Chapter 49 Chapter 49
Valentina
The event didn't slow down. It intensified.
Music swelled. Glasses clinked. Laughter layered over calculated conversations. Deals were being hinted at in coded language. Favors were being traded in smiles.
And Ambrose played his role flawlessly.
"Valentina," he would say smoothly, his hand resting at the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Meet Senator Calder."
"Valentina, this is Mr. Laurent. He oversees international investments."
"My wife," he would add each time. Calm. Possessive. Deliberate.
My wife. The words were both shield and cage.
I smiled when expected. Nodded when necessary. Spoke intelligently but not too boldly. Elegant, supportive, controlled.
A perfect extension of him.
Across the room, I always felt Lucien's gaze. Every time Ambrose's hand lingered too long on my waist... Lucien noticed. Every time I laughed at something I didn't find amusing... he noticed. Every time someone leaned in too close... he noticed.
And Mira? She stood like a sentinel near Lucien most of the night. Sometimes speaking to him. Sometimes not. But her eyes kept finding me.
Assessing. Accusing. As if she knew. As if she was waiting for proof.
The only moment I spoke to my father was brief.
He stood beside Ambrose, both of them deep in discussion. My father looked at me.
No warmth. No affection. A nod. That was it.
No question about how I was. No acknowledgment of the distance between us. No sign of whatever he may be planning.
My mother stood nearby, calm as ever. Observing. Silent. Composed in a way that almost frightened me.
And Violeta. God. At one point, I heard raised voices near the bar. I turned just in time to see her glaring at a bartender. Later, I saw her again. With Ronan.
They were arguing. Or flirting. It was difficult to tell. They stood too close. Too interested.
And strangely, they looked good together. I didn't like that thought. I didn't like any of tonight.
By the time another round of introductions ended, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
"I'll be right back," I murmured to Ambrose when he began speaking to a group of investors.
He nodded absentmindedly. I slipped away.
The restroom was quiet away from the loudness of the hall. I placed my clutch down and turned on the faucet, letting cool water run over my hands.
The silence felt like relief. I stared at myself in the mirror.
Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect posture. Perfect lie.
Outside those doors, I followed Ambrose's lead. I laughed when expected. I spoke when instructed. I stood where I was placed.
A performance. Every second of it.
I dried my hands slowly. Is this what my life is now?
A political display? A symbol? A distraction?
I inhaled. Exhaled.
As I turned toward the door, It opened. Mira stepped inside.
The door closed softly behind her. She walked to the counter beside me, placing her clutch down with careful precision.
"You look tired," she said casually stopping me on my tracks.
"I'm not," I replied.
A smile curved her lips. "You should be careful," she added, adjusting her lipstick.
"About what?"
"Overplaying your role."
I turned slowly to look at her. "And what role would that be?"
She met my eyes in the mirror. "The devoted wife."
My pulse quickened.
"And what are you implying," I said evenly.
"Don't you?"
She capped her lipstick and faced me fully now.
"You think people don't see the tension?" she asked quietly. "You think you're subtle?"
I held her gaze. "You're reading too much into nothing."
Mira stepped closer. "I've known Lucien longer than you," she said softly. "I know the way he stands when he's indifferent."
"And he's not indifferent," she finished. "But do you know what's embarrassing?" Mira said softly. "Watching a married woman behave like a—"
She paused. Then smiled.
"—like a whore."
"What did you just say?"
"You heard me." Her voice didn't shake. "You parade around pretending to be dignified, but everyone can see what you're doing. Clinging to him with your eyes. Following him with your body."
My hands trembled with fury.
"Mind your words,"
Mira laughed. "Or what? You'll pretend harder?"
That was it. Before I could think my hand shot out.
I gripped her wrist. Hard. She gasped as I shoved her backward. Her back hit the marble wall with a sharp sound. The echo bounced across the restroom.
My other hand braced beside her head, trapping her.
"Just because I keep quiet," I said, my voice low and shaking with restrained rage, "does not mean you can open your mouth and say rubbish."
Her eyes widened in fear. "You will not speak about me like that again," I continued. "Not in whispers. Not in jokes. Not even in your thoughts."
Her breathing quickened. "You think you scare me?" she whispered.
"No," I said. "I think you misunderstand me."
For the first time, she truly looked at me.
"You don't know what I'm capable of," I added softly.
