Camilla's POV
Tom's expression shifted the moment he spotted me. His smile vanished, replaced by a deep frown that made him look genuinely irritated. As if my presence was some kind of inconvenience he hadn't planned for.
"What are you doing here, Camilla?" The question came out sharp as he rose from his seat. There wasn't a trace of surprise in his voice, just cold annoyance radiating from those brown eyes I used to find so warm.
My hands shook as I lifted the USB drive. "You forgot this at home," I managed to say, though each word felt like sandpaper in my throat.
"I specifically told Sienna to deliver it," he snapped back. "There was no reason for you to make the trip yourself."
Those were his first words to me. Not a simple thank you. Not concern for whether I was okay. Not even a polite acknowledgment of my effort. Just anger that I had come instead of sending our housekeeper.
I stared at him, feeling something cold settle in my chest. "That's really what's bothering you right now?"
He remained silent, his jaw clenched tight.
Before I could process his reaction fully, the woman beside him cleared her throat.
"Tom, aren't you going to introduce us?"
Her voice carried a silky quality that immediately put me on edge. I turned toward her, watching as she slowly recrossed her legs with deliberate precision. Her perfectly manicured nails gleamed pale pink in the office lighting, and the way her eyes assessed me made my skin feel like it was crawling.
Tom hesitated. I watched him struggle with his words, opening his mouth only to close it again without speaking.
So I filled the silence myself.
"I'm his wife," I said quietly, raising my left hand to display my wedding ring.
That's when I noticed his bare fingers. Not a trace of gold anywhere. No indication he'd ever worn a wedding band to the office.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. My chest felt hollow, like something vital had been carved out of it.
"Oh," the woman said, her eyebrows lifting slightly. "How interesting. You never mentioned having a wife when I asked about your personal life yesterday evening."
Yesterday evening.
The words echoed in my mind as everything clicked into place. This was her. The woman from the photograph I'd found. The same person who'd left lipstick traces on his collar. The colleague he'd insisted I shouldn't worry about.
My throat felt like it was on fire.
Tom must have seen the recognition dawn on my face because he suddenly found his voice.
"Yes, I'm married," he said, as if this fact had only just become relevant. "Camilla, meet Delia. She's an old friend from our college days."
Delia.
I'd already figured it out, but hearing him say her name aloud still made my stomach clench painfully.
Delia turned her attention back to me, and I felt her gaze sweep over me from head to toe. Her examination was thorough and completely unapologetic. She took in my outfit, my hair, every inch of my appearance with clinical precision.
Then she laughed. A soft, amused sound that made my blood pressure spike.
"This is absolutely unbelievable," she said, shaking her head as if she'd just witnessed something absurd. "Tom, seriously? This is what you settled for?"
Heat flooded my face. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"
She maintained that infuriating smile, as if my anger was merely entertaining.
"Don't take it personally," she said with a careless shrug that made it clear she absolutely meant it personally. "It's just not what I pictured. You're so ordinary looking. And you've really let yourself go, haven't you? A little effort with your appearance wouldn't kill you before showing up at someone's workplace."
The words hit me like slaps.
I turned to Tom, silently pleading with him to intervene. To tell her she was out of line. To defend me even once.
But he said nothing.
Worse than nothing. His expression told me everything I needed to know. He was ashamed to be seen with me.
This was the same man who used to trace my stretch marks with his fingertips, calling them beautiful proof of what my body had accomplished bringing our daughter into the world. Now he looked like he wanted to disappear rather than acknowledge our connection.
I glanced down at my clothes. Simple jeans and a clean blouse. Nothing glamorous, but perfectly appropriate for a quick errand. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I'd simply come to return something he'd forgotten.
And yes, my body had changed since college. I'd carried a child. I'd spent sleepless nights caring for our daughter while he worked his so called late hours. I was tired, busy, and human. But I wasn't hideous. I wasn't worthless.
I looked at Tom again. "You're actually going to sit there and let her speak to me this way?"
His continued silence was answer enough.
My legs felt unsteady, but I refused to collapse in front of her. I wouldn't give her that satisfaction.
My mind drifted back to our college years. I'd been the scholarship student, quiet and overlooked. Tom and Delia had been campus royalty. Beautiful, wealthy, untouchable. Everyone knew their story.
Until his family's financial collapse. That's when Delia disappeared from his life, abandoning him the moment his bank account couldn't sustain her lifestyle. I remembered how devastated he'd been. The whispers that followed him everywhere. The humiliation.
I'd harbored a secret crush on him even then. When he finally noticed me, asked me for coffee, treated me like I mattered, I thought I'd found something real.
Now here we sat. History repeating itself.
Delia was back, positioned in his office like she'd never left. Like our marriage, our daughter, our life together meant absolutely nothing.
I'd gained some weight, yes. But I'd also built a human being inside my body. I'd weathered midnight fevers and endless worry. I'd maintained our home while he pursued his career.
He used to cherish these changes. He'd tell me not to stress about losing baby weight, that I was perfect exactly as I was.
So why was he silent now? Why did his face suggest he agreed with every cruel word she'd spoken?
I straightened my shoulders and fought to keep my voice level.
"What exactly are you doing here?" I asked her directly. "Why are you sitting so close to my husband like you have some claim on him?"
Her smile shifted, becoming something sharper and more dangerous.
"I have every right to be close to Tom," she replied smoothly.
She leaned back against the couch cushions like she owned the space.
"Besides," she continued, her hand moving to rest on her still flat stomach, "I'm carrying his child."
The office tilted around me.
My knees nearly buckled.
"What did you say?"
"I'm pregnant, Camilla," Delia said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "With Tom's baby."