Like a gentlemen, the billionaire carried his mistress’s bag. Until his wife showed up holding quadruplets.
For anyone, Victor Monroe never carried bags. However, he was carrying Nadia’s high-end purse on his arm that morning in the chilly airport lighting.
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 murmurs.
Victor avoided eye contact with her. It was evident from the bag 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 lads clutched to her skirt.
His quadruplets.
Victor’s hand parted. There was a dull thud as Nadia’s luggage struck the marble.
His lips moved, but he made no sound. Around him, the silence grew more intense, 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 unfortunate.
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, every justification, was replayed in his thoughts. 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?”
“Who is that woman 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. She served as evidence of the treachery.
“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 sounded like glass, hardly audible:
“Is that the reason you carried it?”
She didn’t wait for a response. She was not in need of one.
She knelt, took the little boy in her arms, and looked away.
beyond Victor. Beyond Nadia. On the way out. 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 when the announcer yelled his name. Not until a reporter thrust a microphone in his face.
Are those your kids, Victor Monroe? That woman is who? Are you no longer married?
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.