The fire in my chest felt wild. Uncontrolled. Weeks of swallowing words. Weeks of pretending. All pouring out.
"You don't get to judge me," I hissed. "You don't get to define me."
Her chin lifted stubbornly.
"You're risking everything," she shot back. "For what? For a man who isn't even yours?"
The words cut. But I didn't flinch.
"And you?" I countered. "Why are you so invested?"
That hit. A flicker. A crack in her composure.
"Let go of me," she said through her teeth.
I held her a moment longer. Just enough to make my point. Then I released her wrist. She stumbled slightly but caught herself. We stood there, breathing hard.
"You think this ends well?" she asked quietly.
"I don't think it ends at all," I replied.
Her eyes searched mine.
Maybe she expected regret. Maybe fear. She found neither.
After a long beat, she yanked her hand away fully and straightened her dress.
"This isn't over," she said.
"It never was," I replied.
She walked out. The door closed. And only then did I realize how fast my heart was racing.
What have I just done? I looked at my reflection again. My eyes were darker.
I smoothed my dress, reapplied my composure like lipstick, and left the restroom.
The party roared on like nothing had happened. Music. Laughter. Power. I scanned the room until I found them.
Violeta and Viviana stood near one of the tall cocktail tables. Viviana looked tired. Violeta looked entertained.
"You need to behave," Viviana was saying urgently. "This is not the place—"
"Oh please," Violeta replied. "If these men can discuss bribery over champagne, I can defend myself from a bartender."
I stepped up beside them.
"What happened now?" I asked calmly.
Violeta turned to me dramatically.
"He was staring at me."
"He was working," Viviana muttered.
"He was staring."
I exhaled slowly.
"Violeta."
"What?" she snapped. "You want me to smile politely while men undress me with their eyes?"
"No. I want you to survive this room."
That made her pause. For a second, the rebellion softened. Viviana glanced at me, her expression searching.
"You look flushed," she said carefully. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
A lie. But one I've perfected.
Violeta narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Did something happen?"
"No," I replied smoothly. “Are you two at least enjoying yourselves?" I asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Violeta rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Enjoying? I am not the only woman here that all of them are undressing me with their eyes."
Viviana sighed. "Violeta—"
"I'm serious," she continued. "It's like they've never seen a dress before."
"It's not the dress," Viviana muttered.
Violeta ignored her and crossed her arms. "And that Ambrose's son what was his name again?"
"Ronan," I replied.
"Yes. Him." She scoffed. "I don't like him."
Viviana blinked. "You don't like him? You literally said he was handsome."
"That doesn't mean I like him."
"So he is handsome."
"That's not the point!"
A soft laugh escaped me. They both turned to look at me.
"What?" Violeta demanded.
"Nothing," I said, still smiling. "You just sound like children."
"We are not children," Viviana protested.
"Speak for yourself," Violeta shot back.
Viviana glared. "You were the one arguing with a bartender."
"He was staring."
"He was doing his job."
"He blinked suspiciously."
"Oh my God."
Their bickering continued. And for the first time tonight... I felt something warm that had nothing to do with jealousy or fear.
It reminded me of before. Before marriages arranged like business deals. Before calculated smiles. Before watching every step like it could trigger an explosion.
Just us. Three sisters arguing over nothing.
My laughter faded into a softer smile.
Across the room, music swelled again. Conversations shifted. Glasses clinked.
And as if summoned by the sound of his name
Ronan appeared. He slid into view beside us like he belonged there.
"I can hear my name being insulted from across the room," he said lightly.
Violeta stiffened.
"I wasn't insulting you."
"You called me arrogant."
"You are arrogant."
"I'm confident."
"Delusional."
Viviana covered her face. I shook my head.
"Please," I murmured, though I couldn't quite hide my amusement.
Ronan leaned slightly closer to Violeta, lowering his voice just enough to feel intentional.
"For someone who claims not to like me," he said, "you keep talking about me."
Violeta's chin lifted.
"For someone who claims to be confident, you keep seeking validation."
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
The air between them different. And annoyingly... compatible. Ronan smirked. "You're exhausting."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet," he replied smoothly, "you're still standing here gossiping about me.”
Viviana groaned softly. "This is painful."
I glanced between them. Maybe I should separate them. Maybe I shouldn't.
Because despite the chaos Violeta looked alive.