"Yes, hello," Marshal snapped, immediately snatching up the clunky landline.
"Marshal, can we meet?" Yvonne's voice slithered through the receiver—cold, insistent, relentless. She'd been hounding him like a bloodhound on a scent, refusing to
let him breathe.
"For Christ's sake, Yvonne Ravenshire—do you have no decency?" Marshal hissed,
knuckles whitening around the phone. "How many times must I say it? I've a wife
at home, pregnant, needing peace—not this sodding circus. I've made my choice
abundantly clear. Now back off."
A bitter laugh crackled down the line. "Oh, I understand—you're busy playing
house with that bitch, aren't you? Don't pretend you've forgotten us, Marshal.
I know you still—"
"Enough!" Marshal's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "If this is your idea of a
conversation, consider it finished. Goodnight. And for God's sake, stay the
hell out of our lives."
The landline clattered back into its cradle with a finality that could've shattered
glass.
Selena, midway through savouring her buttered toast, set it down gently. "Why don't you just go to her? Hasn't she always been the one you loved most, Marshal? Don't
act as though I'm some shackle around your neck. Consider this marriage… a
fleeting arrangement. A meaningless charade."
Marshal's jaw tightened. "Selena, stop this. I've made my choice. You needn't force me
back to Yvonne."
"But you're lying to yourself, aren't you?" she murmured, the words soft but
slicing.
Marshal's fists clenched at his sides. His gaze fixed on her—sharp, yet trembling.
"I am not lying," he snapped, his voice fraying at the edges before softening into
a ragged whisper. "What I'm doing… is honouring the vows I chose. Including
wedding you."
A bitter smile ghosted Selena's lips. Her tears glistened but did not fall.
"Honouring? Yet you can't even look at me without whispering her name in your
eyes."
"Because she's an unfinished chapter!" Marshal exploded, his breath ragged. "But I'm trying—every damned day—to make you my home now."
Selena rose to her feet, steadying herself against the faint tremor in her legs. Her voice, when it came, was cold and resolute.
"There's no point in shouting at me, Marshal. It doesn't matter anymore… how it
feels to love you. I don't care about that now. I don't expect anything from
you anymore—isn't that what you wanted?"
"Sel… Selena, please," Marshal stammered, his tone shifting from defensive to pleading. "Don't be angry. That's not what I meant.
I didn't mean for it to come out like that—I just got carried away by the
moment, and—"
"Enough," Selena cut him off sharply, her tone brooking no argument. "I'm going to bed. Tomorrow, I'll go to my parents' house and pick up a few of my belongings."
She turned on her heel, her steps determined and unyielding as she walked away, leaving Marshal standing there, helpless.
"Sel," he called after her, his voice tinged with
desperation, "at least finish the toast. You've barely touched it." He followed
her, the words pouring out faster now, his concern spilling over. "You haven't eaten all day, and nibbling at it isn't enough. Do you want to make yourself ill? Is that what you want?"
But Selena didn't answer. She didn't even glance back. Her footsteps echoed softly as she disappeared into the hallway, leaving
Marshal standing in the dim light of the living room, the plate of untouched toast still resting on the table.
***
"You look rather rough this morning—what's the matter?" inquired Theodore Shapiro,
glancing up from the investment proposals he was preparing.
"Just a bit worn out," Marshal replied tersely. "Yvonne's been insufferable. She's
managed to stir things up between Selena and me."
Donovan Smythe, Marshal's closest colleague and friend, looked up from his desk with a frown. "What happened?"
"Yvonne rang me last night, demanding to meet. I refused, of course. But Selena...
well, she wasn't best pleased that I even entertained the call." Marshal rubbed
his temples, his usually immaculate brunette hair uncharacteristically dishevelled.
Theodore arched a brow. "Sounds like you've got more than just investors to worry about
today."
Marshal exhaled sharply. "Quite."
The air in the office grew heavier, the clatter of keyboards and murmured conversations doing little to mask the tension.
Donovan leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If Yvonne's causing trouble again, perhaps
it's time to—"
"No," Marshal cut in, his tone final. "I'll handle it."
"I hadn't even finished speaking," Donovan muttered, raising his hands in exasperation. "Honestly, man, there's no harm in showing some backbone for once. Do you really not regret sidelining Selena all this time just to indulge Yvonne?"
Marshal shrugged, his gaze fixed on the files flickering across his screen. "She said she doesn't love me anymore."
Donovan leaned in, his voice dropping to a measured tone. "And what about you? Do you feel nothing for her? Not even now that she's carrying your child?" A
deliberate pause. "Use your head, Marshal."
The click of keyboards around them filled the silence. Marshal's jaw tightened—just
enough to betray the weight of the question.
Theodore, noticing how heated the room had become,
muttered under his breath, "Right, enough of this. Let's not bicker like children."
"I'm only saying he could've handled it better, Theo,"
Don shot back. "Honestly, put yourself in my shoes – Selena's been going to
extremes just to catch Marshal's eye. This whole episode is utterly shocking
and embarrassing. Everyone's bound to think she's been flirting with him all
along. And mark my words, Yvonne won't hesitate to use that gossip to stir the
pot even further."
"Don, sometimes you've just got to let Marshal process
things in his own time," Theo replied, shaking his head. He then turned to
Marshal with a raised eyebrow. "By the way, I hear you've hired a detective to
look into this little scandal?"
"It was Johnny, not me! I haven't got a penny to my name,"
Marshal shot back, his voice tight with frustration. "I don't even know what
I'll wear to the office tomorrow. My father's frozen everything—every bloody
card, every allowance."
