Chapter 46 46

Chapter 46 46
IRIS QUINN

The following morning, I’d just finished getting ready for work when Caesar walked into the bedroom, fastening his wristwatch.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his eyes scanning my outfit..

I looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “It’s a work day. I’m obviously going to work.”

He checked his watch, then looked back at me. “You won’t be going to work today.”

I paused, hands on my waist. “Why not?”

“We need to follow through with the lie I told my father.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or did you forget?”

I cursed under my breath. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“Come with me. My driver will drop you at the boutique, then I’ll head to the office.”

I nodded slowly, the frustration tight in my chest.. “Are we done here?”

“Yes.”

I walked past him, down the stairs and toward the entrance where the car was idling. I slid in first; Caesar followed. As we pulled out of the estate, the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine.

Then Caesar reached into his wallet and pulled out a black card.

He held it out to me. “Use this to pay for the dress.”

I looked at the card, then at him. “I have my own money.”

“Your family’s assets are frozen.”

“Not all of them.”

“Enough of them.” He kept the card extended. “Take it.”

“I don’t need your charity, Caesar.”

“It’s not charity. It’s practical.” His voice stayed calm. “You’re my wife. People will notice if you walk into a high-end boutique and can’t afford anything.”

“I can afford—”

“Can you?” He tilted his head slightly. “Because last I checked, Quinn Enterprises has been bleeding dry. How much do you actually have access to right now?”

I clenched my jaw. He was right, and I hated it.

“Fine,” I said, snatching the card from his hand.

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“I noticed.”

The car slowed to a stop in front of a boutique with tall glass windows and elegant gold lettering: Maison Delacroix. I stepped out, and Caesar rolled down the window.

“Will Naomi be stopping by?”

I shook my head, lying through my teeth. “No. She’s busy.”

I hadn’t called Naomi the way I said I would, too occupied with what Victor had said during the dinner.

Caesar nodded. “Alright.”

The window rolled back up, and the car pulled away.

I turned toward the boutique and walked inside. The interior was pristine with white marble floors, crystal chandeliers and racks of dresses displayed like art pieces. Soft classical music played in the background.

A staff member approached immediately, her smile warm and professional. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Maison Delacroix. Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m Caesar Laurent’s wife,” I said.

Her smile widened. “Mrs. Laurent! Of course. Please, follow me.” She gestured toward the back of the store. “What occasion are we preparing for today?”

I held up a finger. “Give me a minute. I need to make a call first.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

She stepped back politely, and I pulled out my phone. I stared at Naomi’s contact for a moment before I pressed call.

Naomi answered on the third ring. “Iris?”

“How’s my mother?” I asked immediately, my voice low as I paced the marble floor. “Has she eaten anything?”

“I just got her to go to sleep,” Naomi said, sounding exhausted. “She’s taking your father's death hard, Iris. It's like she's fading.”

I let out a slow, heavy breath. “I’ll come by later. I’m buying a dress for the company gala right now.”

“Do you want me to come help?” Naomi asked. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“No. Stay with my mother. I’ll feel better knowing someone’s with her.”

“Alright. Just let me know if you need—”

“I will. Thank you, Naomi.”

I was about to say goodbye when she spoke again.

“Oh, wait. A private investigator came by earlier. He wanted to speak to your mother about the fraud case.”

My stomach flipped. I pressed my palm against my forehead, closing my eyes against the sudden spike of nausea. What was Victor doing? Was this the punishment for my mother’s outburst? Or was he digging for a new way to bury us? “Iris?”

“I’ll handle it,” I said quickly. “Don’t let anyone near her without calling me first.”

“Okay.”

I hung up just as the staff member walked back in, her smile still perfectly in place.

“So, Mrs. Laurent,” she said warmly. “What kind of dress are you looking for? And what’s the occasion?”

“There’s an elite gala I’ll be attending,” I said. “I need something that suits the occasion.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Do you have a color in mind?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the sound of the front door opening cut me off.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Laurent.”

My heart dropped to my feet. I turned, expecting to see Victor’s cold, predatory silhouette coming to verify the lie.

But it wasn't Victor. It was Caesar.

Our eyes met across the pristine showroom.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He walked further inside, hands shoved into his pockets, his presence immediately making the high ceilings feel low. “I don’t exactly trust your fashion sense,” he said, his eyes raking over me. “I want to be involved so you don’t embarrass me.”

The memory of wedding dress shopping hit me like a slap—him rejecting dress after dress, commenting on whether they made me look “good enough,” the hours of humiliation in that fitting room.

I shuddered, the ghost of that shame crawling up my spine. “You don’t have to worry,” I said firmly. “I’ll select something appropriate. You can go back to work.”

I pointed toward the door.

He ignored me completely and turned to the staff. “Bring the dresses.”

Then he walked over to one of the plush velvet chairs near the fitting area, sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and fixed his eyes directly on me.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Go change.”

I opened my mouth to argue but decided against it as I turned on my heel and walked toward the changing room, my jaw tight and my hands clenched into fists.

This was going to be a long afternoon.