EX-HUSBAND'S BOSS FOR VALENTINE

MELANIA'S POV:

I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands clenched in my lap, watching Brady stand in front of the mirror. His focus is entirely on the tie he knots, as if I'm invisible. It's been almost twenty-four hours since we arrived at the hotel, and he hasn't said a word to me. I know today is important to him, career-wise, but how can he forget what it means to us?

The silence crushes me, and I keep watching the way he struggles with the tie-so focused on something so trivial while everything between us slips through his fingers. After a few more long moments, I force myself to stand, breathing through the panic in my chest.

"Let me help you," I say softly, stepping closer.

Brady pauses, his hands dropping away from the tie. He doesn't meet my eyes-he focuses on his reflection in the mirror. I take the tie from him, my fingers trembling as I tuck it into the loop he's made.

"There," I say, trying to muster a smile. He offers me a forced smile in return, which makes my heart sink. "Do you know what today is, love?" I ask quietly as I adjust the tie and rest my hands on his shoulders, praying he'll remember.

For a moment, his brows crease, and I think maybe he'll remember.

But then, with a casual shrug, he says, "It's the day I close the biggest deal of my career. The deal that'll get me the promotion I deserve." My throat tightens, but I manage to smile through the sting. I slide my arms around his neck, pressing my body into his, filling the cold distance between us.

"You should think harder, love," I whisper. I feel him stiffen beneath my touch. Without warning, he pulls away from me, his face contorting in disgust.

"I don't have time for your games, Melania," he snaps in an irritated voice. "If you want to tag along tonight, meet me downstairs in ten minutes. And stay quiet. I don't need you embarrassing me!" He is practically yelling at this point.

Without looking back, he walks out, slamming the door with a deafening bang. The world blurs, tears gathering in my eyes as I sink onto the stool in front of the vanity. The woman staring back at me feels so foreign now. This isn't the woman I gave Brady. This is the woman he molded-no, broke. She was whole before him, but now she's just a shadow of herself.

One year. That's how long I've been married to him. He's no longer the Brady I met in college, the one who wouldn't leave me alone, the one who made me feel seen. Now, I'm just a shadow in my home. He's made it clear I'm not meant to know anything about his business. My only purpose is to be beautiful and silent, to bear his children. But I haven't conceived. No matter how many nights I've endured his advances, my body refuses to give him the child he demands. And he never lets me forget it. Worthless. That's what he calls me.

When I suggest seeing a doctor together, his answer is cold and dismissive.

"I don't need a hospital tarnishing my image," he says. "Once they see me in there, the tabloids will say I'm impotent." And so I remain, stuck in this silent, suffocating role-needing him to love me, needing him to see me, but knowing I'm nothing more than a decoration to him now. Just his mute, beautiful, and hidden wife. He never takes me to any of his events, but today I insist because of our anniversary, which I thought we would celebrate together with his 'big' achievement. "You can't cry, Melania," I say to myself as I wipe the tears staining my eyes.

**

The car ride suffocates me. I sit silently in the back seat, while Brady scrolls through his phone in the front. Not a word passes between us, and soon we arrive at the venue. Brady steps out first, buttoning his blazer. I follow him, and he marches forward like he didn't come to the event with me.

As we enter the sky-tall building, his lips curve into a smile, and I spot a woman standing near the entrance. I freeze as I recognize her.

"You look beautiful," the words I crave leave Brady's mouth, but they are not for me. Before me, he takes Portia's hands, planting a kiss on the back of her palms.

Portia is everything Brady has ever wanted in a woman. She is his high school sweetheart, recently divorced, and glowing as though heartbreak made her stronger. He loved her so much, but she got married right after high school. Her family is influential, so they tied her to a bigger family, the Sinclair's.

Brady says he is over her, but his actions say otherwise. Portia smiles at me, and I can tell it isn't genuine.

"You must be Melania. I've heard a lot about you," she extends her perfectly manicured hand, which I take briefly. In that moment, she sees a familiar face, and she leaves while I face my husband with my chest tightening.

"What is she doing here?" I ask, and I continue before he can speak, "I thought you said tonight is for important dignitaries?"

"It is," Brady replies immediately. "Portia is in town, and I thought she might help with her influence," he says, then I open my mouth to speak, but he glares at me. "Behave," he hisses under his breath.

Portia shows up at once, and he anchors his hand with hers, pulling her away while I trail behind them like I have no direction in life. As we walk into the room full of important dignitaries, Brady introduces me as a distant relative while he parades Portia around, proud to have an Ashford, and a former Sinclair.

