Page 54 of Twisted Love

I can’t do this. Not here, not now.

Without a word, I set the empty glass on the nearest tray and slip out of the room. The air grows colder as I run down the stairs and into the gardens. The chill bites at my exposed shoulders. But it’s quiet here. Peaceful.

I take deep breaths and wrap my arms around myself, staring out at the twinkling fairy lights strung across the hedges. My breath forms soft clouds in the air. I don’t want to cry. I can’t, but the lump in my throat forms all the same.

He’s punishing me once again, and truly, I am getting sick of it. It’s one thing to do it in the privacy of our townhome, but for him to so blatantly flirt with another woman in my vicinity and in the presence of the entire town burns in a way that makes it hard for me to breathe.

CHAPTER34

EARL

The moment Raven storms out of the ballroom, hurt and anger etched into every inch of her expression, a ripple of satisfaction courses through me. Watching her simmer, watching her stew in frustration—it's a petty kind of victory, but a victory nonetheless. My gaze lingers on the door she disappeared through, but I force myself to stay rooted in place. Let her cool off. Or burn.

Either option suits me fine.

Annabelle is still beside me, laughing lightly at something one of the guests has said, but I barely hear her. Her presence, once mildly entertaining, has soured now that Raven is no longer watching. Even her laugh now grates on my nerves, each note a reminder that she doesn’t belong next to me or with me.

“Earl,” she says, her tone soft as she leans in closer. Her perfume is heady and floral, a stark contrast to the gentle of Raven’s scent. “You’ve barely been paying attention to me all night.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” My response is measured and polite, but there’s an edge to it that I don’t bother to conceal anymore.

Her brows knit for the briefest moment, and then she smiles—forced, brittle.

The clock ticks closer to midnight, and the countdown looms like an inevitable reckoning. I check my watch again, not bothering to hide my impatience. Annabelle notices, of course. She always does.

“You’re waiting for her, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice tinged with something akin to resignation. “You always only had eyes for her. Even when it wasn’t the same for her.”

I glance at her then, finally giving her my full attention. There’s a peculiar sadness in her expression, one that doesn’t quite match the venom of her words.

“You know she’s only using you, right?” Annabelle presses, her smile twisting into something cruel. “She’s always been like this—chasing money, chasing status. That’s all she’s ever cared about. She’d marry anyone who could give her that.”

Her words land like darts, sharp but ineffective. They don’t pierce. How can they when I already know all about my darling wife and her love for the good life? I smile coolly at Annabelle.

“Nice to see you, Annabelle,” I say, pressing a light kiss to her cheek before stepping away. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

The ballroom is alive with the buzz of anticipation as the final seconds before the great bell is run to signify the beginning of the dance. A roar of excitement fills the air, voices joining together. Outside fireworks light the sky. Inside it’s a scene of joy and unity, but my focus has shifted entirely. Raven isn’t here, and my chest feels empty.

I make my way down the stairs toward the garden. The chilly air bites at my skin as I step outside, the noise of the party muffled but still audible. It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s seated on a stone bench, her silhouette framed by the glow of fireworks exploding across the sky.

She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s staring at the bursts of color above, her face caught between awe and melancholy. It’s beautiful, really, the way the light dances across her features. I move closer, my footsteps silent against the stone path.

When she finally senses my presence, her head snaps toward me.

She stands abruptly, taking a step back. Her heel catches on the uneven cobblestones, and for a heart-stopping second, she teeters dangerously.

I’m there before she can hit the ground, my arm circling her waist as she falls forward. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her breath hitching as she steadies herself against me.

“Careful,” I murmur, my voice low.

Her cheeks flush, but she says nothing. The space between us feels impossibly charged, her body cold against mine. I should let go, step back, and put some distance between us. But I don’t. Not yet. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her chest rising and falling quickly, and for a moment, I wonder if it’s the cold or the tension that has her trembling.

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

Her head tilts up, those wide eyes locking with mine. She doesn’t answer, and instead, the flush in her cheeks deepens, whether from the chill or her temper, I can’t tell. But I can feel it—anger radiating off her in waves. It makes me smile.

“It’s freezing out here,” I continue, taking my jacket off and draping it over her shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s a bit foolish to be sitting in the cold? You’ll catch your death.”

Her eyes narrow, and this time, she doesn’t hold back. “Don’t you think it’s foolish,” she shoots back, her words clipped and biting, “to so openly flirt with another woman in front of your wife?”

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