Chapter 5

Alyssa York POV:

"Quiet strength," I muttered to the empty room, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "More like quiet manipulation." Kristin's social media post was a perfectly crafted dagger, confirming my suspicions and twisting the knife of humiliation deeper. Dayton was her strength, always. And I was merely the convenient public face, the architect of a crumbling marriage.

But in this cold, hard reality, a fierce resolve solidified within me. I was done being a victim. I would channel every ounce of my energy into what truly mattered: my career. My new architecture firm, still in its nascent stages, was my escape, my future. It was the one thing Dayton couldn't take from me.

I threw myself into work with a vengeance. Days blurred into a whirlwind of blueprints, client meetings, and design proposals. My passion, long dormant under the weight of my suffocating marriage, reignited with an incandescent flame. I secured a major contract for a sustainable urban development project, a testament to my skill and vision. It was exhilarating, a taste of the independence I craved.

Two weeks later, flushed with the success of my latest negotiation, I found myself walking through the lobby of a high-end hotel, a spring in my step. I had just closed the deal of my career, and the world felt, for a moment, full of possibility.

Then, I saw her. Kristin. She was perched on a velvet armchair in a secluded corner of the lobby, looking as ethereal and fragile as ever. And next to her, deep in conversation, was Dayton. His head was inclined towards her, a rare, gentle smile playing on his lips. His arm rested casually on the back of her chair, a gesture of quiet intimacy that made my heart clench.

He' s always there for her, a voice whispered in my head, a painful echo of Breanna' s earlier words. Always.

Kristin caught my eye, and her serene expression faltered for a microsecond before morphing into a carefully constructed mask of surprise and a hint of innocent distress. She touched Dayton's arm lightly, subtly drawing his attention to me.

Dayton looked up, his smile vanishing, replaced by a cool, unreadable gaze. He stood up, his posture instantly becoming more formal, more distant.

"Alyssa, darling! What a surprise!" Kristin chirped, her voice a little too loud, a little too bright. "Dayton was just telling me about his new project. It sounds absolutely fascinating. He' s so brilliant, isn't he?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with admiration, a performance for my benefit.

"Kristin was just feeling a little overwhelmed with her upcoming film auditions," Dayton interjected, his voice flat, cutting off Kristin' s veiled praise. "I was simply offering some advice."

"Oh, yes," Kristin added, her hand fluttering to her chest. "It's all so stressful. But Dayton is always so supportive. He really is my rock." She turned back to me, her smile sickly sweet. "Would you care to join us for a quick bite? I'm sure Dayton would love to tell you all about his new ventures."

My stomach churned. The thought of sitting across from them, witnessing their forced intimacy, was unbearable. I remembered a time when Dayton would share every detail of his projects with me, his eyes alight with excitement. Those conversations had been the bedrock of our early, hopeful years. Now, I was being invited to listen in, an interloper in a conversation that excluded me.

"No, thank you, Kristin," I said, my voice crisp, a thin shield against the sudden ache in my chest. "I just finished a very successful negotiation myself. I'm actually quite famished, and I have plans." It was a lie. My stomach was twisting into knots, and the only "plan" I had was to escape.

Dayton's eyes flickered, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. "Negotiations, Alyssa? Impressive. Perhaps you should tell us about it." His tone was laced with a subtle challenge, a question of my sincerity.

"Perhaps another time," I replied, forcing a polite smile. The thought of sharing my professional triumphs with him, under Kristin's watchful eye, felt like laying my soul bare for judgment. And I was tired of being judged, of being found wanting.

Kristin, sensing the tension, intervened. "Oh, the food here is divine, Alyssa. You really must try it. Dayton always orders the truffle pasta. It' s his favorite." She smiled at Dayton, a proprietary glint in her eyes.

My heart sank a little further. The truffle pasta. I had discovered that small, obscure Italian restaurant on our honeymoon, a place that served the most exquisite truffle pasta. It had become our secret, our dish. He had told me then that it was his favorite. Now, it was Kristin' s. It felt like another piece of our shared history, carelessly handed over.

Arjun, who seemed to have a sixth sense for impending emotional disasters, materialized beside us, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. "Alyssa! Dayton! What a coincidence! Are you two having dinner?" He glanced at Kristin, his smile polite but cool.

"Just a little chat, Arjun," Dayton said, his voice clipped. "Kristin was just about to leave."

"Oh, but I just invited Alyssa to join us," Kristin countered sweetly, her hand reaching for Dayton's arm again. "She's just closed a big deal."

Dayton shot her a look, an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. "Alyssa has other engagements, Kristin. She's a busy woman." His words were a dismissal, sharp and final.

