The Slap That End 18 Years novel Chapter 3

**Inside the Fading Emerald Shadows Quiet Storms by Livia T. Rynn**

**Chapter 3**

It was almost surreal how quickly Joseph and Yvonne seemed to connect. One moment, they were merely acquaintances, and the next, they were sharing jokes and laughter as if they had known each other for years. I hardly noticed the shift until it became impossible to ignore.

Then one fateful day, our housekeeper arrived, balancing a tray with three servings instead of the usual two.

“There’s nothing here I like,” I grumbled, my voice barely above a whisper, laced with frustration and disappointment.

Joseph didn’t even lift his gaze from the reports sprawled before him. “We’re eating healthy today. Yvonne insists it’s important to cleanse our systems every now and then,” he replied, his tone dismissive, as if I should simply accept this new regime without question.

Yvonne settled into the chair beside me, cradling her coffee like a trophy. Her voice was saccharine sweet, dripping with faux sympathy as she said, “Sorry, Lucille.”

I shot her a glare, my annoyance flaring. She merely arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile that felt like a challenge.

“Oops, I forgot you’re not into this healthy stuff,” she continued, her tone laced with mockery. “But you really should consider lighter meals, Lucille. I’ve noticed your clothes have been fitting a bit tighter lately. Unlike me…”

Her words trailed off, but the smirk on her face spoke volumes.

“You really do love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” I retorted, my voice low but sharp. “Let’s get one thing straight—we are not friends. And for the record, those skin-tight clothes you’re so proud of? They’re not doing what you think they are.”

The office fell into an uncomfortable silence, the air thick with tension. Yvonne looked as if I had slapped her, her perfectly applied eyeliner twitching with barely contained rage.

Finally, Joseph set down his papers, a frown etched on his face. “Lucy, you’ve gone too far.”

This was the same guy who used to defend me when others called me a crybaby, yet here he was, reprimanding me for standing up for myself against another girl.

“I’ve gone too far? Looks like I’m just crashing your little party,” I shot back, a cold laugh escaping my lips as I spun on my heel, ready to leave.

But Joseph instinctively pulled me back, just like he used to when those bullies cornered me in middle school.

This time, however, his arms carried the scent of another woman’s perfume, and his voice was tinged with irritation. “Fine, I’ll have the housekeeper make something you like tomorrow. Don’t be upset, alright?”

Yvonne’s expression darkened instantly, her eyes narrowing.

From that day forward, Yvonne’s jabs at me became even more relentless.

When I arrived at work one morning with a small trinket dangling from my bag, she wasted no time. She placed a hand over her mouth, her voice rising an octave as she exclaimed, “Wow. Chanel with… that thing? Lucille, what a bold choice. I’m honestly speechless.”

“Who even still likes that stuff? All the cool kids are into edgy collectibles now. Get with the times, bumpkin.”

The guys around us erupted into laughter, unable to contain their amusement.

At lunch, I took a moment to wipe my cutlery with a napkin, hoping to maintain some semblance of dignity.

But Yvonne immediately nudged the guy beside her, her voice dripping with mock concern as she shrieked, “Oh my god, are we too fancy for ordinary cutlery now? What’s wrong? Is the royal palace missing its precious princess?”

The guys played along, hamming it up like it was the best joke they’d heard all week.

When the annual desk shuffle rolled around, I found myself lugging my monitor across the office, my arms protesting with every step.

Just as I paused to catch my breath, Yvonne slammed her hands on the table and called out, turning the office into a circus. “Check it out—our princess can’t even move her own monitor! Any knights wanna come to her rescue?”

She and her friends burst into laughter, some of them snapping pictures and filming as if it were a grand performance.

At first, Joseph merely frowned, muttering, “Alright, don’t take it too far.”

But Yvonne giggled, her tone flirtatious. “Oh, come on, it was just a joke. Lucy is always so proper. I was just trying to help her come out of her shell a little.”

In that moment, something deep within me shattered—perhaps it was the ghost of our eighteen years as childhood sweethearts, or the last remnants of a dream where I had envisioned marrying him.

Before I could think twice, I grabbed my coffee and splashed it directly into Yvonne’s face.

Yvonne shrieked, her makeup melting away as coffee dripped down her cheeks, leaving trails of mascara that resembled tears.

“Lucille, are you insane?” she sputtered, desperately scrubbing at her ruined face, clumps of mascara sticking to her fingers and cheeks.

I let out a cold laugh, mimicking her mocking tone. “Wow, and here you go on about how you ‘act like one of the boys.’ Since when do guys show up to work with a full face of makeup?”

“With all that eyelid tape, mascara, and lipstick, you’re more primped than anyone I know. Some tomboy you are.”

People jumped in to hold me back, and Joseph snatched the cup from my hand, his eyes icy. “Lucille, apologize.”

I locked eyes with him, feeling my heart race and my voice surprisingly steady. “You were laughing when she made fun of me. Now that I finally speak the truth, you want me to say sorry?”

He frowned, his tone condescending, as if he were lecturing a child. “Cut it out with the childish tantrum. Fights are one thing, but drenching someone with coffee is just wrong. You crossed the line, so take responsibility and apologize.”

“Apologize? Hell no,” I snapped back, sarcasm dripping from my words.

The air grew thick with tension, the silence almost deafening.

Then, in a shocking moment, he slapped me hard across the face. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.

My ears rang, yet I could still hear Yvonne’s pleased sniffling and the whispers of my coworkers. With that single slap, eighteen years of shared history and every last shred of my feelings for him shattered.

I slowly raised my head, looking at Joseph—the same boy who once stood up for me.

“Real classy, Joseph,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “We’re done.”