abacus clicking.

Mason was no Owen—he'd never been groomed as the heir—but surely he wasn't blind to something this obvious?

I looked to him, waiting for him to say something. All I got was a cold, indifferent stare.

He saw everything. He just didn't care.

God, I was still holding out hope. How pathetic.

I gave a small nod, any desire to keep fighting long gone. "You're right—time is short. You'd better go find another one yourself. As for me, I've already resigned, so none of this is my problem anymore—"

"You resigned?" Mason cut in sharply, his voice catching me off guard, his eyes wide with something that looked almost like shock.

I answered with a simple yes. I had nothing more to explain.

Qiana's gaze drifted between us, and she let out a soft, theatrical sigh.

"You two are husband and wife. How do you not talk to each other about these things? Have a real conversation. I'll go take care of the gift."

It sounded like she was giving us space.

What she was really doing was making me look like the unreasonable one—acting on impulse, not even consulting my own husband.

While she, of course, was the devoted one. Still thinking about the company, still focused on the Windsor Group deal, even now.

As Qiana slipped away, I moved to follow—but Mason's hand closed around my wrist, firm and unyielding, pulling me into him before I could take another step.

His eyes were sharp and cold as he studied my face, his voice just as glacial.

"I've told you a hundred times to stay home. You always refused. So what changed?"

He didn't wait for my answer. A short, contemptuous laugh escaped him.

His hand dropped to my stomach, palm resting low and flat, moving in a slow, deliberate stroke.

The touch was almost gentle. The words were not. "What's this—trying to trap me with a baby?"

A baby.

The color drained from my face. A dull ache bloomed low in my abdomen.

I'd never felt strongly one way or the other about having children. If it happened, it happened.

But Mason's mother, Kenna, had a very different view—and she hadn't cared at all what it cost me.

Barely six months into our marriage, she'd pushed me into IVF. The long, thick needles. Round after round of egg retrievals. Pain that made me want to disappear.

I'd endured it all. For Kenna's sake. So Mason wouldn't worry. For the sake of keeping the peace.

And I had never once told him what I'd been through.

Now he was standing here, suggesting I would use an innocent child as leverage on a man who'd never once put me first.

Every sacrifice I'd made for this family—in his eyes, it had all been calculated.

Fury surged through me, but it burned cold. I shoved his hand away from my stomach, hard.

"I would never do something like that. Don't flatter yourself."

He clearly hadn't expected me to push back. The surprise knocked him off balance, and something ugly shifted across his face.

"Not for a baby, then. So why the sudden resignation?"

What was the point of staying at a company when I was already done with the man who ran it?

Besides, the Mason standing in front of me now was nothing like the one I'd once believed in.

I kept my expression flat, unbothered by his anger. "I didn't feel like working anymore. Staying home—isn't that exactly what you always wanted?"

Mason went quiet. He stared at me like he was trying to peel back my skin and read what was underneath.

Then he laughed—low and dismissive.

"Honestly, you should've left a long time ago. You never had the skills to begin with. The only reason you had a paycheck was because of me."

"Better to go home than waste a seat you never deserved. But—"

He paused. Then he closed the distance between us, leaning down until his lips were at my ear.

"Don't think that resigning means you get to stay home and make Qiana's life hell while I'm away."

"If I find out you've touched her—I won't let it go."

I thought my heart had already gone numb.

I had already steeled myself to walk away from everything. I'd already endured Qiana's petty cruelty without a word. And still—he thought I was the threat.

When someone doesn't love you, even breathing feels like a crime.

I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing the sting before it could become tears. Then I smiled.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure she's perfectly comfortable."

I left without looking back.

Even when something crashed to the floor behind me, I didn't turn around.

……

Mason's POV:

I watched Charlotte walk away, a strange pressure settling in my chest—like something wadded up and stuck, making it hard to breathe.

I tugged at my tie. That helped, barely.

The sweet, easygoing woman I'd married—when had she grown all these sharp edges?

Divorce. No. She was jealous. That was all. She was pushing buttons on purpose, waiting for me to chase after her and smooth things over.

Ha. Let her wait. She needed to learn that kind of thing didn't work on me.

I could indulge her. I could be patient with her. But I couldn't just ignore Qiana.

A knock at the door. Jack stepped in, his expression taut with urgency. "Mr. Scott—Ms. Collins and Mrs. Scott got into it. Ms. Collins twisted her ankle. You should come."