Page 68 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“It’s ruined,” Vanessa says with poorly concealed satisfaction. “What a shame. Thankfully it doesn’t look like it was too expensive. I’ll cover the replacement cost, of course.”

Something inside me snaps. The room seems to narrow, my vision focusing entirely on Vanessa’s smug face.

“Enough.” My voice is deadly quiet, but the table falls silent. “Apologize. Properly.”

“It was an accident, Gideon. Don’t be dramatic. I said I’d pay for it.” Vanessa attempts a light laugh that dies when she meets my eyes.

“It wasn’t, and we both know it.” I stand, my chair scraping against the marble floor. “My wife deserves your respect, Vanessa. She has more talent and authenticity in her little finger than you’ve managed to acquire in your entire privilegedexistence.”

Vanessa pales. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Apologize.Now.Or I’ll make sure your father’s company finds itself suddenly facing regulatory scrutiny.”

The table has gone deathly quiet. Even the surrounding tables have noticed the tension.

“I... apologize for the accident,” Vanessa says stiffly to Ava.

“For thedeliberate sabotage,” I correct.

Her lips thin. “I apologize for my actions. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” I turn to Ava, whose eyes are wide with surprise. Her face is still bright red. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I lead her away from the table, my hand firmly at her back, feeling the eyes of every socialite in the room following us. My heart hammers with a rage I haven’t felt in years.

In the corridor outside the restrooms, Ava turns to face me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says softly. The blush is finally starting to fade from her cheeks now that we’re out of the limelight.

“Yes, I did.” My voice is still tight with anger. “She had no right.”

“It’s just a dress. Remember what you told me when I spilled champagne all over your suit? ‘It can be replaced’.”

“This is a way different. She did it on purpose. Yours was accidental.” I meet her eyes, finding unexpected vulnerability there. “Look, it’s not about the fucking dress.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s about respect. You’re my wife.”

“Your fa—” she catches herself, and looks to both sides to make sure no one is nearby, then leans in. “Yourfakewife,” she whispers.

She’s right, of course. But still...

“Theydon’t know that,” I whisper back, retreating behind my professional mask. “Our cover needs to be convincing.”

Something flickers in Ava’s eyes. Disappointment, perhaps. She nods. “Of course,” she whispers. “Theperformance.”

The way she says that last word rips me open like a goddamn letter bomb, leaving my insides raw and smoking. I slam the vault shut on whatever the hell that feeling is, and instead say: “I’ll have the car brought around while you clean up. No point staying for dessert with your dress in that condition. Plus I’ve had just about enough of Vanessa for one night.”

“Me, too,” she agrees.

Twenty minutes later, we sit in silence as the car glides through Manhattan’s glittering streets. The wine stain from the cheap Cabernet has set on Ava’s dress, a fucking Rorschach test of Vanessa’s petty bullshit. It only pisses me off all the more that Ava paid for it herself.

Seb, my driver, had lined the white leather seats with towels like we’re transporting a biohazard. Smart man. Pity he can’t wrap my temper in absorbent fucking fabric too.

I stare out the window at the skyline. The quiet only causes my anger to stew and my jaw clenches so hard it’s a miracle my teeth don’t crack.

“Blackwell made another move today.” The words snap out of me, cold and clinical, like I’m dictating a memo. “He’s approaching minor shareholders, trying to build coalition support.”

She turns, and I feel her stare like a brand. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Because if I don’t, I’ll tear this car apart. Because your lips are still trembling, and I want to bite them until theyforget how.

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