The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation - Chapter 20: Chapter 20
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Analise.
‘Where is he now?’
‘Why is he here?’
‘Where has he been?’
My mind is reeling with questions. For almost a decade now, Sebastian has been gone from my life. I don’t know where he’s been all these years. Was he just in the city? How come he’s the one who brought me to the hospital? Was it just a coincidence that he was there when I fainted? Or has he found me before and had been keeping tabs on me?
My phone vibrates against the bedside table, pulling me out of my reverie.
I see Tyler’s face in the screen—his smile frozen in a happier moment, a time when I believed he truly loved me. With trembling hands, I answer my phone. Here, finally, is my husband calling. The father of my unborn child. The man who should be rushing to my side right now.
"Tyler,” I answer.
“Where are you?” His voice is clipped, irritated. No “Are you okay?” No warmth. No concern. “I’ve been looking all over the office for you.”
“I’m in the hospital,” I say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.
"The hospital?" There's a pause. A breath. I wait for the concern, the panic, anything resembling love, the natural reaction of a husband learning his wife is in the hospital. "Who is sick?”
"I fainted outside the Luxe Emerald store downtown." I press the phone closer to my ear, hungry to hear a hint of worry in his voice. "The doctors said it was stress, and…”
‘Should I tell him about the baby?’
I open my mouth to say something more, but he cuts me off.
"Are you serious right now?" The edge in his voice sharpens. "You didn't think to let me know?"
"I was—I was out. I just woke up actually." I swallow hard, the dryness in my throat returning.
There's a long pause. I can almost see him pacing in his office, running his hand through his hair the way he does when things aren't going according to plan. Still, I wait for him tell me that he’s coming over. Because that’s what husbands do when their wives are hospitalized, right?
"Well, since you're able to talk, I'm assuming you're well enough." His voice shifts into something businesslike, something I hear him use during our meetings. "I need the latest revisions for the Symphony collection. SB Capitals moved up the timeline."
The monitor beside me beeps a little faster as my heart rate jumps.
I blink, stunned. “The Symphony collection?”
“They expect it tomorrow morning. I told them it would be ready.”
“You what? Tyler, I’m lying in a hospital bed! The deadline is three days from now!”
“You’ve always delivered early,” he shoots back. “You’ve never failed me before.”
The words hit me like a slap.
Failed him. Like I’m a damn machine, not his wife.
“I’m not a robot,” I snap. “I fainted, Tyler. The doctors said I need to rest—”
“There’s no time for rest. If SB Capitals backs out, we lose everything.”
"I'm human, Tyler. I get sick. I collapse. I end up in hospital beds with IVs in my arm." My free hand moves protectively to my stomach, to the secret growing there. "There's no way I can finish those designs by tomorrow."
"There's no room for extension." His voice hardens, all business now, no trace of the man I married years ago. "I can't fail SB Capitals. They'll pull the plug on us."
"Shouldn't we have enough money to survive even if they do? We've been profitable for years now."
"Are you really that short-sighted?" The contempt in his voice stings worse than the IV needle in my arm. "SB Capitals owns half of our company. I just signed off on building a new factory. If they pull their investments, we go under. Everything we've worked for—gone. Can that go through your head?”
The beeping beside me speeds up again. Dr. Chen's words about reducing stress echo in my mind like a cruel joke.
"We cannot afford to rub them the wrong way," Tyler continues, his voice dropping into the cold, calculating tone he reserves for difficult negotiations. "If you're well enough to argue with me, you're well enough to finish those designs by tomorrow morning. I need them on my desk by nine."
The line goes dead before I can respond. He's hung up on me.
‘Did he think I was just putting on an act?’
I stare at the phone in my hand, the screen fading to black, matching the pain I feel in my chest.
The phone feels cold and dead in my palm. I stare at it, unable to process what just happened.
My husband—the man who vowed to love me in sickness and in health—didn’t even ask if I was okay, didn’t even rush to come see me. Instead, he demanded work. Like I'm nothing more than a cog in his business machine, replaceable and functional until I'm not.
Hot tears blur my vision. I swipe them away, angry at myself for crying, for expecting anything different.
When did this happen? When did we become this? When did Tyler transform from the passionate, caring man I fell in love with into this cold businessman who values deadlines over his wife's health?
"You don't even know," I whisper to the empty room, my hand finding my still-flat stomach. "You don't even know about your child."
