“Yes,” I said, keeping my eyes on Ethan. “Because if he’s been sleeping with an intern, this isn’t just a marriage issue. It’s a company issue.”
Ethan scanned the lobby, and for the first time that morning, I saw real fear—not about losing me, but about losing his image. His standing. The polished reputation he’d curated so carefully.
He lowered his voice. “We can fix this.”
I shook my head. “You can’t fix what you did. You can only face it.”
Then the lobby doors opened again, and two women stepped inside—HR badges clipped neatly, clipboards in hand, faces calm in a way that promised consequences.
Ethan swallowed.
I stepped back, crossed my arms, and watched the first fractures spread through the structure he’d built.
HR didn’t raise their voices. They didn’t create a spectacle. They were worse than that—measured, methodical, inevitable.
One introduced herself as Dana Whitaker, silver streaking her hair, voice firm. The other, younger but equally steady, was Alyssa Greene. They asked Ethan to accompany them. They asked Lila to come separately. They didn’t look at me like I was hysterical or dramatic. They looked at me like I was evidence.
Ethan tried to laugh, but it came out strained.