Soon I am left alone in the middle of nowhere. I walk away with the sting of humiliation burning my face as Portia shoots me a poisonous smile. A server passes by with a tray of champagne, and I take one from him, downing the entire contents before grabbing another and turning to a corner in the room. Suddenly, I see Portia cat walking toward me with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"You really do not belong here, do you?" Portia mocks as she sips from her glass. "Brady doesn't love you, and he never has," she adds, her words driving through my chest like a knife. My hands tighten around the stem of the glass, and I glance at her, trying hard not to cry.

"Please leave him alone. I'll pay you whatever you want," I whisper, my voice breaking. Portia lets out a mocking laugh. "Pay me?" she repeats.

"Darling, my family's wealth makes Brady look like spare change. This isn't about money. It's about him. He belongs to me, and you..." She gives me a pitying look. "You're just in the way."

"Baby, except you are a Montclair or Chestwick, you have no right to talk to me about money." She is right, the Montclairs and Chestwick's are the richest in America. I am a Chestwick, but that is a secret I have kept from Brady, and that is what made me fall in love with him. He didn't want my family's money, it was just me.

"Brady doesn't love you, Portia, and he is using your family's influence to get what he wants," I say to her, and she scoffs.

"Didn't seem so when he snuck into my hotel room last night. Besides, I can prove it to you now. Look, he's coming," she says, and I spot Brady, whose smile changes to a frown as he sees me.

When he gets close to us, Portia puts out her leg a bit on the left, causing a lady making a call inattentive to trip, pouring her drink on her. My brows crease as I see Brady rushing to her, but to my utter surprise, he pushes me to the side, causing me to collide with a table of desserts, which sends chocolate mousse and raspberry coulis flying, splattering my dress and face. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, and the paparazzi do not pass up a chance to whip out their cameras for the front cover.

"Are you hurt? Did it get on you?" Brady asks, cupping Portia's face.

"I'm fine," Portia says in a low tone while I remain on the floor, frozen in humiliation. I search his face for the slightest sign of care, but he doesn't look at me.

"Someone clean this up," Brady barks to no one in particular, his hand resting protectively on Portia's back. "And get her out of here before she causes more trouble." He gestures vaguely toward me.

The words hit me like a blow as my chest tightens, and tears crawl down my face as I stand to save the little dignity I have left. I run away with the blinding light of the paparazzi chasing me as I realize my husband loves another woman...

MELANIA:

Brady's relationship with me is a rollercoaster, and I know he has hurt me several times, but openly choosing another woman is a different kind of hurt I cannot explain. As I make my way out of the building, the flashes from the paparazzi die down, but the ache in my chest intensifies, clouding my mind and barely allowing me to reason.

I walk down the street and onto the main road, directionless, jumping into the road like a madwoman without even realizing it until I hear a loud horn blaring at me and the floodlights of the car capturing my face. I close my eyes, waiting to get hit, but the car comes to a halt inches away from me. The driver rolls down the window.

"Are you crazy or something!" he yells, and I remain there, dumbfounded.

"That's enough," I hear someone say from the car, and in that moment, the door to the backseat flies open at once, and a man above six feet steps out of the car in a crisp suit. He walks up to me with a smile hanging on his face.

"I am sorry for my driver's behavior," he says, and I keep staring at his gorgeous brown eyes, which glisten under the dimly lit night sky. "Are you hurt?" His hand brushes against mine, drawing me back to reality, and I shake my head.

"No... I... I'm fine." I stutter, which is shocking because no man makes Melania Chestwick stutter-not even Brady. "I should get going," I say to him, but he grips my hand.

"Let me drop you off." I glance at him.

"My clothes are a mess, and I-"

"I can always wash my car," he cuts me off, and I press my lips together. "At least as an apology for almost hitting you," he says, and I hesitate for a moment, but then I realize there is nothing to hold on to. My husband is with another woman.

"Thank you. I'm heading to the Star city Hotel," I say to him, and he leads me gently to the car. I get in, and he follows, then the driver speeds off.

The entire ride is quiet, and I am glad he doesn't want to start an uncomfortable conversation. We continue until we reach the hotel, then he gets down from the car, opens it, and helps me out.

"Have a good day, miss," he says, then his driver speeds off. It is weird that he doesn't hit on me, but another part of me is glad, and I am too busy with my failing marriage to even care.

