Chapter 3
The last message I sent was asking if he wanted any soup tonight.
It was still sitting there from yesterday.
My fingers paused, then I typed a line. [You don't have to avoid me anymore. From today, all my duties as your wife are officially over.]
I pressed send.
Not bothering to wait for a reply, I switched off the screen and tossed my phone into my bag.
The Caldwell family dinner was set for 7 PM.
I showed up early, just like always.
But for once, Brennen was late.
Cheyanne, who had recently returned from overseas, stepped into the hall ahead of Brennen.
She wore a white dress, with a little girl in tow.
She carried herself with effortless confidence.
"Cheyanne, you're back. This little girl is absolutely adorable," one of the elders remarked.
"Of course. She's the true heiress in our circle," someone added.
The elders flocked to her right away.
Their conversation was full of warmth and easy familiarity.
Every so often, a few glances landed on me, sitting quietly in the corner.
They shot me blatant judgment and obvious disdain.
To them, Cheyanne was the true Mrs. Caldwell.
And I was just some nobody on the sidelines.
I sat at the farthest table, tucked away in the corner.
I sipped the water in my glass.
A few distant relatives at my table couldn't stand the awkward vibe.
They awkwardly tried to strike up a conversation with me.
"Vivian, have you checked out that new restaurant yet?" one of them asked.
"Yeah, I heard their dishes are pretty good. Maybe we should go together sometime," another chimed in.
I forced a smile and nodded, just playing along.
This kind of surface-level chit-chat was just masking the awkwardness in the air.
The hall doors were pushed open.
The lively crowd instantly quieted down and then burst into an even bigger commotion.
Brennen was here.
He was dressed in a deep gray suit and stood tall and imposing, his gaze icy as always.
Everyone eagerly went to greet him.
Cheyanne took a couple of steps forward, holding her daughter's hand, her eyes gentle.
I dropped my gaze, pretending not to notice.
I leaned back, trying to melt into the shadows of my corner seat.
But fate had other plans.
Brennen's eyes swept across the crowd and Cheyanne and landed right on me.
He pushed aside the people trying to talk to him.
Without hesitation, he walked straight over to my table.
Seeing this, the relatives at my table stood up with awkward smiles.
They made an awkward attempt at a compliment, trying to break the ice.
"Brennen, you're here. Vivian looks so elegant today. You two look perfect together," one of them chimed in.
Mid-sentence, Brennen stopped right in front of me.
He scrutinized me from above, his gaze cold and superior.
His eyes swept over the simple dress I was wearing.
A hint of mockery surfaced in his eyes.
"Her?" Brennen gave a short, mocking laugh and glanced at the relative. "When did you lose your eyesight?"
The relative who'd tried to smooth things over flushed a deep red.
I stayed right where I was, not even flinching.
This time, I didn't tear up from his public humiliation like I used to over the past three years.
That old, familiar exhaustion weighed on me even heavier.
Cheyanne came over.
She gently took Brennen's arm, her voice soft and full of affection as she said, "Brennen, the elders are waiting for you at the main table."
Brennen didn't even look my way again.
He let Cheyanne take his arm, not resisting at all, and turned toward the main round table in the center of the hall.
As soon as they sat down, all the flattery and lively chatter immediately shifted their way.
The relatives left at the side tables just sipped their water, pretending not to notice the awkwardness.
After a moment, someone grumbled in a low voice, frustration clear in their tone.
"What's so special about her? She's only acting all important because she gave birth to a daughter, riding on her kid's coattails," one of them muttered.
"All this sucking up to the powerful and looking down on others in our circle is just sickening," another added.
Another young woman across the table jumped in.
"Not everyone's like that. Mr. Graham doesn't get involved in all that drama," she said.
Her tone was bright with enthusiasm. "He's got true class—genuine and knows how to carry himself."
When I heard that name, I turned my head.
I finally noticed someone sitting in the shadows on my right.
It was Jordan Graham, dressed in an elegant casual suit.
His legs were crossed, relaxed and effortless.
He caught my gaze and nodded slightly.
There wasn't a hint of gloating or condescension in his calm eyes.
He pushed his coffee cup aside with a gentle smile and said, "If you guys think it's too stuffy here, next time it's on me.
"There's a new coffee shop in Southmere—super chill, great for hanging out and talking."
His voice was deep and steady, not the least bit patronizing.
He put everyone at ease, dissolving the awkwardness in an instant.
The tight atmosphere at the table loosened up.
A few relatives quietly agreed.
I finally felt at ease, just like everyone else.
The corners of my lips lifted, and for the first time tonight, a genuine smile tugged at my face.
The glass turntable let out a gentle sliding sound.
Jordan's fingers brushed the rim, guiding a plate of steamed fish to a stop right in front of me.
Jordan said, "Last time we ran into each other, you mentioned your stomach wasn't doing so well."
He drew his hand back, his voice casual, like it was nothing out of the ordinary.
"This fish is really light—easy on the stomach. Give it a try if you want," he offered.
I looked at the delicate, oil-free fish in front of me, and for a moment, my heart warmed at his quiet thoughtfulness.