Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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Light and airy, yet it pierced my heart like a needle.
"It's really not convenient to talk right now—important meeting. See you tomorrow." Without waiting for my response, he hung up directly.
I stared at my phone in a daze, feeling like something was pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Instinctively, I opened social media. Victoria Hayes had just updated her status:
"Every moment with you makes me incredibly happy."
The accompanying image showed a man's silhouette by a window, his broad shoulders and golden-brown hair all too familiar to me.
It was Arnold.
I gripped my phone tightly.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a modern glass and stone building—Cavendish Group headquarters.
Seeing me appear in the lobby, the receptionist was clearly startled. She approached to stop me:
"Ms. Paisley, Mr. Cavendish is currently in a meeting—"
"I know." I interrupted her and walked straight to the elevator.
As the elevator slowly ascended, my heart beat faster and faster. The test results in my hand felt like burning iron, so heavy I could barely hold them.
I didn't knock, just pushed open the door to the top-floor office.
Arnold was looking down at documents, while Victoria—like a hostess in her own domain—lounged lazily on the sofa, one high heel half-off, her foot swaying back and forth.
Both looked up at me.
"Paisley?" Arnold straightened up, surprise on his face. "Didn't I say I'd be very late tonight?"
"You did," I walked in and closed the door, "but I need to see you now."
Victoria stood up with a sweet smile: "Wow, Paisley, long time no see. We were just discussing work."
I ignored her and looked directly at Arnold. "I need to talk to you alone."
His brow furrowed. "Victoria is now a core member of our rehabilitation center. Whatever you want to say, you can—"
"It's personal." I coldly interrupted him.
Victoria's hand casually rested on Arnold's arm, as if marking her territory. "Don't be nervous, Paisley. We've been friends since childhood—you don't need to be so hostile."
I sneered inwardly: Friends? What an actress.
Arnold finally walked toward me, his tone softening slightly: "What's wrong? You look... different than usual."
I slowly extended my hand, trying to give him the test results: "Arnold, I—"
"Bang!"
Victoria suddenly cried out—the water glass in her hand fell to the floor, the crystal cup shattering into pieces.
"Oh, I'm so clumsy!" She crouched down, and as soon as her hand touched the fragments, she let out a soft whimper—her fingertip was cut.
"Don't touch it!" Arnold abruptly let go of me and rushed to her side.
Blood seeped from her fingertip as she bit her lip, seeming to endure the pain while not forgetting to act coquettish.
I stood there, holding the results I hadn't had a chance to give him, as if the air itself had frozen.
Arnold knelt beside her, gently taking her hand with tender care.
"What were you thinking?" he scolded, but his tone carried worry. "Let me see."
I was stunned, watching my husband care for another woman.
Victoria looked up at me, her eyelashes fluttering lightly, her voice carrying a hint of provocative vulnerability: "Sorry, Paisley. Don't be jealous—Arnold has always been especially protective of me since we were children."
I forced a stiff smile, but my heart was quietly shattering in some invisible crack.
"I should get this bandaged."
Victoria said this but showed no intention of moving away from Arnold's side.
He stood up, and she stood too, their fingers still intertwined like a couple oblivious to others.
When the door closed behind her, the air was left with the aggressive presence of her expensive perfume mixed with the faint scent of blood.
Waves of nausea hit me. I covered my mouth and rushed into the familiar private bathroom in Arnold's office.
I barely had time to close the door before I bent over the toilet, retching up the empty acid from my stomach.
Arnold appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed, watching me dry heave.
When I finally straightened up and wiped the residue from my mouth, his expression had changed from confusion to shock.
"Paisley, you..."
He paused, as if not daring to believe his own speculation: "Are you pregnant?"
"It's really not convenient to talk right now—important meeting. See you tomorrow." Without waiting for my response, he hung up directly.
I stared at my phone in a daze, feeling like something was pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Instinctively, I opened social media. Victoria Hayes had just updated her status:
"Every moment with you makes me incredibly happy."
The accompanying image showed a man's silhouette by a window, his broad shoulders and golden-brown hair all too familiar to me.
It was Arnold.
I gripped my phone tightly.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a modern glass and stone building—Cavendish Group headquarters.
Seeing me appear in the lobby, the receptionist was clearly startled. She approached to stop me:
"Ms. Paisley, Mr. Cavendish is currently in a meeting—"
"I know." I interrupted her and walked straight to the elevator.
As the elevator slowly ascended, my heart beat faster and faster. The test results in my hand felt like burning iron, so heavy I could barely hold them.
I didn't knock, just pushed open the door to the top-floor office.
Arnold was looking down at documents, while Victoria—like a hostess in her own domain—lounged lazily on the sofa, one high heel half-off, her foot swaying back and forth.
Both looked up at me.
"Paisley?" Arnold straightened up, surprise on his face. "Didn't I say I'd be very late tonight?"
"You did," I walked in and closed the door, "but I need to see you now."
Victoria stood up with a sweet smile: "Wow, Paisley, long time no see. We were just discussing work."
I ignored her and looked directly at Arnold. "I need to talk to you alone."
His brow furrowed. "Victoria is now a core member of our rehabilitation center. Whatever you want to say, you can—"
"It's personal." I coldly interrupted him.
Victoria's hand casually rested on Arnold's arm, as if marking her territory. "Don't be nervous, Paisley. We've been friends since childhood—you don't need to be so hostile."
I sneered inwardly: Friends? What an actress.
Arnold finally walked toward me, his tone softening slightly: "What's wrong? You look... different than usual."
I slowly extended my hand, trying to give him the test results: "Arnold, I—"
"Bang!"
Victoria suddenly cried out—the water glass in her hand fell to the floor, the crystal cup shattering into pieces.
"Oh, I'm so clumsy!" She crouched down, and as soon as her hand touched the fragments, she let out a soft whimper—her fingertip was cut.
"Don't touch it!" Arnold abruptly let go of me and rushed to her side.
Blood seeped from her fingertip as she bit her lip, seeming to endure the pain while not forgetting to act coquettish.
I stood there, holding the results I hadn't had a chance to give him, as if the air itself had frozen.
Arnold knelt beside her, gently taking her hand with tender care.
"What were you thinking?" he scolded, but his tone carried worry. "Let me see."
I was stunned, watching my husband care for another woman.
Victoria looked up at me, her eyelashes fluttering lightly, her voice carrying a hint of provocative vulnerability: "Sorry, Paisley. Don't be jealous—Arnold has always been especially protective of me since we were children."
I forced a stiff smile, but my heart was quietly shattering in some invisible crack.
"I should get this bandaged."
Victoria said this but showed no intention of moving away from Arnold's side.
He stood up, and she stood too, their fingers still intertwined like a couple oblivious to others.
When the door closed behind her, the air was left with the aggressive presence of her expensive perfume mixed with the faint scent of blood.
Waves of nausea hit me. I covered my mouth and rushed into the familiar private bathroom in Arnold's office.
I barely had time to close the door before I bent over the toilet, retching up the empty acid from my stomach.
Arnold appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed, watching me dry heave.
When I finally straightened up and wiped the residue from my mouth, his expression had changed from confusion to shock.
"Paisley, you..."
He paused, as if not daring to believe his own speculation: "Are you pregnant?"
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.