Chapter 2
A ripple of gasps spread through the crowd.
"Oh my god! She just splashed her with wine!" someone exclaimed.
"The wife and the ex are at it!" another person whispered.
"Who do you think Mr. Quinn will side with?" someone whispered.
"Of course his wife! Mr. Quinn is totally obsessed with her!" another person replied.
Claire wiped her face with her hand.
Being humiliated in public wasn't just her own shame—it stained the Quinn family's reputation.
She couldn't fathom why Emily would openly insult the very family she once hoped to marry into. How shortsighted.
Setting down her empty glass, Emily smirked. "What do you have to be so proud of, Claire? You're nothing in my eyes."
Claire didn't answer. Instead, she reached for a fresh glass of red wine from a nearby table.
Emily lifted her chin defiantly. "I dare you."
The whole room went dead silent.
Claire stared at Emily, whose face practically screamed, "What can you do about it?"
Claire tilted her wrist—ready to act. After all, she'd dared to enter a marriage of convenience with Michael. What was a little wine in return?
But just as she was about to throw it, a hand shot out and clamped firmly around her wrist.
Michael stood beside them now, his expression gloomy. "What is going on here?"
Emily jumped in first, her tone sly and mocking. "I was in a bad mood and wanted to have some fun. But your precious wife here..."
She shot Claire a look. "She's got quite the attitude—just had to retaliate."
Claire almost respected Emily's straightforwardness.
She acted like she had nothing to fear, as if Michael would undoubtedly back her up.
Yet publicly insulting "Mrs. Quinn" at a Quinn family event would carry consequences.
Claire didn't say a word, just locked eyes with Michael.
Her look said it all—he'd better give her some answers.
Michael glanced at Claire, his expression conflicted and hard to read.
Finally, he said, "Apologize to Emily."
The words struck like a slap.
Three years of partnership, of what she had believed was mutual respect—gone in an instant.
She thought she knew him, thought he would never allow the Quinn name to be disrespected.
The Quinn family's reputation had taken a hit, too, and if anyone owed an apology, it was definitely Emily.
Yet here he was, taking Emily's side after Claire had been publicly humiliated.
He really did love Emily.
"Michael, are you sure about this?" Claire asked, her voice steady, but disbelief clear in her eyes.
"Claire, don't make me repeat myself. And remember—the land," Michael said, his voice icy.
Those last two words chilled her to the bone.
Claire lowered her gaze, swallowing every bit of anger, humiliation, and unwillingness.
She'd been embarrassed, but the Quinn family's reputation had been trampled on as well.
But Michael didn't care. He was willing to let it slide for Emily.
"Ms. Lane, I'm sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me. I hope you can overlook it." Claire offered a slight, deferential bow.
Triumph glittered in Emily's eyes.
Leaning close, she whispered, "You thought I was foolish earlier, didn't you? Look who the fool is now."
Claire had indeed underestimated Emily's hold over Michael.
Some battles weren't worth fighting. She could only chalk it up to bad luck and move on.
"Ms. Lane, you're not quite what I expected," Claire said, turning toward Michael.
"Honestly, I didn't expect this to be your taste, Mr. Quinn."
Michael's frown grew even deeper when he caught the look of contempt in Claire's eyes.
"Don't parade around in those stained clothes. You're embarrassing the Quinn name," he said coldly.
With that, he offered his arm to Emily and walked away—without another glance at Claire.
Whispers erupted all around.
"Who cares about Mrs. Quinn? Now that the real one's back, the stand-in's mask finally slips!"
"You're just a nobody. No matter how high you climb, you'll never be one of them."
Claire held her head high and walked toward the lounge, unbothered by the looks.
Just a few more months, she reminded herself. Then, she'd be free of the Quinn family for good.
For that land, so her people wouldn't have to beg anymore. She could endure it.
She'd barely finished telling herself to hang in there when the door swung open.
Emily leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a malicious smirk playing on her lips.
"I know you and Michael are just a contract couple," Emily said.
Claire turned to her. "If you already know we'll go our separate ways soon, why bother humiliating me in public?"
"Because it pleases me," Emily said with a smirk and a shrug.
She walked in, shut the door behind her, and stood right in front of Claire. She picked up a strand of Claire's hair, then dropped it like it was dirty, her face full of disdain.
"Every time I see those sickeningly sweet headlines about you and Michael, that whole 'devoted husband' act he puts on for the media, it makes me nauseous. It ruins my mood.
"And when I'm in a bad mood, someone has to suffer. And you? You are the perfect punching bag," she added with a light laugh.
Claire studied Emily's twisted expression, her own brow furrowing slightly.
Looking back on the past three years, Claire realized she'd played her role in Michael's charade to perfection.
A marriage born from a life debt—it was a story made for headlines.
For every anniversary, birthday, and holiday, she'd stick to the script from Quinn Holdings' PR team, posing as the perfect couple with Michael on social media.
Posting photos of candlelit dinners, sharing videos of gift exchanges, and even airport farewell kisses—it was all part of the act.