The baby. Our child. Growing inside me while I lie here alone in a hospital bed.
The irony cuts deep—Sebastian, the stepbrother I haven't seen in years, showed more concern for my well-being than the father of my unborn child. Sebastian arranged this luxurious suite, paid for my medical expenses, held my hand while I was unconscious. Tyler couldn't even spare two minutes to ask how I was feeling.
The hurt curdles, transforms, hardens into something sharper.
Anger. Pure, clarifying anger that burns through the fog of disappointment.
"Fine," I say aloud, my voice steadier than I expected. “If you want to just be my boss, my CEO, then I’ll just be your damn employee!”
The hospital room suddenly feels too small, too confined. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself, trying to remember who I am beyond Tyler Lewis's wife.
I am Analise Lander McGregor. I am talented. I am valuable. And I’m going to be a mother soon.
My hands stop shaking. I will respond accordingly. No special treatment, no extra effort, no blurring the lines between our professional and personal relationship. He's made his choice. Now I'm making mine.
I pull up my email on my phone, the brightness of the screen harsh in the dimness of the hospital room. My fingers move with purpose as I compose a message to HR:
*Subject: Medical Leave of Absence - Effective Immediately*
*To the HR Manager,
*I am writing to formally request a medical leave of absence for one week, effective immediately. I am currently hospitalized and under doctor's orders to avoid work-related stress. During this time, I should not be contacted regarding work matters.
*I am officially delegating all urgent tasks to Pia Monroe, VP of the Design Department, including the completion and final design approval of Symphony collection, which will be launched next week.
*Medical documentation will be provided upon my return.*
*Regards,*
*Analise Lewis*
I read it over once, twice, a small smile forming on my lips. Pia. Tyler's new golden child. The woman he placed above me in my own department without regard to my achievements or qualifications. Let her prove her worth now. Let her handle SB Capitals and their impossible deadlines. Let her deal with Tyler's expectations and demands.
My thumb hovers over the send button. This small act of rebellion feels enormous. It's not like me to push back, to say no, to choose myself over the job, over Tyler. But I'm not just choosing for myself. "This is for both of us," I whisper to my baby as I press send.
The email disappears from my screen, launched into the digital space, impossible to take back. A weight lifts from my shoulders even as a new tension forms in my gut.
Tyler will be furious. But for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel like I've reclaimed a small piece of myself.
I set my phone on the bedside table and lean back against the pillows. The monitors beep steadily beside me, a rhythm that feels more comforting now. I wonder how long it will take for my email to reach HR, for them to inform Tyler, for the storm to break. Minutes? Hours?
It doesn't matter. For now, in this moment, I've taken control of the one thing I still can: my time. And not even Tyler Lewis, with all his connections and power, can force me to work from a hospital bed.
I close my eyes, a strange calm settling over me. Let him rage. Let him threaten. Let him see what happens when he treats his wife like just another employee.
I close my eyes. I must have dozed off. When I open my eyes again, it’s already morning. The nurse greets me cheerfully.
“What time is it?” I ask her.
“It’s nine-thirty,” she replies. “You’ve slept quite well last night. That is very good. Not just for you, but for the baby.”
I check my phone. I have twenty missed calls from Tyler, just this morning alone. A smile tugs at my lips. He must be furious. Not only is the design not in his desk at nine AM. HR must have informed him that I’m off for the week.
‘Hmmm… I wonder how Pia will handle Tyler’s demands.’
Suddenly, we hear a commotion outside. Then the door opens with a thunderous bang. The nurse almost jumps, clutching her clipboard to her chest.
Tyler storms in, his face flushed with anger, tie askew like he dressed in a hurry. His mouth is already open, ready to unleash what I can only imagine is a torrent of fury.
‘So, I think he’s already read the email.’
He’s about to say something, but the words seem to die as his gaze sweeps across the room. His expression changes from rage to confusion as he stares at the marble floors, the designer furniture in the receiving area, and floor to ceiling glass walls that provide an expansive city view.
“Tyler?” I ask.
But he doesn’t answer. He continues to scrutinize the contents of the room. He eyes the expensive, fresh flower arrangements, the 90 inch flat screen TV on the wall, the plush seating area that could accommodate a small gathering.
He turns back to me, eyebrows drawn together.
"What the—" He turns back to me, his anger momentarily displaced by bewilderment. "How the fuck were you able to afford this room?"
