The CEO's Regret: His Lost Wife's Secret Twins novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41

ARIA

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Blake’s voice cut through the room. His hand landed on Emma’s shoulder-protective, possessive, final. Ten years, and here we were again. Blake playing white knight to Emma’s damsel in distress.

The shift in the room was immediate. Those wealthy guests who’d been holding their breath suddenly found their courage.

“Mr. Morgan has every right to defend Miss Grant,” a woman in diamonds proclaimed. “Some people simply don’t understand boundaries.”

“Exactly!” Another voice chimed in. “Miss Grant is a treasure to this city. She deserves better treatment.”

I watched them fall over themselves to praise Emma, to align themselves with Blake’s obvious choice. The spectacle would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

Blake’s frown deepened at their comments. Then his gaze found mine across the room.

I kept my eyes on my wine glass. Why should I acknowledge him? He’d made his priorities clear enough.

But I felt his stare burning into me, demanding eye contact, demanding… something. Fine.

I looked up. Met those ice-blue eyes directly.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Morgan?” My voice came out steady. “If you’re waiting for an apology to Miss Grant, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. But I can certainly leave if my presence is making everyone uncomfortable.”

“You’ll stay exactly where you are.” The command in his voice made several people flinch.

The fury radiating from him silenced the room again. But then he turned away, the muscle in his cheek jumping. Always so controlled, our brilliant businessman. Always so careful to maintain that image.

I stayed in my seat. My fingers found my wedding ring, twisting the cool metal. A reminder of what this really was-a business arrangement with an expiration date. Three years down. Two to go.

The conversations resumed around us, though now people kept stealing glances at our little drama. Blake consoling Emma. Me sitting here-an unwanted piece of furniture. The same old story.

God, I’m so tired of this.

Ten years of watching Blake run to Emma’s rescue. Ten years of being the outsider. At least now I could count down the days until I was

free.

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13:50 Mon, Jun 15

Chapter 41

I watched Emma lean into Blake’s touch, her hand covering his. The gestures were rehearsed, the tears timed to precision. And Blake fell for it again and again. The man who could spot a failing company from a single quarterly report couldn’t see through one woman’s

performance.

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Maybe he didn’t want to see. Maybe believing Emma’s act was easier than facing the truth about why he married me.

Two more years. Just two more years.

“Quite the show, isn’t it?”

Matthew’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to find him watching me with an unreadable expression.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said quietly.

“Don’t you?” He tilted his head slightly. “Ten years of carrying a torch for a man who’d throw you under a bus for Emma without a second

thought. That must sting.”

I met his gaze steadily. “I’ve been mourning something that died years ago. Time to move on.*

Something shifted in his expression. The mockery faded, replaced by something I couldn’t quite name.

“You’ve changed,” he said finally. Not mocking this time. Almost… thoughtful.

“People do that. Change.” I picked up my wine glass, more for something to do with my hands than any desire to drink. ‘It’s called

growing up.”

“Most people just get better at lying to themselves.” He swirled his own drink. “You actually seem to be facing reality. That’s rare.”

Coming from Matthew, that almost sounded… positive? When was the last time he’d said anything remotely kind to me? I couldn’t

remember.

Then I noticed the bruise darkening his left cheekbone, purple spreading toward his temple.

“What happened to your face?” The question came out before I could stop it.

“Does it matter?”

“Someone actually landed a punch on you? That’s… surprising.”

His mouth quirked. “You think I’m unbeatable?”

The question triggered a memory I hadn’t thought about in years. A very different Matthew from childhood-soft-spoken, gentle, regularly bullied by other rich kids. Olivia and I used to defend him.

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I remembered one day in particular. We were about ten years old. Matthew had been cornered by three preppy boys from wealthy families

in the schoolyard. They’d grabbed his backpack and were playing keep-away.

“Give it back!” Matthew’s voice had cracked with tears. “Please!”

The boys just laughed, shoving him down whenever he got close.

“Look at the Redwood crybaby!” one of them taunted. “Even your sister’s tougher than you!”

Olivia and I had been walking across the yard when we saw it. Without hesitation, Olivia marched over and grabbed the biggest boy by his collar, shoving him hard enough that he fell backward.

“Touch my brother again,” she’d said, her voice ice-cold even at ten years old, “and I’ll make sure your father hears about it during his next checkup with mine.”

I’d helped Matthew up, brushing dirt from his uniform while he tried to stop crying against my shoulder.

That evening at dinner, Olivia had told their parents the whole story, ending with: “Matthew can’t even defend himself at school. He only acts tough in front of Aria!”

Matthew had turned bright red, staring at his plate while Mr. Redwood lectured him about “standing up for yourself appropriately.”

That gentle boy seemed impossible to reconcile with the cold man beside me now. But looking at that bruise…

I reached up without thinking, wanting to brush his hair aside to see how bad the injury really was. My fingertips were inches from his forehead when-

BANG.

Blake’s whiskey glass hit the marble bar so hard I was sure it would shatter.

Every conversation died instantly.

His ice-blue eyes locked onto my hand, still frozen in midair near Matthew’s face. The fury in his expression made my breath catch.

I pulled my hand back slowly, meeting his stare. What the hell is his problem now?

He could comfort Emma all night long, hold her hand, touch her shoulder. But I couldn’t even check on an injured friend?

The hypocrisy shouldn’t surprise me anymore.

But somehow, it still did.

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