Chapter 3 Shattered Reflexion

Chapter 3

Shattered Reflexion

She stared at Phil as if seeing him for the first time. Not the man who had held her at midnight under fireworks. Not the man who whispered promises into her hair after long days. But this this man wielding silence like a dagger, holding truth like a prison sentence.

"The video..." she murmured.

Phil nodded, slowly. "It's out there. They know."

Her heart thundered in her ears. The image of her life unraveled in flashes: the board meeting she'd chaired just hours ago, the PTA group chat she had ignored, the anonymous messages that had begun with "So, you too?"

Someone had leaked it.

But who?

As she sank to the floor, her mind raced not through guilt, but through names faces every possible person who could've betrayed her.

Phil didn't help at all. He just stood there, as if waiting to watch her crumble.

The clock ticked.

The iPad remained dead and dark.

Outside, the world moved on cars whooshing past, lives untouched. But inside this room, everything had stopped.

Everything... had altered. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid of losing him.

She was afraid of who had wanted her to lose everything.

Phil Philips was the kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to win a courtroom. He simply adjusted his cufflinks, opened his case file, and the room listened. There was something magnetic in his calml like watching a wave build, powerful and inevitable. A corporate lawyer at Harrington & Locke, one of the most prestigious law firms in the city, Phil Philips had a track record that made junior associates whisper his name with awe and envy.

His office, located on the 42nd floor, overlooked the glass and steel chaos of the city. Inside, it was a temple of order. Polished mahogany desk. Books aligned with militant precision. A single framed photograph his wedding day, caught in that one candid moment where his stoic face cracked into a rare smile. No clutter. No distractions. Just Phil Philips and the law.

He specialized in mergers and acquisitions, contracts so complex they would make a mathematician's head spin. Phil Philips thrived on them. He understood the language of leverage, the dance of negotiation. Opposing counsels learned never to mistake his silence for weakness. He spoke when it mattered-and when he did, his words were final.

His days began at 5 a.m. with black coffee and a scan through market reports. By 6, he was at the gym, sculpting not just his body but his control. The courtroom, for Phil Philips was a theatre of logic. He ruled rather than performed. Never lost a case. Never bent a rule. To him, winning wasn't a goal it was a requirement.

Yet despite his reputation, Phil Philips was no machine. Beneath the steel of his profession burned a quiet devotion to his wife, to the family he envisioned but hadn't yet built. Every decision, every overtime hour, every bonus check was for her. For the life they said they wanted. A future carved in marble, not sand.

But love, like law, required negotiation. And in love, Phil Philips refused to negotiate his feelings. He believed in actions, not words. He offered. He protected. He was there. Even when he was emotionally distant, it was out of discipline, not disdain.

His colleagues often remarked on his discipline. "Philips doesn't drink on weekdays." "He doesn't miss deadlines." "He never mixes pleasure with work." And they were right. Phil Philips lived by rules, lines drawn in his mind long ago lines he rarely crossed.

At firm dinners, he was courteous. Elegant in dark suits, his presence silent yet commanding. He never lingered in conversations about vacations or Netflix dramas. His world revolved around strategy, ethics, the subtle art of never losing control.

And yet, for all his composure, Morina loved. Fiercely. Privately. Even if he couldn't always show it. His wife's laughter, the way she curled her feet on the couch, the silence between them that once felt like home these were his treasures. He'd sacrifice wins for her. He'd give up promotions if she asked.

But she didn't ask. And now, he was beginning to wonder if she ever truly saw what he gave.

The boardroom echoed with quiet clicks of laptops closing. Phil Philips stayed behind, staring at the confidential documents still splayed before him an M&A proposal for a billion-dollar acquisition. Normally, this would be the kind of challenge he relished. But his mind was miles away.

He checked his phone again. No messages.

His wife's silence had grown longer than any court recess.

The video was in his view. He didn't want to. He hadn't gone looking. A junior associate had shown him, thinking it was another scandal to gossip about. However, Phil Philip recognized the space. The voice. The shadows.

He hadn't confronted her. No, not yet. Instead, he replayed every memory like a prosecutor building a case: late nights she claimed were work dinners, the password she changed without reason, the emotional distance that used to feel like mutual respect but now felt like evasion.

Still, a part of him wanted to believe wanted to protect her. Because betrayal wasn't in his vocabulary. Nor was surrender.

The partners were expecting him to lead the negotiation tomorrow. He'd be ready. He always was.

Morina, on the other hand, felt something he hadn't felt in a long time as he observed the city lights smearing like wet paint out the window.