He gave a small, helpless shrug, as if the weight of humiliation clung to his very shoulders.
Though Marshal worked at one of his family's many company
branches, he held no title of importance—no grand office, no authoritative
sway. He was, in truth, little more than a bottom-rung employee. Below even
Donovan. Below Johnny.
All of it was his father's doing. A deliberate punishment born not from reason, but from the endless lies that had wormed their way
through England's upper circles—slander that now threatened to swallow him
whole.
"If you need a car, I can lend you one of mine,
Marshal. We're mates—don't go carrying everything on your own shoulders."
Donovan clapped Marshal on the back, the picture of a concerned old friend.
"Guys, I really don't want to burden any of you. You've already helped me so much... I just don't want to be a nuisance."
Marshal gave a small shake of his head, gently turning down Donovan's offer.
Theodore cut in, "No harm in giving him a Mini or a scooter. Esk Road's a nightmare to get through—tight as anything. A scooter
you can park inside the gate might be safer anyway."
"Oh, come on, guys…" Marshal muttered under his breath, not quite able to hide his discomfort.
"By the way," Donovan added casually, "how's
Selena doing? She all right?"
"Not bad. I dropped her off at her parents' house this morning," Marshal replied.
Donovan raised an eyebrow. "Why on earth would you take Selena back to that toxic place? You know she's not exactly welcome
there."
"She insisted," Marshal said with a sigh. "Said she needed to pick up a few more of her things. I didn't want to stop her—those
items might mean something to her."
He returned his attention to the stack of documents in front of him, flipping
through them before preparing to hand them over to his superior.
Just then, Donovan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen before answering. "Marshal, it's your mum."
Marshal looked up and immediately reached for the phone. "Hi, Mum. What's going on?"
"Marshal, why on earth did you let Selena go out on her own?" came Marcy's voice—sharp and full of concern.
"Mum, I did take her to her parents' place
myself," Marshal said, now frowning. "She told me she'd be back this afternoon
after seeing her mum and sister. Why? What's happened?"
His voice had taken on a definite edge of worry.
At the other end of the line, Marcy could be
heard taking a long, deliberate breath. There was a strange silence, a pause that felt heavier than it should, before she finally spoke—softly, but with quiet resolve.
"Love, I can't explain everything just yet... but
if you can, come home a little earlier today. I've got a terrible feeling in my
gut."
Marshal's brows knitted at once. "What do you mean, a terrible feeling? Is Selena alright? Did something—"
Before he could finish, a large hand suddenly
snatched the phone straight out of his grasp.
"That's enough!" The baritone voice thundered through the room, sharp and commanding.
Marshal turned sharply to find Supervisor Elgin standing beside his desk. The man's moustached face was tight with tension, and
in his hand—Donovan's phone.
"Since when did this office become your personal chatting lounge?" Elgin barked, his glare sweeping across the room. Marshal straightened his back, trying to keep
calm. "Apologies, sir. It was just a call from my mum. There's—"
"Personal calls during working hours are a form of negligence," Elgin cut in, raising the phone as though about to hurl it, before slamming it onto the desk with a thud. "Your performance has nosedived
these past two days. That insight report you handled completely skewed yesterday's market forecast. You think I haven't noticed?"
Marshal clenched his jaw. "I'm working on fixing that. I stayed late the day after yesterday's night to—"
"Working late without results only wastes company electricity," Elgin snapped. "And now you're taking calls while the rest of
your team's preparing for a critical presentation?"
Donovan and Theodore sat frozen, unwilling to intervene. Marshal's eyes darkened—not from fear, but from a storm of barely
restrained anger and mounting worry over Selena.
"Listen, Marshal," Elgin continued, his tone like a tightening noose, "if you can't keep your personal life from bleeding into your professional one, I'll happily reassess your position here."
Marshal curled his fist beneath the desk.
"Understood, sir."
Elgin gave a cold nod. "Good. Now get back to work—and leave the family drama at the door."
As Elgin stalked away, silence settled like fog
over the room once more.
Hours later, the office hummed only with the
rhythmic tapping of keyboards and the occasional whir of the printer. Tomorrow
morning's presentation was finally complete—though Marshal's focus was fraying
at the edges, his thoughts drifting far from his desk.
"All set," Theodore murmured, sliding the final documents into a sleek folder bearing the company logo. He stood and turned to
Marshal with a faint grin. "I'll take this up to Elgin's office. Save you the trouble of standing outside his door again."
Marshal allowed himself a small smile. "Cheers, Theo."
"And you—come on, up you get." Donovan gave Marshal's arm a light tap. "My turn to keep a promise. We're going home."
Without another word, Marshal grabbed his jacket and
walked out of the office with Donovan. The hum of early evening traffic filled
the air, but it wasn't enough to drown out the anxiety tightening in his chest.
At the rented flat he shared with Selena, over on Esk Road, a polished black Bentley stood out like a sore thumb in front of the
run-down building. The number plate was all too familiar—Marshal had known it
since childhood. It was his mum's. Marcy had come in person.
The car's presence in a neighbourhood like this drew
attention. A few curious neighbours peeked through their curtains.
Donovan gave a low whistle. "Blimey… she came herself?"
Marshal just nodded and quickened his pace towards the
door. He unlocked it swiftly and pushed at the stubborn old door.
Then stopped dead in the doorway. What he saw inside
froze him in place.
Selena sat on the living room carpet, her body
trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face as Marcy—her own
mother—perched beside her, gently stroking her back in a bid to calm her.
"Selena...?" murmured Marshal.