“Yeah, baby. I’ll meet you at the west parking lot. Don’t worry about her—she’s just dragging me around.” His eyes flicked dismissively toward Emily.
Emily froze. She had overheard fragments before, whispers and late-night texts, but this—this was confirmation. Her husband’s “business meetings” were really rendezvous with his mistress.
“Jonathan,” she said softly, trying to stay calm. “Could you not do this here?”
He ended the call with a smirk, slid his phone into his pocket, and turned to her. “Do what? You think you get to dictate my life? You should be grateful—you’re living off my success.”
The words stung, but Emily held her ground. “You’re humiliating me in public. I deserve some respect.”
A few shoppers slowed, sensing tension. Jonathan’s jaw tightened. Then, he raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Emily stumbled back, her hand clutching her cheek, eyes wide with horror.
Gasps erupted around them. A woman screamed, “Call security!”
Near the corner by an upscale jewelry boutique, a mall security guard was already on the move. His uniform was crisp, but it was his piercing gaze that set him apart. He had been keeping tabs on Jonathan for weeks. Because this wasn’t an ordinary guard — it was William Harrington, billionaire oil tycoon and Emily’s estranged father, working undercover.
