Mrs Gibson Your Identity Is Exposed Now

Emily's POV

Seated before the desk in the office, the investors were discussing among themselves. I had just pitched a really good deal to them, and I was waiting for their response. Even though I knew too well I had given them an offer they knew they would be stupid to reject, I still waited like I was clueless about their next action. My fingers were tapping simultaneously on the desk. I was anxious.

I checked my phone, hoping to see my husband's message, but there was none. Henry has been out of the country for three days, and in those three days, he has only sent me three text messages.

'Make sure you visit the company today.'

'Don't forget the project I told you about; get it done.'

'Tell me, which is better, diamond or gold?'

My responses to those texts were not acknowledged, but I knew he saw them. But he wouldn't answer if I asked him why, so I waited for him to come back today.

Now fast forward to the present; the investors had just finished speaking with themselves, and they turned towards me now.

"Well, Mrs. Musk, we have all agreed, and we would like to be a part of your project," their speaker said. I beamed with joy.

"I am so glad I could convince you to join us, and it was nice having all of you here. By the way, my husband would be delighted that you made it," I stated. One of the investors stared at me, giving me a questioning look.

"Where is Mr. Musk, by the way?"

"Oh, he went on a trip to Brooklyn; he couldn't make it, but I will send your regards to him." He nodded in response, then they all stood up to leave.

With that, they expressed their gratitude before walking out of the office. Now I took my phone and I called Henry again, but it switched to voicemail.

"Babe, the least you can do is return the calls; it's been three days now; where the hell are you?" I ended the voice message and then strode out of the office in sheer annoyance.

It was my children's school presentation, and I had to be there, but they would have loved it if their father was there, and it hurt even more to know I would have to make up an excuse for why he missed their presentation; at some point I was starting to feel like he didn't care at all.

I took the elevator down to the garage, then towards my car. My reflection showed on the window of my car, making me smile.

For the first time in four years, I was proud of how I looked. The results of my strict diet and exercise were starting to show up. It was hard to get back in shape after the depression that came with postpartum, but somehow I did, and it was one of my greatest achievements.

My hands forked my hair, and my fingertips strolled down the corner of my chin. Insecurity was a killer of joy. A long while ago I had added a couple of pounds and developed a double chin, and Noah, my little boy, had referred to the flap below my jaw as that of a turkey; he was an innocent child, but something in me died that day, but I had to wear a proud smile because he kissed me afterwards, and he called me beautiful.

Grace was older; she liked the fullness of my body when she came to hug me. Henry had demanded I work from home just to stop the propaganda in the media, which I adhered to for years while I battled addiction. I had tried and I had failed several times, knowing that the cause of my addiction was none other than fear.

Stress eating was a challenge; it was as detrimental as cocaine addiction. I had locked myself in a void room just to keep myself away from food for a mere five hours. And after a year of mental torture, I broke free, and I went back because food had become my solace in times of distress and great depression.

So no one knew how proud I was to see my reflection; it was an instant gratification that I now had control over my thoughts and my emotions.

The news had gotten out to the public already, and I had been called to speak on my addiction to food and how I overcame it today. The first hosts were my kids' school, which was why I wanted Henry to be a part of it today. I had gained my confidence, and I wanted to speak about our marriage. How he had been distant, and also the cause of my addiction.

I hit the accelerator, and my engine roared to life while I drove all the way to their school. My notification bell chimed. I was so enthusiastic to get it, I could swear it was Henry because his texts were so rare and had a different ringtone for them.

So I took the phone; indeed, it was Henry. He sent a couple of pictures, but they were all set to view once.

My excitement knew no bounds; I quickly slid up to his chat, then tapped on it, and just like that, my eyes witnessed the unimaginable.

Shivers of flames coursed through my veins; for a second I thought the world had come to an end, and somehow I was trapped in a haze as I stared at the photos before me.

Several photos were being sent, all in the same format; I tapped them consecutively, and all were pictures of a lady in Henry's arms, one where he was on his knees proposing to a lady, some of them kissing, and him between her thighs.