What About Me

Rough hands clamped down on Maeve’s shoulders, their grip bruising and relentless. The two security guards moved with ruthless efficiency, forcing her arms behind her back and driving her spine against the polished wall of the tenth-floor hallway. The heavy impact knocked the breath from her lungs, but she refused to stop fighting.

"Let go of me!" Maeve screamed, her voice tearing through the sterile, luxurious silence of the executive corridor. She thrashed against the iron grip of the men, her stockinged feet slipping against the hardwood floor borders as she kicked out. "Take your hands off me right now!"

She locked her frantic eyes on the open doorway of the president's office. Preston stood right there. He stepped out into the hallway, bathed in the soft overhead lighting, wearing the very same tailored navy suit she had carefully picked out for him just two days ago. He looked perfect. Untouchable.

Yet, he said nothing. He simply watched her struggle.

Before Maeve could call out his name a second time, Victoria Mercer lunged forward.

The older woman’s hand swung through the air in a terrifying blur. The second slap connected with a sickening, resounding crack. A white-hot, blistering pain exploded across Maeve’s left cheek, instantly snapping her head to the side. The sheer force of the blow made her vision swim with dark spots. The metallic, bitter tang of blood flooded her mouth, pooling under her tongue. The heavy scent of Victoria’s expensive rose perfume suffocated her senses, making her stomach twist in nausea.

"Did you really think warming his bed would earn you a seat at our table?" Victoria hissed, stepping so close that her manicured, crimson fingernails nearly grazed Maeve’s stinging skin. Her lips curled into a vicious, ugly sneer of pure revulsion. "Did you actually believe that sleeping with my son made you an equal? You are nothing but a worthless secretary. You have no poise. You have no familial backing. You have zero worth in our society."

Maeve blinked rapidly, forcing the stinging tears to stay at bay. Her cheek burned like an open fire, the skin tight and throbbing, but she refused to give the older woman the satisfaction of her gaze. Instead, her eyes snapped straight past Victoria, locking onto Preston.

He stood a mere five feet away. He watched his own mother assault the woman he supposedly loved. He watched his security guards physically pin her against a wall like a common criminal. And through it all, he remained in stunning, suffocating silence.

The lack of his defense felt infinitely worse than the physical strike. A profound, sickening tremor wrecked Maeve’s chest, rattling her ribs. For five long years, she had loved this man with every single fiber of her being. She had given him her youth, her loyalty, and her unwavering devotion. Tomorrow was meant to be their fifth anniversary. She had spent the entire morning finalizing the massive, multi-million dollar share transfer—the very confidential folder that now lay scattered on the floor somewhere downstairs, discarded during her frantic rush up here. Tomorrow, she was supposed to finally introduce him to her father. Tomorrow, she was going to rip off the suffocating mask of the humble, struggling secretary and reveal her true, privileged identity to him. She had painstakingly built an entire world for them, carefully constructing a future where they would reign together over her family's empire.

Now, that beautiful, carefully constructed world unraveled right in front of her eyes, tearing apart at the seams.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Maeve demanded, her voice trembling from the sheer, crushing weight of the betrayal. She strained against the unyielding guards, her muscles burning. "Tell me the truth, Preston. Right now. Look me in the eyes and tell me. Are you truly going to marry Lyra?"

Preston’s jaw tightened. A fleeting shadow of guilt and discomfort crossed his handsome features, but he made no move to open his mouth. He did not deny the accusation.

Victoria let out a sharp, grating laugh that echoed down the hallway. "Of course he is marrying her! Did you honestly believe you mattered in the grand scheme of things?" She mocked, adjusting the glittering diamond bracelet on her wrist. "You were just a phase, Maeve. A well-kept, dirty little secret for him to play with. And now, playtime is over. Get this trash out of my sight before she embarrasses herself even further."

"Preston!" Maeve screamed, ignoring the venomous woman standing between them as if she were nothing but air. "Answer me! Five years! We have been together for five years!"

Preston let out a long, exhausted sigh. He rubbed his temples in slow circles, treating the devastating collapse of their relationship like a minor corporate headache rather than the destruction of a human life. He gave a slight, dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Let her go," Preston ordered the guards, his tone laced with boredom.

The men released her instantly, stepping back and melting into the shadows of the corridor. Maeve stumbled forward, her knees shaking under her weight, but she forced her spine straight. She would not fall in front of them.

"Mom, leave us," Preston said, keeping his voice dead flat.

Victoria bristled, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted her silk designer scarf. "I am not leaving you alone with this lunatic. Look at her. She is unhinged."

"Lyra needs you downstairs," he countered smoothly, playing his mother perfectly. "The press is waiting."

The mention of her wealthy, socially acceptable future daughter-in-law worked like magic. Victoria’s posture shifted. She shot one last look of pure, unadulterated disgust at Maeve. "You better fix this mess, Preston. If you do not handle this, I will have the board kick you out tomorrow morning. I will not have my son’s high-profile engagement ruined by a desperate nobody." She turned on her heel and marched down the corridor, her sharp stilettos clicking rhythmically against the floor until she disappeared into the elevator.

The heavy, oppressive silence returned the moment the doors slid shut. It amplified the ringing in Maeve’s ears, leaving her alone with Preston. The man who knew every secret of her body, who kissed her forehead every morning and whispered promises in the dark, suddenly looked like a stranger.

