Chapter 64

Angela POV

I stood in the dimly lit hallway of our penthouse, still processing his unexpected presence.

After Christopher's gentle concern at the patisserie, Sean's harsh tone felt like a slap. The night had already been exhausting enough with the drama at the party, and now this confrontation seemed inevitable.

"My phone died," I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the lie.

It was easier than explaining my evening with Christopher, easier than dealing with Sean's reaction to knowing I'd spent hours reminiscing with his oldest friend.

Sean crossed the space between us in three long strides.

"Your phone died?" His hand extended expectantly. "Show me."

The demand sent a surge of indignation through me, but I retrieved my phone anyway, unlocking it with deliberate slowness. I watched his eyes narrow as he noticed the nearly full battery indicator.

"You were with Christopher." His voice was flat, accusatory.

"And you were at the hospital with Christina," I countered, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "How is she? Did the doctors manage to save her from that terrible, life-threatening scratch?"

Sean's jaw tightened visibly. "Christina's injury was serious. The cut required stitches, and she might have a concussion."

"How convenient," I murmured, moving past him toward our bedroom. "I'm sure she'll milk every moment of attention she can get from it."

"Angela." His voice held a warning as he followed me. "Christina was hurt. You should visit her in the hospital, show some concern."

I froze mid-step, turning slowly to face him. "Visit her?" A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Why should I visit the woman who orchestrated this entire situation? The woman who had her friends falsely accuse me of assault?"

"It wasn't like that," Sean argued, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Jennifer was out of line, yes, but Christina tried to stop her. She was caught in the middle-"

"Caught in the middle?" My voice rose slightly. "Is that what she told you while you were carrying her to your car? While you were rushing to be her knight in shining armor, leaving your wife to find her own way home?"

Sean's expression darkened. "You're being unreasonable. This isn't about-" He paused, then continued with an accusing tone, "Have you forgotten how Christina took care of you when you were sick? Can't you just be a little nicer to her?"

His words made my blood boil. Christina's "care" during my fever?

What a joke. She hadn't been concerned about my wellbeing at all-she'd simply used it as another opportunity to get closer to Sean, to prevent any intimacy between us.

But Sean either couldn't-or wouldn't-see through her act. Or perhaps worse, he saw the truth and still chose to take her side, just like he was doing now.

"Whatever you think," I cut him off, my careful composure finally cracking, "I won't be visiting your precious little girlfriend. And more than that, I want her and Jennifer to publicly apologize on Instagram for spreading lies about me pushing her deliberately tonight."

"Let's end this here," Sean said firmly. "Christina is seriously hurt right now. She can't handle any more stress. Besides, she didn't say anything against you today."

A bitter smile crossed my face as I fought back tears. "Then why aren't you with her right now?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "What are you even doing here? Did you come back just to blame me?"

His words made my stomach churn. Even now, after everything that had happened, he was still defending her, still protecting her. The scratches on my face from Jennifer's attack apparently meant nothing to him, but Christina's minor injury was somehow a crisis requiring his complete devotion.

Sean's expression softened, his voice gentling. "It's not like that, Angela. Let me explain..."

But I didn't want to hear his explanations anymore. I'd heard enough of them over the years-all the ways he would try to rationalize his behavior, all the excuses he would make for Christina. I was tired of it all.

I pushed past him into our bedroom suite, heading straight for the master bathroom. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my makeup remover, desperate for some mundane task to focus on.

I could see Sean's reflection behind mine in the mirror as he followed me into the bathroom. His expression softened as he noticed the faint scratches on my cheek from Jennifer's nails. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over the marks.

"You're hurt," he said softly. "Let me help you with that."

I jerked away from his touch as if burned. "Don't," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Don't pretend to care now."

"Angela-"

"No!" I grabbed the nearest object-a crystal perfume bottle-and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall beside his head, filling the air with the scent of jasmine. "Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!"

Sean stared at me, shock written across his features. In all our years together, through all our arguments and tensions, I had never lost control like this.

"You're being hysterical," he said, his voice hard with anger. "This isn't like you."

I grabbed another bottle, my hands shaking. "You don't know what I'm like! You've never known, because you've never cared to look past your precious Christina long enough to see me!"

The bathroom counter between us was littered with broken glass and spilled perfume, a physical manifestation of our shattered facade. My chest heaved with emotion, one hand unconsciously moving to protect my stomach-a gesture that didn't escape Sean's notice.

His eyes narrowed, focusing on that protective placement of my hand. For a moment, something like understanding flickered across his face, but before he could speak, I found my voice again.

"Get out," I whispered, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Just... get out."

Sean stood frozen for a moment longer, his expression a complex mix of anger, confusion, and something else-something that might have been concern. Then, without another word, he turned and left, the bedroom door closing behind him with a decisive click.

In the sudden silence, I sagged against the counter, my legs barely supporting my weight. A wave of nausea hit me-whether from the pregnancy or emotional exhaustion, I couldn't tell.

As I sank to the cold marble floor, careful to avoid the broken glass, I pressed my hand protectively against my stomach. "I'm sorry, little one," I whispered. "Mommy will be strong for you."