Lovers and Raiders: The Ultimate Betrayal in the Boardroom Novel – It was one of those perfectly ordinary mornings…the kind that slips by unnoticed, until it doesn’t. I had just finished washing up and was drying my hair when my husband John looked up from his phone and said, almost casually, “Hey, Emily… ever thought of growing your hair out?” He gave a light laugh.
“I’m just… getting a little tired of the same short look every day, you know?” My hand, still holding the whirring hair dryer, froze mid-air. And just like that, I knew. There was someone else. A woman with long hair…someone who made him feel something I no longer could. …… I didn’t say much, partly because I had no proof, and partly because I was pregnant. After pausing for just a second, I continued drying my hair. John, lying on the bed, pressed on relentlessly. “I’m serious.
You have a round face, and you’ve gained some weight. Short hair really doesn’t suit you.” “I’ll go with you to the salon for hair extensions. We can get a loose wave perm too. It’ll look great on you, I’m sure.” He smiled, completely unaware that every word out of his mouth was making my expression darken. We’d been together since I was eighteen. I knew him far too well. He couldn’t tell different face shapes apart, let alone distinguish between types of perms.
There was only one possible explanation… There was a girl on the outside who understood these things, and she’d taught him. I was silent for a moment, then placed my left hand on my noticeably rounded belly, reminding him, “John, I’m pregnant. I can’t get a perm.” Just last week, he had accompanied me to my prenatal checkup. The doctor had specifically warned him to ensure I avoided any contact with harsh chemicals, hair salons especially.
But John had already forgotten. Even as the words left my mouth, his face soured. “God, you’re such a killjoy,” he muttered, the warmth draining from his eyes. “No wonder everyone at the office says pregnant women turn into complete harpies.” “Seriously, how am I supposed to keep track of every little ‘pregnancy rule’?” he shot back, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You just love picking fights over nothing.” I unplugged the hair dryer, got into bed, and turned away from him.
John was right. I did love picking fights. Like right after we got married, when he said he “wanted to give me a better life,” I pestered my dad until he agreed to provide the capital and connections to establish the very company John now ran as CEO, BrightTech Inc. Or like tonight, because of his comments about “long hair” and being “tired of looking” at me, I decided that after my prenatal appointment tomorrow, I’d make some time to visit the company personally.
A cold, sharp resolve settled in my chest. I would pay his office a personal visit. I needed to see her, the woman who made my husband feel that precious “new excitement”, and look her right in the eye.