Chapter 90
Chapter 90:
Liam looked at her. He saw the bruises he had made. He saw the resolve in her eyes. He knew, finally, that he had lost.
He stood up slowly. He didn’t look at Seraphina. He walked out the door, a broken man.
Seraphina looked at Skye, then at Liam’s retreating back. Fear flickered in her eyes. She ran after him.
“Liam! Wait p>
The door closed.
Harper exhaled. She walked over and hugged Skye gently.
“It’s over,” Harper whispered.
Skye looked at the empty spot on the counter. She felt light. Floating.
“No,” Skye said, touching her bruised throat. “The marriage is over. The war… the war has just begun p>
The cold night air bit against Skye Sterling’s skin, a sharp reminder of the reality she had carved for herself. The flashbulbs outside the Kensington Charity Gala were blinding, a rhythmic assault that left spots of purple dancing in her vision. She stepped out of the limousine, her heels sinking slightly into the plush red carpet.
She was not wearing the gray, modest gown Liam had expected her to wear, the one he would have approved of in his delusions of a happy reconciliation. She was wearing black.
It was a dress that whispered of funerals and vengeance. Silk clung to her frame like a second skin, the back plunging dangerously low, exposing the sharp, elegant line of her spine. It was a declaration of war stitched in fabric.
A hush fell over the gathered press as she ascended the stairs. They were used to Skye the shadow, the meek accessory to the Kensington empire. They didn’t know what to make of this woman who walked with her chin held high, her eyes sweeping over them with the cold indifference of a queen inspecting her executioners.
“Mrs. Kensington! Is it true the merger is failing p>
𝘙𝗲𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝗂𝗍𝗵𝘰𝘶𝘵 і𝗇𝘵𝘦𝗋𝗿𝘶р𝘵𝗂𝗼n𝘀 𝘰𝗻 𝘣e.𝖼𝗈𝘮
“Skye! Look here p>
She ignored them all. She reached the top of the stairs just as the heavy oak doors swung open.
Liam stood in the foyer. He looked nothing like the composed titan of industry the magazines worshipped. His navy bespoke suit was impeccable, but his face was drawn, lines of exhaustion etched deep around his eyes. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his gaze darting nervously toward the entrance, dreading her arrival yet desperate for it.
Beside him, clinging to his arm like a barnacle, was Seraphina.
She shouldn’t have been there. Beatrice had forbidden it. But Seraphina Miller had a talent for appearing where she wasn’t wanted, playing the victim until Liam, worn down by guilt and public pressure, had simply stopped fighting her.
“Liam,” Seraphina breathed, her voice carrying into the sudden silence of the foyer. She reached for his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep. “She’s actually here. After what she said to you last night… I thought she’d be too ashamed p>
Skye stopped. She stood five feet away, watching her husband flinch at Seraphina’s touch, yet fail to push her away. He looked trapped, a man caught between the public image of a benevolent savior and the private hell of his own making.