Harrison didn't look guilty. He looked utterly exhausted by my presence. He walked past me, pulling a large manila envelope from his briefcase and tossing it onto the coffee table.
"Sit down, Nora," he said, walking to the hall closet.
"Who is this?" I demanded, though I already knew.
Chloe smirked, stepping fully into the warmth of the house. She crossed her arms, the gold Cartier watch on her wrist catching the hallway light. "I'm the woman he's actually bringing to the corporate gala tomorrow. The one who actually fits into his world."
I stared at the watch. A month ago, a Vanguard automated expense flag had hit my private server regarding a $12,000 "client retention gift" approved by Harrison's department. I had ignored it, assuming he was closing a massive account. Now, it was ticking on his mistress's wrist.
Harrison came back from the bedroom dragging my old canvas suitcase.
"What are you doing?" I asked, panic finally piercing through my confusion.
"I'm done carrying dead weight," Harrison said coldly. "Those are divorce papers. I've already signed them. My lawyer says if you sign now, I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars to start over somewhere else. But you aren't staying here."
"I am six months pregnant with your child!" I shouted, the betrayal hitting me like a physical blow to the chest.
"And you've used that as an excuse to sit around this house doing nothing while I break my back building an empire!" Harrison snapped, his face turning red. "Tomorrow morning, the board is naming the new VP. I am ascending, Nora. I am entering the one percent. And I am not walking into the Vanguard boardroom with a frumpy, unambitious housewife dragging me down."
"You want to kick me out?" I whispered, tears finally blurring my vision. "Tonight? In a thunderstorm?"
"I don't care where you go," he said.
Before I could process another word, he grabbed the handle of my suitcase, marched to the front door, and yanked it open. The wind howled into the foyer, bringing a sheet of cold rain with it.
He hurled the suitcase out into the night. It hit the concrete driveway and burst open.
"Get out," he commanded.
I stumbled backward, stepping out onto the wet porch, my mind spinning violently. I walked down the steps into the freezing rain, falling to my knees to gather the scattered baby clothes.
When he slammed the door and locked it, the finality of the sound echoed in my bones.
I didn't cry anymore. The heartbreak evaporated, replaced by a cold, mechanical clarity I hadn't felt since I was ruthlessly dismantling rival firms in my twenties.
I pulled my phone from my soaked pocket and dialed the private number I hadn't used in two years.
Less than a minute later, the black Maybach glided down the suburban street and stopped in front of me. Marcus, my Chief Operating Officer and head of private security, stepped out into the storm with a heavy black umbrella.
He didn't ask questions. He took my arm and guided me into the heated leather interior of the backseat.
"Ma'am," Marcus said gently from the front seat, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "The board meeting is set for tomorrow morning. Do you want me to cancel it?"