Lost in madness

50

My hands trembled as I arranged the silverware, each delicate clink betraying my inner turmoil. This dinner was going to be a minefield, and I was the unsuspecting bomb disposal expert.

Christian's arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. His breath, warm and familiar, should have been comforting. Instead, it only amplified the knot of guilt twisting in my stomach.

"I'm sorry about tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing my neck. "I really thought this would help us... I don't know, create some kind of relationship."

I turned, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I know you meant well." The words hung between us, fragile and unconvincing.

The doorbell's sharp ring made us both jump. Our eyes locked—a silent communication of shared anxiety.

"Can you get Nico?" I asked, already backing away. "I'll get the door."

Deep breath. Smooth dress. Paste on a smile.

Andrew stood there, looking like he'd stepped out of a GQ magazine. Tailored suit, expensive wine, flowers—the whole peace offering package. His eyes met mine, and decades of complicated history passed between us in a single glance.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," I whispered back.

His hand reached out, brushing my cheek. The touch was electric, familiar, dangerous. Just as he handed me the flowers, a venomous voice sliced through the moment.

"Hello, traitor."

Sally. Of course.

Her designer purse was clutched like a weapon, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the leather. Her smile could freeze hell.

"Come in," I managed, my voice surprisingly steady.

Dinner was a masterclass in awkward tension. Silverware scraped against plates like nails on a chalkboard. The occasional cough felt like a gunshot.

Andrew, ever the peacemaker, attempted small talk. "Dinner is delicious as always," he offered.

"Thank you," I said and reached for the wine, pouring a glass that was more therapy than beverage. Christian's forced cheerfulness made everything feel like a badly scripted reality show.

"So, Andrew, how's the new project going?" he asked, desperation bleeding through his tone.

I couldn't take it anymore. "I'm getting more rice," I announced, practically fleeing to the kitchen.

The cool granite counter grounded me. Deep breaths.

"Nice home," Sally's voice dripped with fake concern.

I turned, exhaustion weighing down every muscle. "What do you want?"

Her eyes gleamed with malice. "Are you expecting someone? Perhaps hoping my husband might... sneak in?" The word "sneak in" dripped with innuendo, "And screw you on the counter like the whore you are."

"I'm not doing this," I said, trying to move past her.

She blocked my path. "Good news, Andrew and I are getting a divorce. He's all yours. I just thought you should be the first to know since worked so hard to wreck my marriage."

"Sally, our history is complicated. Andrew was unhappy long before—" Her hand connected with my cheek. The slap echoed through the kitchen.

"Glad you got that out," I said coolly. "We're even now."

"Even? You've got some audacity. ...I came here tonight to destroy your marriage, but I have a feeling you've got that covered. So I'm going to leave you with a warning – my son, Jacob is a William, the only successor. I don't care how old your little bastard is, my son is not going to share his inheritance with anyone. Consider this my last warning. So far, I've been lenient with you, Dabe, but I will destroy you if you come after what belongs to my son."