His gaze shifted. The loving warmth she relied on for half a decade vanished, replaced by a calculating, icy stare of a ruthless businessman analyzing a bad asset.

"I have responsibilities, Maeve," he stated, his voice devoid of any familiar warmth.

"Responsibilities?" she echoed, the word tasting like ash on her tongue. "What does that even mean, Pres?"

"Lyra’s family company is providing a crucial investment," he explained with a chilling, business-like detachment. "We need their capital to expand into the European markets. This marriage is vital for my future. It is a strategic move."

Maeve’s heart fractured right down the middle. A jagged, breathless pain ripped through her chest, making it hard to draw air. He was trading their five years of history, their home, their shared dreams, for a corporate buyout. It was a transaction.

"And what happens to me?" she asked, desperate to find a shred of the man she thought she knew. "What about us? You told me you did not even want children. You swore to me that you only wanted it to be the two of us."

"I changed my mind." He did not blink. He delivered the crushing blow without a single shred of remorse. "Lyra is younger. She can easily provide me with an heir. It is what the board expects of a CEO. It is what my family demands for the legacy."

Hot tears spilled over Maeve’s lower lashes, tracking through the smeared makeup on her bruised cheeks. The sheer devastation of his transactional confession crushed the remaining air from her lungs. She had walked away from an unmatched global empire. She had defied her billionaire father, abandoned a life of untouchable elite power, and hidden her limitless wealth in the shadows, all to prove a single point. She wanted to prove that pure love existed without conditions. She wanted to show her family that she did not need a massive title, a thick checkbook, or a sprawling estate to be chosen by a good man.

And now, the man she sacrificed her entire universe for was brutally casting her aside for a working womb and a financial paycheck.

"I did everything for you," she whispered, her voice breaking on the final syllable. Her chest caved inward. "What about us, Pres? What about everything we built?"

Preston took a step closer. The staggering audacity radiating from him made her stomach physically churn.

"If you just wait," he said, his tone dropping into a low, selfish murmur as if pitching a brilliant compromise. "Wait until the dust settles. Once the merger is complete and everything is politically stable with her family, I will eventually divorce Lyra. We can be together again."

Maeve stared at him, her vision blurring with fresh tears. She searched his face, looking for the punchline of a sick, twisted joke. But he was serious. "You want me to wait?" Her voice came out hollow, scraped raw. "You want me to hide in the shadows as your secret mistress while you stand at the altar and marry another woman? While you sleep beside her every night? While you build a family and a public life with her?"

"If you truly loved me, you would wait."

He reached out, his fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist. The touch, which once brought her the greatest comfort in the world, now felt like a disease crawling against her skin.

His expression hardened, turning pitch-black and icy. "You are being incredibly selfish right now, Maeve. I must secure my legacy. You have to understand that you never belonged in my world. You do not have the background or the pedigree for this tier of elite society. My mother was right about that. I am doing this for my future. If you care about me, you will stop crying and accept this arrangement."

Right then, in the suffocating quiet of the executive hallway, something fundamental inside Maeve shattered into a million pieces.

It was not a loud break. It was a silent, catastrophic collapse of her soul. The burning, chaotic pain ripping through her chest abruptly halted. The agonizing heartbreak froze in its tracks. The raw, bleeding wound of his betrayal hardened into something solid, deep, and impossibly heavy.

She looked down at the hand gripping her wrist. With an eerie, deliberate calmness, she pulled her arm back, breaking his hold with zero hesitation.

She lifted her own hand and wiped the wetness from her cheeks. The tears stopped falling. The trembling in her knees ceased.

"You are right," Maeve said out loud. Her voice carried no tremor, no weakness, no plea. "I do not belong here."

Preston let out a heavy breath, a fleeting look of arrogant relief washing over his handsome face. "I knew you would understand once you calmed down. It is just business, Mae. Besides," he added, dropping the final, apocalyptic bombshell with horrific, everyday casualness, "Lyra is already pregnant."

The words hung in the sterile air, toxic and heavy.

A hollow, broken chuckle escaped Maeve’s lips. It scraped against the back of her throat, devoid of any humor. Pregnant. He had been sleeping with Lyra while coming home to kiss her in the kitchen. He had planted his legacy in another woman while keeping Maeve in the dark, treating her like a naive fool.

Preston reached out again, aiming to grab her hand to seal their sick deal. "Mae, listen to me, we can still—"

She stepped backward, dodging his grip with immediate, flawless precision. She rejected his touch, her body recoiling as if he were venomous.

Maeve lifted her gaze. The loving warmth that had filled her eyes for half a decade vanished without a single trace. In its place, a slow, lethal, unyielding ice took form. She stared at him, her eyes locking onto his face like a literal warning carved directly into stone. The man standing in front of her was not her future. He was a mistake.

She stood tall, her spine straightening, ignoring the torn fabric of her blouse and the throbbing, colorful bruise forming on her cheek. She gritted her teeth, drawing a deep, steadying breath that filled her lungs with cold, unbreakable resolve. The shift from heartbreak to fury was complete.

"Don't," Maeve stated, the single syllable slicing through the space between them like a physical blade. She held his gaze, her voice dripping with a chilling, final promise. "Do not make me do something we will both deeply regret."