‘Where is he now?’
‘Why is he here?’
‘Where has he been?’
My mind is reeling with questions. For almost a decade now, Sebastian has been gone from my life. I don’t know where he’s been all these years. Was he just in the city? How come he’s the one who brought me to the hospital? Was it just a coincidence that he was there when I fainted? Or has he found me before and had been keeping tabs on me?
My phone vibrates against the bedside table, pulling me out of my reverie.
I see Tyler’s face in the screen—his smile frozen in a happier moment, a time when I believed he truly loved me. With trembling hands, I answer my phone. Here, finally, is my husband calling. The father of my unborn child. The man who should be rushing to my side right now.
"Tyler,” I answer.
“Where are you?” His voice is clipped, irritated. No “Are you okay?” No warmth. No concern. “I’ve been looking all over the office for you.”
“I’m in the hospital,” I say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.
"The hospital?" There's a pause. A breath. I wait for the concern, the panic, anything resembling love, the natural reaction of a husband learning his wife is in the hospital. "Who is sick?”
"I fainted outside the Luxe Emerald store downtown." I press the phone closer to my ear, hungry to hear a hint of worry in his voice. "The doctors said it was stress, and…”
‘Should I tell him about the baby?’
I open my mouth to say something more, but he cuts me off.
"Are you serious right now?" The edge in his voice sharpens. "You didn't think to let me know?"
"I was—I was out. I just woke up actually." I swallow hard, the dryness in my throat returning.
There's a long pause. I can almost see him pacing in his office, running his hand through his hair the way he does when things aren't going according to plan. Still, I wait for him tell me that he’s coming over. Because that’s what husbands do when their wives are hospitalized, right?
"Well, since you're able to talk, I'm assuming you're well enough." His voice shifts into something businesslike, something I hear him use during our meetings. "I need the latest revisions for the Symphony collection. SB Capitals moved up the timeline."
The monitor beside me beeps a little faster as my heart rate jumps.
I blink, stunned. “The Symphony collection?”
“They expect it tomorrow morning. I told them it would be ready.”
“You what? Tyler, I’m lying in a hospital bed! The deadline is three days from now!”
“You’ve always delivered early,” he shoots back. “You’ve never failed me before.”
The words hit me like a slap.
Failed him. Like I’m a damn machine, not his wife.
“I’m not a robot,” I snap. “I fainted, Tyler. The doctors said I need to rest—”
“There’s no time for rest. If SB Capitals backs out, we lose everything.”
"I'm human, Tyler. I get sick. I collapse. I end up in hospital beds with IVs in my arm." My free hand moves protectively to my stomach, to the secret growing there. "There's no way I can finish those designs by tomorrow."
"There's no room for extension." His voice hardens, all business now, no trace of the man I married years ago. "I can't fail SB Capitals. They'll pull the plug on us."
"Shouldn't we have enough money to survive even if they do? We've been profitable for years now."
"Are you really that short-sighted?" The contempt in his voice stings worse than the IV needle in my arm. "SB Capitals owns half of our company. I just signed off on building a new factory. If they pull their investments, we go under. Everything we've worked for—gone. Can that go through your head?”
The beeping beside me speeds up again. Dr. Chen's words about reducing stress echo in my mind like a cruel joke.
"We cannot afford to rub them the wrong way," Tyler continues, his voice dropping into the cold, calculating tone he reserves for difficult negotiations. "If you're well enough to argue with me, you're well enough to finish those designs by tomorrow morning. I need them on my desk by nine."
The line goes dead before I can respond. He's hung up on me.
‘Did he think I was just putting on an act?’
I stare at the phone in my hand, the screen fading to black, matching the pain I feel in my chest.
The phone feels cold and dead in my palm. I stare at it, unable to process what just happened.
My husband—the man who vowed to love me in sickness and in health—didn’t even ask if I was okay, didn’t even rush to come see me. Instead, he demanded work. Like I'm nothing more than a cog in his business machine, replaceable and functional until I'm not.
Hot tears blur my vision. I swipe them away, angry at myself for crying, for expecting anything different.
When did this happen? When did we become this? When did Tyler transform from the passionate, caring man I fell in love with into this cold businessman who values deadlines over his wife's health?
"You don't even know," I whisper to the empty room, my hand finding my still-flat stomach. "You don't even know about your child."
The baby. Our child. Growing inside me while I lie here alone in a hospital bed.
