Then she turned to the crowd with a smirk. "Everyone, this is the one I told you about—Oswald's precious son!"
Isabella's voice was loud, dripping with mockery. She pulled me close. "Tried for years with his dad and failed. But him? Took me three seconds."
Her hand slid to the small of my back. I felt sick, but I smiled. A good pet doesn't bare its teeth.
Let her show off. Let them laugh. Compared to my mother's medical bills and my son's upcoming surgery, this was nothing.
I reached up and wiped a smear of wine from her lips with my sleeve, gentle and calm.
"The doctor told you to quit drinking," I said. "Do it for me?"
She blinked, caught off guard, then recovered and poured out three glasses of liquor.
"I told you to be here in fifteen minutes. Why are you late?" she snapped. "Apologize to the execs. Or forget about your leave tonight."
If I hadn't run into Adeline, I wouldn't have been late. I'd timed it all—fed my son, put him to sleep despite his fever, then rushed here with one of my own. But she appeared and everything cracked.
Isabella couldn't last a night without drama unless I was sick—sick enough to collapse. When I asked for time off, she gave me a choice: perform, or lose it.
I didn't look at Adeline. Her face hovered somewhere between disdain and curiosity.
I picked up the three glasses. The sharp scent of alcohol hit before it even touched my lips.
One. Two. Three.
Each glass hit my stomach like a blow. My fever flared, vision blurring, knees shaking.
"I need the restroom," I muttered and walked off before they noticed.
Inside, I barely made it to the sink before vomiting. Acid and liquor tore out of me. I gripped the basin, breathing hard.
The mirror showed a man who looked half-dead. My shirt clung to me. My face was pale and slick with sweat.
I splashed water on myself. Then came the voice. Cold. Familiar.
"Your dad hated mistresses. What would he think if he saw you like this?"
I froze. Even after five years, her voice made my spine stiffen.
I looked up. Adeline stood at the door, unreadable.
I forced a smile and rinsed my mouth.
"You're quiet now," she said, stepping in. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Isn't this what you wanted?!" I snapped suddenly. The words came raw, hoarse.
I wasn't sure what I meant—then or now.
Her gaze shifted—something flickered in her eyes. It vanished quickly, but I saw it.
And with it, the memory of five years ago surged back.
Daniel hurling the marriage certificate at me in front of the crowd. Calling me a homewrecker. My father collapsing. My mother slapping me.
And Adeline? Standing there. Cold. Watching.
She believed my father caused the death of Harry Adams—her childhood sweetheart—and his mother.
But the truth? It was never him.
Harry's father had been the one who tore a family apart. My father only helped the real husband reclaim what was his.
Harry's mother couldn't bear the betrayal. She dragged her son to the roof, threatening to jump. She slipped. They both fell.
But Adeline didn't believe it. Or didn't want to.
So she married me in secret. And crushed me in public.
She ruined my family, my future.
Now, here she was. Still looking at me like she had something to say.
"Gavin," she said, voice sharp as glass, "what kind of man did your dad raise you to be?"