As the surrounding air thickens, I march into the elevator, which takes me to the floor of our room. Once I get there, I swipe the card on the door, and as soon as it opens, I rush inside, slamming the door behind me. I rush to the vanity, sliding my four fingers between my throat and necklace, then I yank off the piece, grabbing the table as I stare at my reflection, my chest rising and falling erratically.

I have taken enough, but I still love him. A thousand thoughts swirl around my head as I walk to the closet, pulling out my box and taking out the divorce letter I printed earlier. "You are overreacting, Mel," I say to myself as I stare at the paper with shaky hands. Then I heave a sigh, opening the small fridge in the room to grab a bottle of wine.

**

The next day, I wake up to my phone blasting with a lot of messages. Some are from my parents, aunts, uncles, etc. Before I can open any, my phone rings, and I check the display to see my sister's name written on it boldly.

"Melania, what is going on?" Ophelia asks, and I open my mouth to answer, but I hear my father's voice. He is angry.

"Is that Melania?" he yells. "Give me the phone." I can picture his face, and my heart races as I brace myself for the worst.

"I knew you were going to ruin this family, but I didn't expect you to disgrace us publicly. A Chestwick is the face of mockery in the entire LA!" he barks. "If you no longer want anything to do with this family, then sever ties and keep moving around with that dog who cannot even afford a bottle of water for the Chestwicks!"

"Dad, I'm sor-" he ends the call before I finish, and I toss my phone away, shutting my eyes with my hand on my head.

It takes a moment to realize my bed is empty, which means my husband didn't return the previous night, which means he is with that bitch. My eyes flutter open, and my brows wrinkle. Then I push myself out of bed. I try to convince myself he probably crashed in the other room since it's a double suite, and he might have come in late and didn't want to disturb me. But then I hear a woman giggle in our suite.

Not just any woman-it is Portia.

Anger surges through me, and I walk to the vanity, grabbing the papers there. Without thinking twice, I walk to his room, opening the door to see him sitting on the bed with Portia, their hands intertwined and Portia all smiles.

"Melania," Brady calls out the moment he spots me. Portia lowers her voice, rubbing Brady's hand sensually. It breaks my heart, but I try to maintain a strong demeanor.

"What is the meaning of this, Brady?" I ask as I stare at him. Then he intertwines his hands with Portia's, looking into her eyes like I do not exist and I haven't asked a question.

"Portia and I made an excellent team last night," he begins. "And we closed the deal," he looks at me, expecting a cheer from me or something. "So we were thinking..." He pauses, and I watch Portia lean in to kiss my husband on the cheek.

"Thinking what, Brady?" My voice rises, and his brows crease.

"Are you raising your voice at me?" he asks, and Portia rubs his chest, whispering sweet nothings into his ears. Then she faces me.

"We make such a good team, so we were thinking I could act as Brady's wife during his important meetings while you stay home as the dumb wife." Her words slice through my chest, but it only makes Brady chuckle.

"That way I can make so much money to maintain you," Brady says to me like he is doing me a favor.

"And work involves sharing a bedroom with my husband at night while I sleep cold and alone after getting humiliated?"

Brady groans as I speak.

"You are talking so much, Melania!" he growls, getting to his feet. Then I scoff.

"Then allow me the honor of remaining permanently silent," I say to him. His brows wrinkle while I slam the paper in my hand on his chest.

"What the hell is this?" he questions, and my lips curve into a smile.

"You, of all people, should know what a divorce letter looks like." His eyes widen as I say this.

MELANIA:

A boisterous laughter ripples across the room, and Brady tosses the paper away.

"Your plan all along has been to rip me off my money?" he questions, stepping close. "I know this is all just a misunderstanding, and I want you to go back to your room and meditate about it!" He grits his teeth, and I take a step back.

"I do not need your money, Brady. Put in your signature so that I can untie myself from you," I say, and he scoffs.

"Oh, don't be silly, Melania. How will you survive without me? I provide everything for you, down to your underwear," he says, and a smile forms on my lips.

"Why do you care so much about that? You want to frolic around with women, so do that and leave me alone," I say, then turn to leave. But he grabs my hand roughly, pulling me towards the table.

There, he grabs a cheque and writes an amount of money on it. Then he rips it from the bundle and hands it to me.

"Your foolishness is not appalling, but you are still my wife, and I cannot let you suffer. So here is $10,000. When you're done being stupid, you can come back to me-but don't be too long," he says, putting the cheque in my hand.

I grab it from him, glance at the meager sum, laugh a bit, then hold it up with both hands before tearing it in the middle.

