Finally, the suffocating mix of worry, guilt, responsibility, and fear pushed Sebastian to dial her back.
He reasoned that as long as she softened her stance and came back obediently, he would let the whole ordeal go.
Clinging to that thought, he waited patiently for the line to connect.
The reality, however, was a sharp slap to the face.
Her phone was turned off.
It was a direct mockery of his arrogant assumptions.
His slightly relaxed expression instantly morphed into a dangerous scowl.
A wave of bitter displeasure crashed over him.
So, she still refused to know her place, did she?
He stared at the screen until a cold, automated female voice echoed in the quiet room.
"The number you have dialed is currently powered off."
He hurled the phone straight at the wall.
The screen shattered on impact.
Ignoring the wreckage, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The moonlight stretched his shadow across the floor, making his silhouette look exceptionally menacing.
The air in the study was so thick with tension it was terrifying.
Meanwhile—
At Boston International Airport.
Janetta stared blankly at her phone, her eyes red and rimmed with tears.
Her fingers curled into tight fists.
The soft, breathless moans over the line—she had heard them perfectly.
Of course she knew exactly what Sebastian and Helena had been doing.
It was a sickening wave of resentment.
She had been with him for years, yet he had never laid a hand on her.
It wasn't that she didn't want him to; it was that he always held back.
At first, he blamed it on her fragile health.
Later on, he stopped giving excuses, but she knew the real reason.
It was because he was married.
He was a man who wouldn't cross the line of infidelity within his marriage.
Helena was the real homewrecker, yet Janetta had somehow been twisted into the role of the other woman by the public.
Year after year she waited, and still, she had nothing to show for it.

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