Page 110 of My Ruthless Husband

Her cheeks pinken. “O-of course not. It’s just your grand entrance together grabbed everyone’s attention.”

Watching her daughter’s red face, Mrs. Thompson cuts in, “Edward, dear, how delightful to see you again. I’m so happy you got to work on this contract. Your father must be proud.”

He smiles. “I consider myself fortunate to have been a part of the team. I can’t take all the credit for the success. I’m just a small part of the achievement.”

The women happily ignore me as they chat with Edward.

Soon the subtle jabs begin while I stand, invisible and disregarded.

At one point, Mrs. Thompson brings up my mother in the most cruel way. She starts talking about my ill manners, blaming it all on the fact that I’m a motherless child. A surge of pain tightens my chest and I fight to suppress the tears welling in my eyes.

Please, not now. Not in front of them. I feel a lump forming in my throat. The mere mention of her feels like reopening of a wound that never truly healed.

Edward, this time, changes the topic abruptly, making them blink in surprise. But only for a second, because they skip to another topic. The merger.

They go on and on about the contract the firm won. After praising her husband, she goes on to talk about how ruthlessly my dad invited the owner of the competing company who lost.

I don’t pay much attention when they talk about the owner being present. They commend his bravery for showing up at a celebration of his competitor.

All I can think about is wanting to weep in Damian’s strong arms. But he is not here. He is in London at the moment on a business trip. When I told him about the party, he bought me the stunning gown I’m wearing and the diamonds adorning my neck and ears. I reach up and run my fingers over it, trying helplessly to hold on to his thoughts so I don’t lose it in front of them.

When it becomes too much, I part my lips to excuse myself but halt when Dad and his partners join us.

The conversation quickly becomes about this win and how they defeated their competitor.

Just when I contemplate excusing myself now that I waited long enough to not come across as rude, Mrs. Thompson’s piercing inquiry redirects the spotlight onto me. “And what are your plans for the future, dear?” she asks, a deceptively sweet smile playing on her lips.

The group seems to hush, and all eyes turn toward me. “Oh, I’m still figuring it out,” I reply.

Mrs. Thompson’s smile widens as if she hit jackpot. “Figuring it out? Well, dear, some of us have known our paths from the beginning, haven’t we?”

Dad chuckles. “Give her time, Nadine. Not everyone has life neatly mapped out.”

“She must be good at something, though, right? Some skill or hobby?”

“River is into pottery and sculpting,” Dad reveals casually and I can feel my face flush, heat creeping up my neck.

“Really? How charming,” Mrs. Thompson says with a big smile. “So, are you planning to keep it to yourself, or do you have plans for an exhibition? I know a few people who could help you—”

“Oh, she’s notthatgood at it,” Dad interrupts. The laughter from the group is instant.

I pale. The words hit me like a slap. He doesn’t even know how much I’ve worked on my art, how much I’ve poured into it. He didn’t even see my sculptures and pots. How can he say that? That too in front of everyone? All I can do is stand there, my stomach sinking as I watch them make fun of me including Edward and Dad.

Nadine smirks, eyes glittering with amusement. “I’m sure it’s a lovely way to waste time.”

Biting my lip, I lower my head to hide the trembling of my chin. As the tear slides down my cheek, I hastily brush it away, desperate to maintain the facade of composure.

“Only someone who’s never done anything worthwhile would call it a waste of time.” A deep, dark drawl interjects.

My head whips up and meet the astonishing dark eyes. For a shocking second, everything and everyone disappears. No sound penetrates my ears. The sound of chatter of the guests, the melody playing in the background, everything goes silent. All I can hear is my heart pumping hard.

Damian.

Though my lips form his name, no voice comes out. He is standing few feet away, a tall, dark force, looking intimidating in a tuxedo.

My lower lip trembles, suddenly all the suppressed emotions flooding out breaking the dam.

This is one of those times when you are trying so hard to be strong. Trying to hold it in, refusing to show yourself at your lowest to anyone, yet when you spot the person you love in a room full of strangers, it’s like a wave of emotions hits you. It feels as if the walls you’ve built to protect yourself start to crumble just with a single look. And you just give in to theemotions because you know they will be there for you. To protect you. To give you a shoulder to cry on.

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