Julian.
I feel him watching. I always do.
I arch into the man’s touch, letting my eyes drift open, expecting to catch the familiar silhouette of my husband slipping into the shadows. But when I glance down the hall, my breath stalls.
It’s not Julian.
Kai stands there, half shrouded in the dim light, his stormy eyes locked onto me with something I can’t place. His expression isn’t scandalized or amused—it’s raw. Unreadable.
Heat floods my cheeks, shame curdling in my stomach, and I pull back sharply from the man’s lips.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, stepping away.
For one heartbeat, Kai doesn’t move. His gaze lingers, tracing every inch of me, like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. I can’t breathe.
I thought I wanted to be watched.
But not by him.
Never by him.
I force a polite smile for the man beside me, murmuring an apology, but Kai’s stare burns hotter than anything else. When the stranger slips away down the hall, I wipe at my lips, trying to erase the sensation of someone else’s mouth.
My heart stumbles in my chest. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but no words come. Kai steps closer, slow and deliberate, his hands tucked into the pockets of his suit like he’s barely holding himself back.
He looks bloody furious.
“Sophie,” he says quietly, but there’s nothing soft in his voice.
And just like that, the air between us turns razor-sharp.
“This isn’t what you think?—”
“Of all the people I know, you’re the last one I expected to be a cheater,” Kai says, his gray eyes steely and his jaw hard underneath the dark scruff. My whole body rocks back from his words, but before I can respond, he takes a step closer. “But I suppose we all have our secrets, don’t we?”
My lips part in surprise as he steps into my space. “I’m not cheating?—”
“Oh? Maybe you call it something different in London then,” he growls, eyes boring into mine. “Julian deserves better,” he adds.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my palm is making contact with his face, and color blooms on his cheek where I slapped him. He barely moves, instead touching his cheek and looking at me with hooded eyes.
“Fuck you, Kai. You know nothing about our marriage.”
Gathering my dress with shaking hands, I stalk away from him and jog down the stairs. People say hello, but I’m too busy replaying Kai’s words in my head to notice or care. Just as I reach the drawer in the larder that houses my cigarettes, Julian’s hand comes around my wrist.
“Hey,” he says gently. “What happened? I went upstairs but no one was there.”
I lift my eyes to look at my husband—to explain what Kai walked in on—but one of the servers walks up to Julian and whispers into his ear. His face freezes for a second, brow furrowed, and then he groans out a low sound of realization.
“Fuck, I forgot. I have to give the speech because dinner is almost ready. You’re okay, right?” he asks, one hand cupping my cheek. His expression is apologetic, and I can’t help but smile.
“I’m fine, I promise.”
He got so wrapped up in the scene we had planned that he forgot about the speech. I’m used to watching the wobble in his expression as he recalibrates, that same familiar glimmer of frustration crossing his face. It’s not at me, it’s at himself. He hates when this happens—when he forgets something while in the heat of the moment.
Taking my hand, he gives it a quick squeeze, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a way that feels almost apologetic. Then he pulls us toward the grand staircase at the center of the room.
When we’re a few steps above the crowd, he clinks his champagne flute with a small spoon.
