Like a gentlemen, the billionaire carried his mistress’s bag. Until his wife showed up holding quadruplets.
No one ever had Victor Monroe carry their bags. However, he was carrying Nadia’s high-end purse on his arm that morning under the chilly airport lights.
It appeared to be innocuous. Realistic. Not much more.
With a confident and discrete smile, Nadia stepped next to him, looking stunning in a cream dress. She want attention. to verify the rumors.
Victor avoided eye contact with her. It was everything in the bag he carried on his arm.
Executives in suits, relaxing lounge music, and airline announcements filled the terminal. Nadia insisted on going through the departures hall even though a private jet was waiting for them. She need care.
Victor concurred. It made him appear in control.
Until it all came to an end.
There was a pause, followed by an almost otherworldly stillness. People stopped. They raised their phones.
Victor turned without thinking.
His wife, Evelyn, stood in the distance. without cosmetics. pale. Emotion hollowed her eyes.
But he wasn’t broken by her face.
Four young guys held on to her skirt.
His four children.
Victor’s hand parted. There was a dull thud as Nadia’s luggage struck the stone.
His lips moved, but he made no sound. Around him, the silence grew thicker, as if it were about to break like glass.
Victor’s hand instinctively opened. The sound of Nadia’s handbag slipping and hitting the floor was louder than anticipated.
His lips moved, but he made no sound. Around him, the silence solidified, like glass that was about to shatter.
Evelyn remained silent. remained motionless. She just stared through him, not at him.
Anger was not on her face.
It was sympathy.
Flash.
The first camera made a sound. Then another. And yet another.
Once envious of Victor Monroe, the passengers were now documenting his decline, frame by frame.
“Winner?” Nadia’s tone faltered.
He failed to hear her.
His feet did not move. Every lie and every justification ran through his mind. None of them fit right now.
Evelyn’s sleeve was pulled by one of the boys. “Daddy?”
She winced.
Victor felt a knot in his stomach.
The whispers started. In order to get a better view, phones ascended. Questions emerged from whispers:
“Is that his wife?”
“Were those his kids?”
“What woman is with him?”
As though distance could make her disappear, Nadia took a step back. Her mouth quivered. She discovered too late that she wasn’t the lady who belonged to him, as everyone else had previously known. The evidence of the betrayal was her.
“Evelyn…” At last, Victor whispered, his voice cracked.
She moved forward slowly and deliberately. To make the wound deeper, not to get closer.
Uncertain, the kids followed.
Victor’s heart was racing.
Evelyn came to a halt directly before him. Her voice was like glass, little more than a whisper:
“You carried it for that reason?”
She didn’t hold out for a response. She was not in need of one.
She turned away after bending over and taking the youngest boy into her arms.
beyond Victor. beyond Nadia. In the direction of the exit. In the direction of liberty.
Reporters flocked. “Can you explain this, Victor Monroe?”
He was unable to. When your true existence consisted of leaving with your legacy, how could you explain carrying the wrong woman’s bag?
He was blinded by the flashes. Victor, however, did not move. Not when he was passed by Evelyn. Not while his name was yelled over the loudspeaker. Not until a reporter thrust a microphone in his face.
Are those your kids, Victor Monroe? That woman is who? Has your marriage ended?
His throat constricted. He parted his lips, but nothing emerged.
He looked for Evelyn, but she was already a few paces ahead, holding one boy, with the others trailing behind.
“Wait, Evelyn!” He sobbed.
She continued.
Rather, she faced the sea of flashes, calm and determined.
“My name is Evelyn Monroe,” she declared, unflinching. “And these are the children Victor forgot.”
There were gasps, camera snaps, and even the announcements appeared to pause their breath as the terminal burst.
Victor remained still. Nadia had left.
No dress in cream. No shaking hands.
Only her purse. On the floor, forgotten.
Victor realized then what the world was witnessing: a billionaire. By themselves. surrounded with inquiries. merely carrying the incorrect woman’s luggage.
