Chapter 8 - THE NURSERY
For several seconds, I could not speak.
Rebecca watched my face.
"Alyssa?"
I held up one finger.
The woman on the phone continued.
"I shouldn't be calling you."
"Then why are you?"
"Because the invoices are billed through the corporate residence account, and yesterday we were told to change the resident name on the building file."
"To whose name?"
"Jasmine Vale."
I closed my eyes.
"And the nursery?"
"The designer called it Baby Vale's room."
Rebecca's expression changed.
"Is there anything else?"
Sofia lowered her voice further.
"Mr. Prescott has been there many times."
"Alone?"
"Usually with Ms. Vale."
I looked through the windows at the rain moving across the mountains.
A strange thing happens when humiliation exceeds your capacity to absorb it.
The pain stops arriving in pieces.
It becomes information.
"Thank you for calling me," I said.
"Please don't use my name."
"I won't."
"There are cameras in the common areas."
My attention sharpened.
"How long are recordings kept?"
"Ninety days."
"Do not access or copy anything for me."
Rebecca nodded approvingly.
"Just tell your supervisor to preserve records if legal counsel sends a proper request."
"I can do that."
"Thank you."
I ended the call.
Rebecca touched my arm.
"We don't know what the nursery means."
I looked at her.
"We both know what it means."
"We know what it suggests."
"Fine."
I forced myself to breathe evenly.
"Then let's get evidence instead of suggestions."
That sentence became my rule for the next six hours.
No assumptions.
No scenes.
No accusations without documents.
Rebecca's firm sent a preservation request to the Manhattan property manager.
The audit committee expanded the forensic review.
Daniel froze all pending payments to Vale Strategic.
Melissa began collecting executive communications.
Aaron began calling people.
A lot of people.
By noon, the retreat had stopped pretending to be a retreat.
Employees gathered in small groups throughout the lodge.
Rumors traveled faster than official statements.
The board sent an email assuring staff that business operations were continuing normally.
That guaranteed everyone understood nothing was normal.
At one thirty, I entered the main restaurant for lunch.
Jasmine was already there.
She sat alone at a corner table.
No one had chosen the seats beside her.
That surprised me.
Power creates company quickly.
Suspicion empties chairs even faster.
I intended to walk past her.
She spoke first.
"Congratulations."
I stopped.
"For what?"
"You got what you wanted."
"An audit?"
"Control."
Her voice carried bitterness now.
The polished sweetness was gone.
I looked at the empty chair across from her.
"May I?"
She laughed.
"Now you want to sit with me?"
"I want to understand something."
"What?"
I sat.
"Why me?"
She frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"You could have had Aaron without turning every interaction into a public humiliation."
Her eyes hardened.
"You think this was about you?"
"The plane seat was."
She looked away.
"The dinner seating was."
No answer.
"My grandmother's pin definitely was."
Her mouth tightened.
"He gave it to me."
"And you knew it was mine after I told you."
"I gave it back."
"After his mother ordered you to."
She leaned closer.
"You want honesty?"
"Yes."
"I was tired of watching everyone worship you for things you didn't do."
I stared at her.
"What do you think I didn't do?"
"Build the company."
"I never said I built it alone."
"You let people act like Aaron owes you everything."
I almost smiled.
"Aaron told you that too?"
"I watched it."
"For eleven months."
"Long enough."
She folded her arms.
"You walk into rooms and everyone changes."
"Because I'm married to the CEO."
"No."
Her answer was immediate.
"Because you never have to ask for anything."
That sentence revealed more than she intended.
I studied her.
Jasmine was not poor.
She had attended excellent schools.
Her father had been a surgeon.
Her mother owned several properties.
But she had spent her adult life close enough to old wealth to hate the effortless parts of it.
Aaron must have given her a story where I was the obstacle between him and freedom.
She had added her own resentment and turned me into a target.
"You think I never asked for anything?"
"You inherited everything."
"I asked my father to risk eight million dollars on Aaron when every advisor told him not to."
She laughed.
"There."
"There what?"
"You always bring up the money."
"Because Aaron keeps pretending it didn't exist."
"Maybe he is tired of being your charity project."
The cruelty in her voice was precise.
For a moment, I saw Aaron sitting on the kitchen floor again.
Then I let the memory go.
"Did he tell you he felt that way?"
She hesitated.
"He didn't have to."
"So no."
Her face tightened.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you believe you know my marriage."
"I know he doesn't love you."
That one landed.
She saw it.
Her eyes brightened with the satisfaction of finally finding flesh.
I nodded once.
"Maybe you're right."
She had expected denial.
The absence of it unsettled her.
"Then why are you fighting?"
"I'm not fighting for him."
Her expression changed.
"I'm fighting for what he tried to take."
I stood.
Then I remembered the nursery.
"Jasmine."
She looked up.
"Congratulations."
Her face went blank.
"For what?"
"You tell me."
