Chapter 2 - The Housekeeper
Grace didn't jump. She didn't drop her spray bottle.
The beautiful twenty-something woman slowly raised her head from the marble floor. Her brown hair was tied back into a messy, exhausted bun. She was wearing a faded, cheap navy blue housekeeping uniform with a crisp white collar and a white apron tied tightly around her waist.
But it wasn't the uniform that made Ethan’s heart completely shatter.
Grace was heavily, undeniably pregnant.
Her realistic facial micro-expressions shifted from sheer, bone-deep exhaustion to a sudden, fiercely guarded pain. She looked at Ethan—the man she had sworn to love, the man who had torn her world apart—and then her eyes flicked to the elegant, beautiful woman clinging to his arm.
Grace didn't scream. She didn't throw the spray bottle at his head. With agonizing, soul-crushing professionalism, she lowered her head slightly, keeping one hand resting protectively over her swollen belly.
"Good evening, sir," Grace said, her voice completely flat and entirely detached, treating her own husband like a random hotel guest. "Do you need fresh towels?"
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The words hit Ethan with the kinetic force of a freight train. The most dangerous man in Chicago actually stumbled backward a half-step, the sheer psychological devastation of the moment completely hijacking his nervous system.
👉 Ethan was gutted, but his elegant date was about to make a horrific, humiliating mistake.
