Chapter 8 - THE VIRAL VENDETTA
While Emma was rebuilding her strength,
the world outside was tearing Ryan apart.
Caleb hadn't just shown the video to the doctors.
He had sent it to a local news outlet that specialized in "Elite Scandals."
The headline was scathing:
ASPEN REAL ESTATE HEIR LEAVES BLEEDING WIFE FOR BIRTHDAY BASH.
The video of Ryan laughing on the balcony went viral.
Within forty-eight hours,
his name was synonymous with "narcissism."
His business partners began to distance themselves.
Properties listed under Parker Real Estate were being withdrawn.
Ryan was hiding in a hotel room downtown,
his phone blowing up with hate mail and legal threats.
He looked at himself in the mirror,
the same way he had on the morning he left.
But the reflection was different.
He looked haggard.
Small.
Pathetic.
He tried to call his lawyer,
but the man was busy handling three other lawsuits Ryan had triggered with his erratic behavior.
“They’re saying I neglected her!”
Ryan shouted into his drink.
“I didn't know!”
But deep down,
in the place he never visited,
he knew.
He remembered the way she had looked.
The way her hand had shook.
He had seen the fear in her eyes and decided it was an inconvenience.
He had chosen a steak dinner over his wife’s life.
He went to the hospital again that night,
disguised in a hoodie and sunglasses.
He managed to slip past the front desk,
taking the service elevator.
He reached the ICU floor,
his heart racing.
He saw the room number—304.
He stood outside the glass,
watching Emma.
She was holding the baby,
laughing at something Caleb said.
Caleb was sitting on the edge of her bed,
peeling an orange for her.
They looked like a family.
A real family.
Ryan felt a surge of jealousy so intense it made him nauseous.
That was his spot.
That was his son.
He reached for the door handle,
ready to burst in and reclaim his territory.
But then he saw the way Emma looked at Caleb.
It wasn't love,
not yet.
It was trust.
Pure,
unfiltered trust.
The kind of trust Ryan had never bothered to earn.
He realized then that he couldn't "fix" this.
He couldn't buy her a diamond and make it go away.
He had burned the bridge while he was still standing on it.
He turned and walked away,
the sound of his own footsteps sounding like the ticking of the clock in the nursery.
Tick,
tick,
May you like
tick.
Time was up.
