Monroe never carried anyone’s baggage. Nadia’s exquisite designer handbag was on his arm that morning beneath the airport terminal’s antiseptic lights. It felt insignificant—more convenience than commitment—to him. The sound under his feet changed with each stride on the clean marble floor, like a tale sliding out of his hands.
Nadia strolled behind him smoothly in a flowing cream dress, adjusting her sunglasses with each step. Her grin was subtle and knowing, like a lady who feels she’s won. To confirm rumors, she wanted to be seen.
Victor didn’t need to see her. The bags on his arm said everything. Victor felt like a guy leaving an incomplete sentence, while Nadia was entering the limelight.
The luxury airport buzzed with calm urgency—executives threading through the throng, tailored-uniformed personnel reviewing paperwork, lounge music mingling with boarding calls. Nadia made them proceed through the main departure hall despite a private plane waiting on the runway. She craved attention. Victor didn’t argue. Why would he? He thought he was driving the story, sure that being visible made it real.
Until illusion broke.
Only seconds.
First, pause.
Then a deep quiet that appeared to anchor the terminal. Mid-sentence pause. Motion stopped.
Phones rose—not to call, but to record.
Victor’s eyes instinctively followed the focus change. His pulse was slow and methodical.
His wife Evelyn was at the terminal’s end. No makeup. Worn down. Exhausted, her cheeks and eyes were pallid. She didn’t break him with her face.
It was kids.
She had four guys on her skirt. Identical. His boys.
Quadruplets.
In the silence, Victor’s fingers reflexively uncurled and Nadia’s purse fell to the floor.
His lips twitched but said nothing. The stillness was heavy and brittle, like glass about to crack.
Evelyn remained silent. Stayed put. She glanced through him, not at him.
Her look wasn’t angry.
Pity.
Flash.
The first camera clicked. And another. And another.
Passengers who envied Victor Monroe now filmed his collapse.
“Victor?” Trembling, Nadia spoke.
She went unheard.
His feet stayed still.
His mind replayed every justification and lie. Nothing fit now.
One youngster pointed and tugged Evelyn’s sleeve. “Daddy?”
She recoiled.
Vic’s gut twisted.
People whispered. Angled phones improve visibility. Questions arose from murmurs.
“Is that his wife?”
Are they his kids?
“Who’s that woman with him?”
As if distance might erase her participation, Nadia moved back. Her lips trembling.
Everyone knew she wasn’t his lady, but she recognized it too late.
She proved disloyalty.
Victor eventually murmured, “Evelyn,” his voice breaking.
Slowly, she moved forward. Not to get closer. But to hurt more.
Unsure, the kids followed her.
Victor’s heart raced.
Evelyn stopped short on him. She whispered, but her voice sliced like glass.
This is why you carried her?
Not waiting for a response. One wasn’t needed.
The tiniest boy was lifted by her and twisted.
Former winner. Past Nadia. To depart. Toward freedom.
The entryway was packed with reporters. How can Victor Monroe explain this?
He couldn’t. Why carry the incorrect woman’s purse when your genuine life passes you with your legacy?
Flashes blinded. Victor stood still.
When Evelyn went, no. Not when someone yelled his name over the speakers. Not until a journalist pushed a mike in his face.
Victor Monroe, are they your kids? Which lady is with you? Is your marriage over?
Throat tightened. He opened his mouth but said nothing.
He looked for Evelyn, but she was ahead, holding one kid and the others behind.
Evelyn, wait! He croaked.
She didn’t.
She halted mid-stride, turned, and faced the sea of flashing lights.
“I’m Evelyn Monroe,” she responded, remaining cool. “These are Victor’s forgotten children.”
The terminal exploded.
Gasps. Clicking shutters. Even announcements paused.
Evelyn, don’t—
Victor approached her, but security stopped him. He reached.
Desperate.
Caught nothing.
Evelyn looked him in the eye and addressed the guards.
“Please take me and my kids out.”
