Chapter 39
Chapter 39:
“My wife was conducting research for a new investment venture,” Liam lied effortlessly. “Ethan Vance was simply consulting. We trust each other implicitly p>
He looked down at Skye. “Don’t we, darling p>
Skye pinched the sensitive skin on the inside of his arm, hard.
Liam didn’t flinch, though his eye twitched.
“Implicitly,” she cooed.
Inside the gala, they separated instantly. Liam went to the bar. Skye went to the balcony.
From the shadows, she watched him. She saw him check his phone. She saw him reject a call.
Seraphina.
Skye checked her own phone. She opened the livestream of the event. The comments were flooding in.
Power Couple. Goals.
Look at the way he holds her.
Skye smirked. The public was so easy to manipulate.
Across the room, Liam was talking to a donor. The donor clapped him on the back.
“Your wife is stunning tonight, Liam. You’re a lucky man p>
Liam looked across the room. He found Skye in the crowd. She was laughing at something an older gentleman said, her head thrown back, her neck exposed.
For the first time in five years, Liam felt a strange, twisting sensation in his gut. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t annoyance. It was pride. And beneath that, a dark, ugly curl of possessiveness.
He wanted to go over there. He wanted to put his hand on her waist again. Not for the cameras. For himself.
He took a step toward her.
Then his phone buzzed again. Seraphina.
𝖱𝘰𝗆𝖺ոсе 𝗻𝘰v𝖾𝘭𝗌 о𝗻 𝘣𝖾𝗹nо𝘷𝗲lѕ.co𝗆
He looked at the screen. Then he looked at Skye. He put the phone in his pocket.
He didn’t answer.
The ride back to Kensington Manor was silent, but the quality of the silence had changed. It wasn’t the cold vacuum of earlier. It was charged, electric. The adrenaline of the performance still hummed in their veins.
Liam sat closer to her this time. His thigh brushed against hers every time the car turned a corner. He didn’t pull away. Neither did she.
When they entered the foyer, Grandmother Beatrice was waiting. She sat in her wheelchair like a gargoyle guarding the gates of hell. Her eyes scanned them, looking for cracks in the facade.
“You did well,” Beatrice croaked. “The press is favorable. The stock is stabilizing p>
“We try our best, Grandmother,” Skye said, slipping off her heels. Her feet ached.
“Come,” Beatrice commanded, gesturing to the dining room. “I had Cook prepare a late supper. You must be famished. Celebration is in order p>
Skye wanted to refuse. She wanted to run to her room and lock the door. But Beatrice’s tone brooked no argument.
The dining room was dimly lit. Two bowls of soup sat steaming on the table. It smelled earthy, herbal… pungent.