"Why do you care so much about her?" Portia asks, and Brady shoots her an angry look.

"If she wants to leave, then let her leave. She-"

"Shut up!" Brady scolds, and I smile at Portia, who swallows hard.

"You are being silly, Melania, and I swear if you walk out of that door, there'll be no coming back. You'll rot on the streets, and I won't care."

"My pleasure," I say to him, turning around to leave. Then I glance back. "Enjoy him," I say to Portia as I walk out of the room to the front door, slamming it shut.

As soon as I'm in the corridor, all the emotions I've been holding in spill out. My heart breaks more, and tears crawl down my face. I reach for my handbag, take out my sunglasses, and put them over my eyes, heading out of the hotel. I do not want people to see me crying or recognize me as the face of shame.

**

Shortly, I arrive at the airport and make my way to the desk to get a ticket.

"One ticket to New York, please," I say to the lady behind the counter, who looks up at me with her brows wrinkled. She types into her computer while I reach into my bag, take out my card, and hand it to her.

She grabs the card, swipes it, and looks up at me with furrowed brows.

"Your card declined, ma'am," she says, and I look at her with my mouth open, taking the card back and realizing I have the wrong one.

This is the card I've been using to fool Brady, and it's practically empty. I left my actual card in New York at his house.

"Shit!" I curse, pulling out my phone to call my sister.

I'm about to click the call button as I search up her name when the lady behind the counter starts to yell.

"Ma'am, leave, please, if you cannot afford the tickets!" I look up at her, and she gives me a venomous stare. "I do not have the time to entertain people like you. If you do not have the money, then get out of the way!"

I open my mouth to speak when I hear a familiar voice.

"That is no way to speak to a customer!" the person yells, and I turn around to see the man who almost hit me yesterday.

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman bows humbly.

The day is bright, so I can see his face clearly, and he is gorgeous. Fuck! How did I get to ride with him in silence?

"When a customer has a problem, you solve it and not yell at them!" he continues, taking out his anger on the lady, who keeps apologizing before he turns to me. "I'm sorry for what happened," he says, and I flash him a smile.

"Thank you," I reply.

"How much is the ticket?" he quizzes the woman, and my eyes widen. "In fact, forget about it. Here," he pulls out a card, handing it to her. "Two first-class tickets."

My jaw is practically on the floor at this moment, and a thousand thoughts run through my mind. What if he knows I'm a Chestwick and is trying to use me? I shrug it off, then take off my glasses.

"What are you doing?" I ask, and he turns to face me, his eyes widening.

"You."

My heart skips a beat when he says this. It could be "you" from last night on the front cover, being humiliated.

"You must have seen the videos," I say, and he glares at me with a brow raised. "Or not."

"I do not look at tabloids. They are always looking to bring people down. My assistant looks at them for me, and as long as I am not on it, I do not bother. So whatever it is, trust me, I didn't see it," he says. "But I recognize you from last night. The pretty lady I almost knocked over. I still apologize."

He is so gentle, and it makes me question why I am stuck up on a lowlife like Brady.

"Here are your tickets, sir," the lady says, handing them to him. Then he hands one to me.

"Let this be my last gesture of apology," he says, and I flash him a warm smile, muttering a thank you. My body feels weird, and I try to shove away whatever it thinks of this man.

**

Shortly, the flight takes off, and I am sitting beside the gorgeous black-haired, honey-brown-eyed man. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and as soon as the plane levels out, he turns to me.

"The name is Royal," he says, and I flash him a smile.

"Melania," I reply.

"So, tell me, why is a gorgeous woman like you in distress on Valentine's?" he asks, and I glare at him. Now that he's mentioned it, I can't help but think of the fact that today is Valentine's. How would I remember while I just walked out of the devil's tongue?

"Long story," I say, and he looks at his watch.

"We have forty-five minutes until we might never meet again, so I'm all ears." When he says this, I give off a sigh, and once I open my mouth, it doesn't close. I blab about Brady and Portia, trying to keep their names discreet.

"... it's Valentine's, and I'm heading for divorce. It's overwhelming." After about ten minutes, I'm done, and I look up to see him in shock.

"I traumatized you, didn't I? And you probably do not want me to sit next to you," I grab a bottle of water, gulping it, and he chuckles.

"Not at all," he says. "Your husband sounds like an asshole, and..." his phone rings mid-sentence, and he pulls it from the compartment in front, looking at it. "I've got to take this call," he says.

He picks up the phone, bringing it to his ear. I can hear a lady screaming.