Stents or Art Exhibition, The Heartless CEO2 / 3

Chapter 2

My father's surgery had complications, and severe post-op rejection landed him straight in the ICU.

I kept vigil outside the ward all night without closing my eyes.

The next morning, exhausted and stiff, I returned home.

As I pushed the front door open, a pair of red-soled heels caught my eye in the entryway.

Landon was sitting in the dining room, enjoying breakfast.

Fried eggs, black coffee, and the freshly delivered financial paper.

Seeing me, his brow furrowed slightly. "Why do you look so disheveled? You reek of antiseptic."

Without bothering to change my shoes, I walked over and sat across from him. "Dad was moved to the ICU. He almost didn't make it last night."

His knife sliced through the egg without pausing. "Old people get sick. I'll have my assistant send a fruit basket to the hospital. By the way, I need the revised Skycrest blueprints sent to me before tonight."

This was the man I married.

My father was hovering between life and death, yet all he cared about was my labor.

"Landon," I locked eyes with him, "how much did you spend on Valerie's art show?"

His silverware screeched harshly against the porcelain plate.

He set down his fork and wiped his mouth with practiced poise. "That was a corporate PR campaign to build our brand as a supporter of emerging artists. The marketing department approved the budget. Are you auditing me now?"

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars," I said coldly. "Corporate PR? Since when does Mercer Enterprises invest in amateur finger painting?"

Landon's expression darkened. "Are you interrogating me, Nora? Don't forget that you're our lead architect and the CEO's wife. Can you show some class and stop obsessing over petty cash?"

"Petty cash?"

I laughed, tears burning behind my eyes.

"My dad was dying for lack of five thousand dollars while you claimed we were broke, yet you blew three-quarters of a million on your little side piece. And you dare lecture me about class?"

"Watch your mouth, Nora!" Landon slammed his hand on the table. "Valerie has raw talent. We need to nurture young artists―"

"Talent?" I cut him off. "Scribbling circles and crooked triangles is talent? Then what about the blueprints I slaved over day and night? Are they just trash to you?"

Landon stood up and glared down at me in disgust. "You've changed, Nora. You never used to be so greedy and petty. Maybe I haven't kept you in line enough lately."

"Here, take this card and treat yourself to something nice. The limit is a hundred bucks, so don't max it out."

He flicked a card onto the table like tossing spare change to a beggar.

The front door slammed shut as Landon drove off.

I stood alone in the quiet house, staring at the prepaid card with its laughable hundred-dollar limit.

How did this happen?

I was an award-winning architect in my own right, yet somehow I had let myself become a trapped houseplant dependent on his scraps.

Even spending the money I earned required his strict permission.

I turned on my heel and walked into his private study.

Landon was an intensely paranoid man who kept a safe filled with confidential company records at home.

He assumed I would never guess the code.

In his eyes, I was just a naive designer who understood nothing about corporate finance.

He forgot that as an architect, my memory for numbers was immaculate.