The irony cuts deep—Sebastian, the stepbrother I haven't seen in years, showed more concern for my well-being than the father of my unborn child. Sebastian arranged this luxurious suite, paid for my medical expenses, held my hand while I was unconscious. Tyler couldn't even spare two minutes to ask how I was feeling.
The hurt curdles, transforms, hardens into something sharper.
Anger. Pure, clarifying anger that burns through the fog of disappointment.
"Fine," I say aloud, my voice steadier than I expected. “If you want to just be my boss, my CEO, then I’ll just be your damn employee!”
The hospital room suddenly feels too small, too confined. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself, trying to remember who I am beyond Tyler Lewis's wife.
I am Analise Lander McGregor. I am talented. I am valuable. And I’m going to be a mother soon.
My hands stop shaking. I will respond accordingly. No special treatment, no extra effort, no blurring the lines between our professional and personal relationship. He's made his choice. Now I'm making mine.
I pull up my email on my phone, the brightness of the screen harsh in the dimness of the hospital room. My fingers move with purpose as I compose a message to HR:
*Subject: Medical Leave of Absence - Effective Immediately*
*To the HR Manager,
*I am writing to formally request a medical leave of absence for one week, effective immediately. I am currently hospitalized and under doctor's orders to avoid work-related stress. During this time, I should not be contacted regarding work matters.
*I am officially delegating all urgent tasks to Pia Monroe, VP of the Design Department, including the completion and final design approval of Symphony collection, which will be launched next week.
*Medical documentation will be provided upon my return.*
*Regards,*
*Analise Lewis*
I read it over once, twice, a small smile forming on my lips. Pia. Tyler's new golden child. The woman he placed above me in my own department without regard to my achievements or qualifications. Let her prove her worth now. Let her handle SB Capitals and their impossible deadlines. Let her deal with Tyler's expectations and demands.
My thumb hovers over the send button. This small act of rebellion feels enormous. It's not like me to push back, to say no, to choose myself over the job, over Tyler. But I'm not just choosing for myself. "This is for both of us," I whisper to my baby as I press send.
The email disappears from my screen, launched into the digital space, impossible to take back. A weight lifts from my shoulders even as a new tension forms in my gut.
Tyler will be furious. But for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel like I've reclaimed a small piece of myself.
I set my phone on the bedside table and lean back against the pillows. The monitors beep steadily beside me, a rhythm that feels more comforting now. I wonder how long it will take for my email to reach HR, for them to inform Tyler, for the storm to break. Minutes? Hours?
It doesn't matter. For now, in this moment, I've taken control of the one thing I still can: my time. And not even Tyler Lewis, with all his connections and power, can force me to work from a hospital bed.
I close my eyes, a strange calm settling over me. Let him rage. Let him threaten. Let him see what happens when he treats his wife like just another employee.
I close my eyes. I must have dozed off. When I open my eyes again, it’s already morning. The nurse greets me cheerfully.
“What time is it?” I ask her.
“It’s nine-thirty,” she replies. “You’ve slept quite well last night. That is very good. Not just for you, but for the baby.”
I check my phone. I have twenty missed calls from Tyler, just this morning alone. A smile tugs at my lips. He must be furious. Not only is the design not in his desk at nine AM. HR must have informed him that I’m off for the week.
‘Hmmm… I wonder how Pia will handle Tyler’s demands.’
Suddenly, we hear a commotion outside. Then the door opens with a thunderous bang. The nurse almost jumps, clutching her clipboard to her chest.
Tyler storms in, his face flushed with anger, tie askew like he dressed in a hurry. His mouth is already open, ready to unleash what I can only imagine is a torrent of fury.
‘So, I think he’s already read the email.’
He’s about to say something, but the words seem to die as his gaze sweeps across the room. His expression changes from rage to confusion as he stares at the marble floors, the designer furniture in the receiving area, and floor to ceiling glass walls that provide an expansive city view.
“Tyler?” I ask.
But he doesn’t answer. He continues to scrutinize the contents of the room. He eyes the expensive, fresh flower arrangements, the 90 inch flat screen TV on the wall, the plush seating area that could accommodate a small gathering.
He turns back to me, eyebrows drawn together.
"What the—" He turns back to me, his anger momentarily displaced by bewilderment. "How the fuck were you able to afford this room?"
End of The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation Chapter 20. Continue reading Chapter 21 or return to The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation book page.