Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: Now Shine

Emma Hardy POV:

I took a step forward, my hand reaching out, grasping his arm. My fingers clamped down, a desperate plea for connection. "Bryce, please. Come home with me. My mother... she needs you. She needs to see you before it's too late. We can talk about all of this later, just please."

He didn't move, not at first. He let me pull him a few steps, his feet dragging. His eyes were wide, unreadable.

Then, a high-pitched cry pierced the air. "Bryce! My darling!" Galilea shrieked, her voice laced with panic. She scrambled after him, clutching at his arm. "Don't listen to her! We're getting married! Today!"

Her eyes darted to mine, a flash of pure venom, before turning back to Bryce. "You promised me, Bryce! You promised me a perfect, unforgettable wedding! Don't let this woman ruin it!" she whined, pressing herself against his side. "Your mother is sick, my mother is sick too! We both want our mothers to see us get married, please don't let this woman ruin it."

Her voice, an irritating siren, seemed to snap Bryce out of his daze. His eyes, which had held that brief flicker of something softer, hardened once more. He yanked his arm from my grasp, his movements sharp and dismissive.

"Emma, calm down," he muttered, his voice low, almost a hiss. "This is just... a performance. A reward for Galilea. Nothing more. We'll talk later."

Galilea, still clinging to him, blinked innocently, a silent plea in her eyes. It was a practiced move, one I' d seen her use on countless others. The innocent victim.

I stared at them, at their sickeningly coordinated act. A hollow, mirthless laugh bubbled up from my throat. It wasn't a performance. Not for her. Not with that look in his eyes, the one he' d never given me.

"A performance?" I repeated, my voice flat. "You mean, like our marriage was a performance for you, Bryce? A convenient little secret you could trot out when you needed my money, my connections, my support?"

He scowled, his patience clearly wearing thin. He pushed me back, a rough, impatient shove that made me stumble. "Emma, stop this! I told you, this is a reward for Galilea! She's been a loyal assistant, she deserves this. It's nothing to do with you!"

My stomach clenched, a violent tremor running through me. A reward. He was rewarding his mistress. With the wedding he had always denied me.

The memories hit me like a tidal wave. My parents, their faces etched with disappointment when I had told them Bryce didn't want a big wedding. "It's too much, Emma," he' d said, his voice dismissive. "Too public. We'll do something small, intimate. Just us."

Intimate. That meant hidden. That meant shameful.

My mother, her gentle voice, "It's alright, dear. As long as you're happy." But her eyes... I knew she had dreamed of seeing me walk down the aisle.

He never met my family, not properly. Always an excuse. Always a "work emergency." He couldn't be bothered to spend an hour with the woman who raised me, the woman who was now on her deathbed. But he could stage this elaborate, public spectacle for his mistress.

He broke every promise, every boundary, every shred of decency for her. He made her his public partner, his radiant bride. For me, he had only secrecy and neglect.

My eyes burned. Hot, angry tears welled up, blurring his smug, deceitful face. He was a monster.

My hand shot out, fueled by a scorching fury, and I slapped him. The sound cracked through the stunned silence, a whip-like report that echoed in the sudden stillness.

"A reward?" I hissed, my voice trembling with rage. "You reward your whore for sleeping with you behind your wife's back? Is that what you call it, Bryce? A reward for adultery?!"