181 My Sunburned Husband Came Home Asking For Our Newborn While I Had 19 Missed Calls—Then His Mother and I Turned the Tables on His Secret Life / Chapter 8 / 70

Chapter 8 - The Confrontation

Celeste’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the monitors, the IV lines, and finally, me standing beside the bassinet. The cool, untouchable corporate confidence she usually wore like armor flickered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a tense, defensive wariness.

“Grace,” Celeste said, her voice smooth and carefully modulated. “I heard about the baby. I wanted to see how he was doing.”

I didn't move. I slowly straightened up from the bedside table, my gaze locking onto hers with a quiet, lethal intensity that made her take an involuntary half-step back toward the door.

“You have a lot of nerve walking into a hospital room after helping your business partner try to steal my family’s entire commercial portfolio while his son was fighting for his life,” I said. Every word was measured, cold, and entirely devoid of the fear she expected to see.

Celeste crossed her arms, trying to reclaim her poise. “You don't understand the financial realities, Grace. Daniel was under immense stress. He made decisions to protect his future—”

“His future?” I cut her off, taking a step toward her. “He brought an industrial pathogen home from the mill downtown on his gear because he couldn't be bothered to practice basic hygiene while chasing you around St. Lucia. He almost killed our son, Celeste. And you helped him orchestrate the financial cover story to hide it.”

Celeste’s eyes narrowed. The polite mask slipped entirely. “You think you’re so righteous, don't you? Sitting in your suburban house, playing the martyr while Daniel built the empire you’re currently trying to pillage with Eleanor. You didn't build Hayes Enterprises. You just answered the phones.”

“I ran the books while Daniel was out playing golf,” I replied, my voice dropping an octave. “I know every hidden account, every offshore holding, and every questionable zoning permit your shell company filed. And right now, Eleanor’s corporate auditors are dismantling your precious Meridian Holdings brick by brick.”

Celeste flinched. The mention of the auditors hit her right where it hurt—not in her conscience, but in her bank account.

“You can't prove anything about the shell company,” she hissed, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Daniel signed the transfer papers voluntarily. Legally, you have no standing to block the execution on Tuesday unless you file for a full contested divorce—which will drain every penny you have in legal fees before you ever see a courtroom.”

“I don't need a contested divorce to stop you, Celeste,” a cold, aristocratic voice interrupted from the doorway.

We both turned. Eleanor stood in the corridor, flanked by Marcus—who looked like he wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the hospital floorboards. Eleanor stepped inside the room, her eyes fixed on Celeste with absolute, unadulterated loathing.

“Marcus has already filed the emergency injunction with the state attorney general’s office,” Eleanor said smoothly, walking right up to Celeste until they were mere inches apart. “Corporate fraud involving forged power of attorney and interstate asset concealment isn't a civil divorce matter, Ms. Morgan. It’s a federal white-collar investigation. And your name is at the top of the ledger.”