Chapter 88

Angela POV

I met Christina's gaze steadily across Sean's pristine office, watching her fingers nervously adjust the designer bandage covering her forehead wound.

The morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast harsh shadows across her face, making her look older, more desperate than her usual carefully maintained appearance would allow.

"Trapped? That's an interesting choice of words, Christina. Especially coming from someone who orchestrated her own disappearance to manipulate him."

Her perfectly manicured hands clenched at her sides. "You have no right to judge me. Not after everything I've done for your family."

"Ah yes, my family. You're talking about two years ago, when you took my father to the hospital, right? Stop using my father's incident to threaten me, I've already fulfilled our agreement. I don't owe you anything anymore." I said, my voice growing cold with suppressed anger.

I stood up, placing both hands on Sean's desk as I leaned forward.

"And let's not forget what your friends just did. They nearly made me lose my baby!" My voice shook with barely contained fury.

"Now, get out!"

Christina's face paled slightly at my outburst, but her eyes narrowed with calculation.

"Your baby?"

she repeated softly, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice.

"I agreed to let you keep the baby on one condition-that you would divorce Sean right after Elizabeth's surgery!" Christina's voice trembled with barely contained rage. "But you haven't kept your promise!"

"Let me?" I felt a surge of cold fury. "Christina, get this straight-I don't need your permission to keep my child! And as for the divorce, I'm not the one who changed their mind. Sean's the one who doesn't want it anymore."

Christina's face went through a rapid series of emotions-shock, disbelief, then anger.

"That's impossible!" She shook her head violently. "Sean would never... You're lying! You must be manipulating him somehow!"

"Manipulating him?" I gave a cold laugh. "Why don't you look at the facts, Christina? He's been avoiding any discussion about the divorce for few days now. You can believe whatever you want, but perhaps you should ask yourself why he's suddenly changed his mind."

"He's just confused," Christina's voice carried a note of desperation that almost made me pity her. "Once you're out of the picture-"

"Once I'm out of the picture, what?" I turned back to face her. "You'll finally have him all to yourself? Is that what you really want, Christina? To be Sean Shaw's second choice?"

"Second choice?" She laughed, but the sound was brittle. "I was his first choice long before you came along. Who do you think he really loves? The woman who saved his life, or the convenient business arrangement his grandmother forced on him?"

The words were meant to wound, but I'd long since developed immunity to this particular poison.

"Love?" I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you call this endless manipulation? These calculated injuries and perfectly timed crises?"

Christina's face darkened. "You know nothing about love. All you understand is contracts and business deals. That's why Sean will never truly be yours."

"Perhaps." I adjusted my blazer, ensuring it lay smooth over my still-flat stomach. "But at least I've never had to orchestrate accidents or fake injuries to keep his attention."

Christina's hand flew to her bandaged forehead, her expression flickering between outrage and fear.

"You can't prove anything," she whispered, but there was uncertainty in her voice now.

"No?" I smiled slightly. "The interesting thing about warehouse security cameras, Christina, is that they catch everything. Even conversations about planned kidnappings."

Her face went pale. "You're bluffing. There weren't any cameras-"

"Are you sure about that?" I moved toward the door again.

Before she could respond, my phone buzzed with an incoming message. I glanced at the screen briefly before gathering my things.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, "I have an important meeting to attend."

Christina's eyes narrowed as she watched me prepare to leave.

"Running off to another lunch date? You've been seen quite often with Christopher Blake lately."

"I don't need to explain my schedule to you," I replied coolly. "Now, if you're quite finished making threats, I have work to do."

When I reached the entrance of Shaw Tower, I was momentarily taken aback by the sight before me.

Christopher had chosen to make quite the statement today.

He stood there in an impeccably tailored navy coat, leaning against a striking silver Aston Martin-a dramatic departure from his usual understated Mercedes. Even among Manhattan's elite, he commanded attention.

I hesitated at the threshold.

The plaza was crowded with the lunch hour rush, and many of my colleagues were enjoying their breaks at the nearby cafes. Christopher's conspicuous presence was already drawing curious glances.

Any interaction between us would certainly become tomorrow's office gossip.

But before I could decide how to handle the situation, Christopher made the choice for me.

He straightened from his position against the car and walked directly toward me！

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm with a slight smile.

I stood frozen, acutely aware of the eyes watching us.

This wasn't Christopher's typical style-he usually preferred subtle gestures over grand displays.

What game was he playing?