My face burned. He was protecting Kristin, saving her from the awkwardness of my presence. I was the inconvenient wife, the obstacle. "Indeed," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I have a lot on my plate." I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to claw my way out of this gilded cage, to shed the skin of Mrs. Cole and never look back.

I excused myself, my appetite completely gone. I walked past the tables, the murmured conversations, feeling like an invisible ghost. I found a quiet corner near the exit, my phone vibrating in my hand. It was a text from Breanna: "EMERGENCY. Hospital. Urgent."

My blood ran cold. Breanna. My best friend. My rock. I didn't hesitate. I dashed out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and sped towards the hospital, my heart pounding with a new, terrifying fear.

The hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and despair. I found Breanna in a private room, looking pale but defiant, her bandaged arm propped up. Her lawyer friend, Mark, was sitting beside her.

"Alyssa! What are you doing here?" Breanna exclaimed, a faint smile on her lips. "I told Mark to call you only if it was serious."

"A text saying 'Emergency. Hospital. Urgent' qualifies as serious, Breanna," I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady. "What happened? Another 'accident'?"

She sighed. "Someone tried to 'discourage' me from testifying in the Thorne case. A little car 'malfunction' on the highway. Nothing I couldn't handle." Her bravado was admirable, but her pallor worried me.

"Are you alright? Really?" I asked, my hand searching for hers.

"I'll live," she said, squeezing my hand with her good one. "Though it seems my recovery will take a little longer. Which reminds me... how far along are we with your escape plan?"

I hesitated, the memory of Dayton's demand in the hotel room, the shared bed, the unspoken transaction, flashing through my mind. "It's... complicated. He's agreed to the separation, but with conditions. I have to maintain the façade, publicly, until the merger is complete and the foundation dinner is over. And I have to convince him to back Donavon' s project."

Breanna' s eyes narrowed. "He's still playing games. Don't let him drag this out, Alyssa. The longer you stay, the harder it will be to leave. Trust me, I've seen enough messy divorces to know. He'll keep finding reasons to keep you tethered."

"I know," I admitted, a weary sigh escaping me. "But I have to protect my family's interests. And Donavon is counting on me."

"Donavon can count on himself for once," Breanna muttered, clearly unconvinced. "You have to put yourself first."

I stayed with Breanna for a few more hours, talking, listening, finding solace in her unwavering friendship. When I finally returned to my temporary apartment, it was late. The silence was a welcome relief after the emotional turmoil of the day.

I changed into my most comfortable pajamas, carefully avoiding the master bedroom. I made up the sofa bed, opting for the solitude and peace of the living room. Dayton wasn't home, a fact that brought a strange mix of relief and emptiness. He was probably with Kristin again, being her "quiet strength."

The apartment felt safe, a cocoon against the harsh realities of my public life. I was free here, if only for a few hours. I drifted off to sleep, feeling a fragile sense of peace.

My phone buzzed, pulling me from a deep sleep. It was a text, not from Dayton, but from his grandfather, Jerald Cole. "Alyssa, I trust you're preparing for the family meeting tomorrow morning. It's crucial. I expect both you and Dayton to be present. And early." The message was clear: no excuses.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. Another performance. Another day of playing the dutiful wife. I pulled myself out of bed, heading for the shower. As I was getting ready, Dayton walked in, his expression unreadable. He had clearly just come from somewhere else, his suit still immaculate.

He glanced at me, his eyes sweeping over my simple, elegant dress. "You're going with that?" he asked, his voice laced with a subtle criticism.

My heart clenched. "Is there a problem?"

"It's a family meeting, Alyssa. Grandfather expects you to look the part. More... refined. More traditional. You're representing the York family, after all, and you're still Mrs. Cole." He paused, his gaze lingering on my face. "Perhaps something less... severe?"

I frowned, confused. My dress was perfectly appropriate, understated, and professional. "What are you talking about? It's perfectly fine."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... wear something softer. Less like you're going to a corporate boardroom and more like you're part of a family. Grandfather appreciates tradition." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. He looked at me again, his expression unreadable. "It's just... I don't want Grandfather to think you're already trying to distance yourself. Not yet." A possessive glint, almost like jealousy, flashed in his eyes before he turned and walked out.

His words left me stunned. Less severe? Was he implying I looked harsh, unapproachable? Or was it something else, a subtle warning against reclaiming my identity too soon? The thought that he might secretly care about my appearance, about what his grandfather thought of us, stirred a flicker of confusion in my already bewildered heart. This man was a labyrinth, and I was perpetually lost in his maze.