For the first time since I met her, Jasmine Vale looked frightened.
It lasted only one second.
Then she smiled.
"You found out."
I did not answer.
She leaned back.
"I'm twelve weeks pregnant."
The restaurant seemed to disappear around me.
I heard cutlery.
Muted conversations.
Rain against glass.
But everything felt far away.
"Does Aaron know?"
"Of course."
I looked toward the door.
As if summoned by his name, Aaron entered.
He saw us together and stopped.
Jasmine placed one hand lightly over her stomach.
That gesture answered the only question I still had.
Aaron crossed the room quickly.
"What did you tell her?"
Jasmine's eyebrows lifted.
"The truth."
He looked at me.
"Alyssa."
I waited.
He seemed unable to decide which lie should come next.
Finally, he said the worst possible thing.
"I was going to tell you after the restructuring."
I laughed.
It came out quiet and broken.
"Of course you were."
"It's complicated."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Is she pregnant?"
He glanced at Jasmine.
"Yes."
"Do you believe the baby is yours?"
Jasmine stood so fast her chair hit the wall.
"How dare you?"
I did not look at her.
Aaron did.
That tiny hesitation was interesting.
Then he turned back to me.
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Three weeks."
I nodded.
Three weeks.
During those three weeks, he had slept beside me twice.
He had taken me to a foundation gala.
He had kissed my cheek for photographers.
He had complained that I seemed distant.
All while another woman planned a nursery in a penthouse paid for with money connected to his company.
"Were you going to divorce me?"
He looked around the restaurant.
"Not here."
"Answer me."
"We were going to discuss our options."
Jasmine stared at him.
"Our options?"
Apparently, that phrase surprised her too.
I almost admired the efficiency with which Aaron disappointed every woman in the room.
"Did you promise her you would divorce me?"
His silence answered.
Jasmine's face changed.
"Aaron."
He looked furious now.
"This isn't the place."
"It's never the place when you have to tell the truth," I said.
He stepped closer.
"You're enjoying this."
I stared at him.
"Do you actually believe that?"
He lowered his voice.
"You activated a control clause the morning after learning about us."
"I activated it before I knew about the baby."
"Because you were jealous."
"Because you hid millions of dollars and tried to use my consent without my consent."
"You're destroying the company to punish me."
A few nearby employees were listening now.
I kept my voice steady.
"Then tell them I should have signed."
He looked around.
No one met his eyes.
"Tell them," I continued.
"Tell your employees that their CEO believes his wife should have signed a document she was not allowed to read, approving a transfer that would reduce her trust's voting rights from seventeen point eight percent to one point two, while moving intellectual property she owns into a structure controlled by people who kept payments to your mistress's company off the audit committee's agenda."
The word mistress made Jasmine flinch.
Aaron's face went white with rage.
"Enough."
"I agree."
I picked up my handbag.
"You wanted our marriage over."
I looked at Jasmine.
Then back at him.
"Now it is."
I walked out before he could answer.
My hands did not shake until I reached the elevator.
Inside, I pressed the button for the top floor.
The doors nearly closed before Aaron's hand shot between them.
They opened again.
He stepped inside.
"We are not done."
I looked at him.
"We are."
"You don't get to decide that alone."
I almost laughed again.
"That's exactly how divorce works, Aaron."
He stared at me.
"If you file, this becomes public."
"You got your employee pregnant."
"You don't know the circumstances."
"Do they matter?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
He looked at the floor numbers instead.
The elevator climbed.
"I was lonely."
The words were so small compared to the damage that I almost did not understand them.
"Lonely."
"You were always at foundation meetings."
"Because you told me to step away from the company."
"You chose that."
"You asked me to."
"You agreed."
I stared at him.
There it was again.
His favorite trick.
If I agreed under pressure, the pressure disappeared from the story.
Only my consent remained.
The doors opened.
I stepped out.
He followed.
"Alyssa."
I turned.
"No."
He stopped.
"No more rewriting history while I'm standing in front of you."
He looked suddenly tired.
For one dangerous second, I saw the man from the kitchen floor.
"I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Which part?"
He said nothing.
"The affair?"
Silence.
"The baby?"
Silence.
"The money?"
His jaw tightened.
"The forged consent?"
"I did not forge your consent."
"Then help the audit find who did."
He looked at me.
"If I do, will you withdraw Clause 14?"
That question erased the last trace of sympathy.
Even now, truth was a bargaining chip.
"No."
His face hardened again.
"Then don't expect cooperation."
He walked away.
I watched him disappear around the corner.
My phone vibrated.
Rebecca had forwarded a message from the forensic team.
The subject line read URGENT - TOKEN REACTIVATION VIDEO.
There was an attachment.
Security footage from our home office.
Six months earlier.
I pressed play.
The image showed Jasmine entering the room at 11:47 p.m.
Then someone followed her inside.
May you like
Not Aaron.
Eleanor.
