Raymond's expression darkened instantly.
He clearly hadn't expected that I—the woman who had always been as docile as a lamb—would suddenly grow claws.
His hand shot out, catching my wrist before I could reach the threshold. His grip was a vice, squeezing until my bones screamed.
"Bella, what exactly is this tantrum about?" Low. Dangerous. A warning threaded through every syllable. "I don't care what kind of madness has possessed you today. Change your clothes. You're coming to the banquet."
"Don't make me say it a second time."
He didn't wait for an answer. He practically shoved me into the evening gown and dragged me to the car.
I stared at his icy profile as he drove. "I hope you won't regret this," I murmured.
He didn't hear me. His attention was fixed on his phone, fingers flying across the screen—likely reporting the upcoming "surprise" to Elisa Long.
The business banquet was a gathering of wolves. Celebrities and tycoons packed the hall; the air hung thick with perfume and money.
The moment Raymond wrapped a possessive arm around my waist and led me inside, the malice hit like a physical wave.
The whispers weren't even trying to be subtle.
"As expected of a homewrecker's daughter. I can't believe she manipulated Mr. Sanchez into bringing her here."
"What kind of spell did she cast on him? With so many pure, high-born ladies available, he insists on parading around with that damaged goods."
"Who knows? Maybe she's just incredible in bed."
Raymond shot a glare at the gossiping circle. "Do you all have nothing better to do?"
He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear, playing the protective husband to perfection. "Bella, ignore them. No matter what they say, it doesn't change the fact that I love you."
"Is that so?"
I hooked my arms around his neck, rose onto my tiptoes, and pressed my lips to his.
The crowd gasped. But amidst the spectacle, only I caught the flash of panic and disgust in his eyes.
His gaze darted instinctively toward a corner of the room.
I didn't need to look to know who was standing there.
Elisa Long.
Fighting back my own nausea, I deepened the kiss, pressing my body flush against his.
Raymond wanted to shove me away—every muscle in his body seized with the effort of restraint—but the charade had to hold. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
His face flushed. Not with passion. With stress. He half-dragged, half-carried me into the nearest changing room just to break contact.
"Bella, are you crazy?" he hissed, wiping his mouth like I'd left poison on his lips.
"You said you love me. I responded with a kiss. How is that crazy? Unless..." I tilted my head. "The love you keep proclaiming is all a lie?"
"No, I just—people were watching. Have some dignity."
"If you want, I can prepare." My voice dropped, turning sultry. "Shall we do something exciting?"
He froze. Then nodded quickly. "I'll get us some drinks. To set the mood."
He bolted out the door.
I knew exactly what he was doing. Just like in my past life, the wine he brought back would be drugged. My little performance had likely enraged his precious Elisa, and now he couldn't wait to accelerate my humiliation.
The moment he was gone, I stripped off the gown, changed into a server's uniform I'd stashed earlier, and slipped out the back exit.
Ten minutes later, the phone on my passenger seat vibrated violently.
I didn't need to look. Raymond.
In my past life, I had never disobeyed him. The perfect wife—gentle, obedient, humble as dust. I believed the world when they said I was lucky to marry him, that I was somehow redeeming my mother's sins.
But the real homewrecker had been Elisa Long's mother.
Not mine.
The phone kept buzzing, dancing across the leather seat.
Annoyed, I picked it up and blocked his number.
Silence.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found a number that had been gathering dust for years.
*Professor Mason, you once said that if I ever changed my mind, I could always come back. Does that offer still stand?*
Less than a minute later, my phone rang.
Joseph Mason's voice boomed through the speaker, just as I remembered.
"Bella? Is that really you?"
"It's me, Professor."
"Good. Good, good." He repeated the word three times, relief palpable in every syllable. "Next Monday. Be at the studio. We have a major restoration project starting, and we need hands."
