Chapter 10 #2
Mitchell Energy headquarters dominated the Seattle skyline, a towering monolith of sleek glass and dark steel that reflected the overcast clouds.
I threw my SUV into the underground parking garage, ignoring the reserved executive spots, and marched straight to the private elevators. My security badge—a piece of plastic I hadn't used in months—granted me access to the top floor.
The elevator doors parted with a soft chime.
The executive suite was a sprawling, pristine environment of white marble, acoustic dampening panels, and floor-to-ceiling glass walls. It was hushed, sterile, and buzzing with the quiet, intense energy of a multi-billion-dollar operation.
I stepped onto the marble tile. I wore old denim jeans, scuffed boots, and a plain cotton shirt, looking entirely out of place in the sea of tailored Armani suits and expensive briefcases, but I didn't care.
I walked straight past the rows of analysts, my boots striking the floor with a rhythmic, authoritative tempo.
Reid’s executive assistant sat at a curved desk guarding the entrance to the corner office. She looked up, her eyes widening in genuine shock as she registered my presence.
"Mrs. Mitchell," she stammered, half-standing from her ergonomic chair, her hand hovering over the intercom button. "I—he's not expecting you. Let me just announce?—"
"Don't," I said, my voice quiet but carrying an absolute, terrifying command that instantly froze her in place.
I bypassed the desk entirely. I grasped the chrome handle of the massive, frosted-glass door and pushed it open.
Reid sat behind his desk, surrounded by a mountain of blueprints and legal portfolios.
His suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
He looked utterly exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes bruised and prominent against his pale skin.
He looked up at the sound of the door opening.
For a fraction of a second, confusion knit his brow. Then, as his exhausted brain finally registered that I actually stood in his office, his entire face transformed.
The ruthless, calculating executive vanished. His dark eyes widened, lighting up with a sudden, desperate and vulnerable hope. It was the look of a starving man who had just been handed salvation. He dropped the expensive pen he held; it clattered loudly against the polished wood of his desk.
"Gwen," he breathed, the single syllable escaping him like a prayer. He immediately pushed his chair back, his hands planting on the desk to leverage himself upright. "You came back. Thank God, I thought you?—"
"Sit down," I ordered, slicing through his relief with a tone so cold it physically stopped him in his tracks.
Reid froze, half-standing, his desperate smile faltering as his highly tuned instincts finally registered the absolute absence of warmth in my eyes. He sank slowly back into his leather chair, his posture immediately shifting into a rigid, defensive guard.
"I didn't come here to negotiate," I told him, stepping further into the room and letting the heavy glass door click shut behind me, sealing us inside the soundproof office.
"Gwen, whatever this is, please," Reid started, his voice dropping into the soothing, authoritative cadence he used to de-escalate hostile board members. "Just let me clear the floor. Let's go home. We can talk about everything in private."
"We have absolutely nothing to talk about," I replied, stopping a few feet away from his desk.
I looked at the man I had loved for the entirety of my adult life, and I felt nothing but a vast, frozen wasteland.
"I just drove down here to personally deliver a message, since you seem to think my departure was an error that required a simple meeting to resolve. "
Reid’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes scanning my face, rapidly trying to calculate the variables of my hostility. "I am trying to fix my mistakes. I am trying to build a bridge."
"You don't have enough capital to afford the toll," I shot back smoothly. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't yell. The terrifying calm of my delivery seemed to unnerve him far more than a screaming match ever could.
"I know exactly what you and Victoria Albright have been doing behind closed doors for the last few months," I stated, the words perfectly steady.
All the blood instantly drained from Reid’s face. His mouth parted slightly, a look of profound, staggering confusion washing over his features. He blinked, completely blindsided by the accusation.
"What?" he managed to say, his voice entirely devoid of its usual power.
He was brilliant. He was a master negotiator, but his shock was so sudden, so entirely unscripted, that he couldn't formulate a defense fast enough to interrupt me.
"I know about the private conversations.
I know about the unbranded scotch in your bottom drawer.
I know how suffocated you feel by a wife who can't keep pace with your altitude.
I know that you have been stringing both of us along, using me as a PR shield to keep your investors calm while you sleep with your consultant. "
"Gwen, stop," Reid commanded, his voice finally cracking like a whip, a sudden, violent panic overriding his confusion. He gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white. "That is an absolute lie. I have never?—"
"I don't care," I cut him off, silencing him with a sharp, dismissive wave of my hand. I refused to let him gaslight me. I refused to let him spin the data to protect his empire. "I don't care about your excuses. I don't care about your justifications. And you don't need to panic, Reid."
I took a slow step backward toward the door, my eyes locked on his.
"Your secret is completely safe," I assured him, my tone dripping with a chilling, artificial corporate politeness. "I won't call the press. I won't cause a scene. Your precious Tacoma plant expansion is entirely secure. The board will never know that the untouchable CEO is compromised."
"Gwen, you have to listen to me," Reid pleaded, actually rising from his chair now, rounding the corner of the massive wooden desk, his hand reaching out toward me. "She is lying to you! Victoria is trying to manipulate you because I told her?—"
"I am done being a placeholder in your life," I interrupted, my voice finally ringing with absolute, unyielding finality, stopping his advance.
I looked at the brilliant inventor, the ruthless executive, the man who had traded his soul for an empire, and I delivered the final blow.
"I want a divorce."
Reid stopped dead. He stood in the center of the pristine office, his hand still suspended in the air, completely paralyzed.
The breath left his lungs in a sharp, audible rush.
He looked like a man who had just been informed his world was ending, entirely incapable of processing the catastrophic impact.
I didn't wait for his brilliant counter-argument. I didn't wait for him to find the words to spin the narrative.
I turned my back on him. I pushed open the glass door, walked out of the executive suite, and didn't look back.