They complied.
Not for billionaires.
But for the lady whose agony demanded quiet.
Let me explain, Evelyn.”
For him, she approached with a quiet voice.
“They’ll remember the man who never picked them up,” she said. “Not her bag carrier.”
Then she left.
In a sea of cameras and curiosity, the children vanished with her.
Victor was paralyzed.
Crowds of reporters. “Do you deny paternity, Mr. Monroe? Is your organization vulnerable?
Victor hardly heard them.
He turned.
Nadia left.
No cream dress. Unshakable hands.
Just her handbag. Left on the floor.
Victor saw what the world saw: a billionaire. Alone. Surrounded with queries.
Only carrying the incorrect woman’s handbag.
The terminal announced coldly, “Flight 274 now boarding.”
Locking the door, Nadia slipped down the chilly tiled wall. Her pulse surged over the surrounding commotion. From a cracked mirror, she saw herself.
Smudged mascara. Flush cheeks.
Fear wasn’t from the audience. From realization.
Who am I to him?
She gasped, recalling his penthouse, whispers, and promises.
“You get me. She doesn’t.”
“You differ.”
“You’re my future.”
Now she sat alone, clutching herself. His wife had children Nadia never knew about.
Her phone buzzed with reporter, friend, and stranger messages.
Her name. Her countenance. Trending.
He no longer hid her. A scandal, she was.
She dropped the phone. Using cold water on her face. Trying to erase shame.
Water couldn’t wash away her transformation.
Knock on the door.
“Miss? Are you okay?
“I need a minute.”
She wasn’t sure whether she meant minutes or a lifetime.
Chaos to silence was abrupt. No sound. No flashes. Just breathe.
Walls were blank. Dim illumination. All angles were monitored by security cameras.
Evelyn thought this area was safer than Victor’s house.
Sat on a leather sofa. Children sleeping close. Attorney Rachel Lynn across from her.
“Am I weak?” Evelyn inquired without looking.
“No,” Rachel answered.
Victor does.”
Evelyn started.
Roses someday. Silence next. Bank accounts frozen. The solitude.
At six months pregnant, I discovered his first mistress. Not Nadia.”
Rachel heard.
The infants arrived early. Unconscious. Victor was gone when I woke up.”
Tightened throat, Rachel.
“He never came. Not once.”
She glanced up. You want to know why?
Rachel nods.
“He told the doctor it would be simpler if they died.”
Long quietness.
Rachel eventually exclaimed, “No more silence.”
Evelyn nodded. We go public. Not vengeance. For history. My boys won’t think quiet is strong.”
Evelyn discreetly knocked after the world had picked who to trust.
Door opened by Nadia. Her crimson eyes. She moves slowly.
Insecurity. No cameras. Two ladies in a clean, high-rise jail.
“I didn’t know,” muttered Nadia.
“I know,” Evelyn responded.
She crossed the room gracefully.
You want to know whether it was all a lie? Evelyn asks.
Nadia nods.
I met him your age. Twenty-four. He said I saw him alone. Claimed to be trapped. That I released him.”
Her knees buckled. She sat unintentionally.
“He said it wasn’t the right time when I got pregnant. He convinced me quiet was key to the future.”
Nadia cried.
Evelyn remained silent. You’re not my adversary. You’re my successor.”
That shattered Nadia. She cried into her hands.
Evelyn waited. Then stood.
Do not answer when he calls—he will. Calls only when he needs to win.”
She halted at the door.
I came to prevent my error.
Then she departed.
Lights darkened. Screens lit up. Numbers dropped.
Victor stayed.
The skyline teased him.
Poured drink. Untouched.
A picture frame. Four prematures. Faces still. Small lives.
He couldn’t recall who put it there. Perhaps Evelyn.
He disregarded it for years.
Now he gazed. Without affection. Zero remorse.
In perplexity.
No one heard him whisper:
“They’ll forget me.”
Evelyn prepared in the city to guarantee that.
