Chapter 5
An inexplicable irritation flared in Stanley's chest, his tone growing even colder and more forceful. "I'm telling you, Jessica—resignation? Not happening. Divorce? Don't even think about it."
He paused, leaning forward to loom over her, his gaze bearing down with crushing authority. "For the rest of your life, you're not leaving the Smith family."
He expected this declaration to produce the usual result—tears, submission, surrender.
Instead, Jessica simply looked up at him for one quiet moment, those eyes that had once held constellations now utterly lifeless.
She didn't even bother to argue.
That complete dismissal infuriated Stanley more than any protest could have.
A familiar stabbing pain suddenly tore through Jessica's stomach. Her face went even paler, cold sweat beading on her forehead. Instinctively, she pressed her hand against her abdomen, her fingers trembling slightly.
Lydia caught every detail of that subtle gesture.
She immediately rose and moved to Stanley's side, gently tugging at his sleeve with an expression of concern. "Stanley, don't be so harsh. Look how awful Jessica looks—is she not feeling well? Please don't upset yourself. Whatever it is, you can talk it through calmly."
Her words seemed conciliatory on the surface, but every syllable was calculated to stoke the fire, implying Jessica was faking illness for sympathy.
Sure enough, Stanley glanced at Jessica's ashen face and deeply furrowed brow without a trace of concern—only thick impatience and disgust.
He scoffed, his tone softening immediately when addressing Lydia. "Let's go. Don't waste time on her."
With that, he placed his arm around Lydia's waist and strode toward the office door without a backward glance, as if Jessica were nothing more than an irrelevant piece of furniture.
As he passed her, his steps never faltered. He tossed out one final icy command: "Have an assistant drive you home."
The door closed. Silence descended.
Jessica collapsed onto the sofa, her body giving out as the pain in her stomach crashed over her like a tsunami, so intense she curled into herself.
She knew perfectly well that no assistant would come.
Who in this company would risk missing an opportunity to curry favor with Stanley just to help a soon-to-be-former director who'd fallen completely out of his good graces?
She sat alone in the empty room for a long time, until the pain subsided just enough for her to push herself up. Supporting herself against the wall, she made her way unsteadily toward the elevator.
The underground parking garage was vast and cold. Jessica had just reached her parking spot when her vision went black, a violent wave of dizziness crashing over her. She grabbed the car door to keep from falling.
At that moment, a vehicle pulled up beside her.
The window rolled down, revealing Chris's face etched with concern.
"Jessica? What's wrong?" Seeing her deathly pale complexion, he immediately unbuckled his seatbelt and got out.
"I'm fine..." Jessica's words cut off as her body went limp.
Chris lunged forward, catching her and sweeping her up into his arms. She felt alarmingly fragile, all sharp angles beneath his hands.
His chest tightened with a mixture of anger and heartache. "Fine? You call this fine? Where the hell were you planning to go like this?"
He carried her swiftly toward his own car.
At that precise moment, a black Bentley Mulsanne was gliding slowly toward the parking garage exit.
In the back seat, Stanley happened to glance out the window—and saw a man holding Jessica tightly in his arms while she leaned weakly against his chest, their posture intimate and familiar.
His pupils contracted sharply. His knuckles went white around his phone, and the air pressure around him plummeted to sub-zero.
'Well done, Jessica. Well fucking done.'
'One minute you're throwing a tantrum about quitting, and the next you're rushing into some other man's arms.'
The following day brought a family dinner at Smith Mansion.
Jessica forced herself to attend despite her condition.
She knew this would be her last meal as Mrs. Smith, her final dinner with Elizabeth.
When she appeared in the doorway, Stanley was in the living room conversing with his grandmother.
The moment he saw Jessica, the mockery in his eyes was barely concealed.
His voice dripped with sarcasm. "There's a limit to how far you can push a tantrum. Abandoning your work completely? What's this resignation nonsense supposed to accomplish?"
He was convinced yesterday's behavior had been nothing but childish attention-seeking, a transparent game of playing hard to get.
Jessica's expression remained serene. She didn't respond to him at all, walking directly to Elizabeth and linking their arms affectionately. "Grandma, I'm home."
"Good, dear. I'm so glad you're here." Elizabeth patted her hand tenderly, then turned a fierce glare on Stanley. "How dare you speak to your wife that way! What has Jessica ever done to deserve such passive-aggressive treatment? I swear those vixens circling you have completely rotted your brain!"
Stanley's face darkened at the reprimand, but with Elizabeth present, he couldn't unleash his temper. He could only settle onto a chair with a thunderous expression.
Dinner was an exercise in suppressed hostility. Afterward, Elizabeth refused to let either of them leave.
"Neither of you is going anywhere tonight. You're both staying here, and you're going to talk to each other properly!"
Jessica couldn't refuse her grandmother-in-law's well-meaning command and found herself assigned to a guest room.
Stanley retreated to the study with a face like a storm cloud.
As night deepened, Jessica lay in bed, her stomach aching dully, sleep impossible.
Her phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, Dr. Scott's name lighting up the screen.
Before she could reach for it, the study door opened and Stanley entered, his expression dark.
His eyes immediately locked onto the glowing phone screen—and that glaringly offensive caller ID.
Dr. Scott? The same man who'd been holding her in the parking garage?
Rage shot straight to his head. Stanley strode over and, before Jessica could react, snatched the phone and jabbed the decline button.
On the other end, Chris had been eager to share exciting news—he'd contacted his mentor abroad and learned about a promising new targeted therapy with excellent clinical results that might offer Jessica a fighting chance.
The call was ruthlessly disconnected.
Stanley's face was thunderous as his fingers flew across the screen. He found Chris's contact information and blocked the number without hesitation. Only then did he toss the phone back onto the nightstand like discarded trash.
Jessica was furious and frantic, but too weak to even sit up.
Stanley stared at her pallid face, the irritation in his chest swelling uncontrollably.
Jessica wanted nothing more to do with him. She struggled upright, grabbed the comforter, and made her way to the living room, curling up on the sofa.
The sofa was narrow and hard. Already unwell, she tossed and turned restlessly, unable to find comfort, the grinding pain in her stomach making her brow furrow in agony.
After what felt like an eternity, a shadow fell over her.
Stanley stood before the sofa, staring down at her small, curled form and her obvious suffering. His brow furrowed deeply.
As if possessed, he bent down, sliding his arms beneath her knees and behind her back, and lifted her up.
The sudden sensation of weightlessness made Jessica gasp. Her eyes flew open to meet Stanley's—those unfathomable depths filled with emotions too complex to decipher.
