Chapter 5

Victoria POV

The next morning, when I went downstairs, Emma had already taken off that irritating maid's uniform.

She wore a sea-green silk dress, her curves exquisitely outlined.

Only then did I notice that Emma's eyes and brows bore a slight resemblance to mine.

No wonder Michael had chosen her.

"You're awake? Come have breakfast." Emma greeted me warmly, as if she were the lady of the house.

As she spoke, she deliberately turned sideways, revealing faint red marks on her neck, intimate and jarring.

But what truly made my pupils constrict was the brooch pinned to her chest.

A vintage brooch, set with a pigeon-blood ruby, dazzling and radiant.

I recognized it. It was Michael's family heirloom, passed down only to the lady of the house.

I remembered years ago, Michael had asked his mother for this brooch for me, only to be coldly refused because I couldn't have children.

"A woman who can't even bear children, how dare she wear our family's heirloom?"

His mother's cutting words still echoed in my ears.

And now, this brooch, symbolizing status and acceptance, was blatantly worn on the chest of a mistress.

In that moment, I finally woke up.

My previous notion of sparing the families decades of friendship, of not wanting to make things too ugly, seemed utterly ridiculous.

It turned out that in his mother's eyes, and even the entire family's, Emma, the woman who could bear an heir, was already their recognized daughter-in-law.

And I was merely a clown, kept in the dark, clinging to a position that wasn't truly mine.

Michael walked downstairs, dressed in fresh loungewear.

He first exchanged a knowing glance with Emma, then quickly approached me, reaching out to feel my forehead, his face full of concern.

"Why is your face so pale? Did you catch a chill last night? Don't go to the office today, I'll stay and keep you company."

I watched his brilliant acting, feeling a wave of nausea rise in my stomach.

Staying with him for even one more second made me feel suffocated. He felt... dirty.

"No need." I coldly pushed his hand away. "There's still a lot to do at the office."

Just then, Emma walked over with a cup of coffee, saying softly, "Michael, your coffee."

She naturally reached out to straighten his slightly disheveled collar.

And Michael instinctively lowered his head, accommodating her actions.

It was an incredibly familiar, habitual gesture.

More hurtful than any deliberate display.

The surrounding staff all gasped audibly.

Michael also seemed to realize the impropriety and immediately stepped back, creating distance between himself and Emma.

He picked up his jacket, walked to my side, and leaned down to press a light kiss on my forehead.

"Wait for me to come back."

He used the same doting tone he had used last night in the wine cellar when speaking to the other woman.