Chapter 2
The whole room burst into laughter.
A bitter chill ran through my hands and feet, yet somehow I still found the strength to rush inside and start smashing every single bottle in the liquor cabinet.
"Dylan, you're coming home with me right now. Do you hear me?!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
By the time I noticed the blood trickling down my arm and dripping onto the floor, I caught the looks of disgust on his friends' faces, while Rebecca, standing off to the side, flashed a smug little smile.
Dylan scooped me up in his arms with surprising gentleness, though his eyes still held a trace of menace.
"Can you please try to act a little more mature?" he said quietly. "This isn't the time or place for a scene.
"Rebecca was so furious back then that she went and married a gambler on a whim, and now she's stuck as a single mother, going through absolute hell. I owe her for that.
"From now on, I'll spend every Valentine's Day with her, strictly just the holiday, nothing more, and I mean that. I won't see her at all for the rest of the year. I need you to try to understand where I'm coming from."
A dull, weary ache spread from the very core of my chest.
I knew without a doubt that Dylan would keep his word. But even so, I couldn't bring myself to smile.
He was ten years older than me, a well-known scion of a wealthy family, the kind of man who was always composed, restrained, and in control. He never stepped out of line and kept everyone at a polite distance.
So by all rights, I should have gracefully agreed to his not-so-unreasonable request, played the part of the obedient wife, and made no fuss.
He seemed to believe that money and well-defined boundaries could fix anything, but I didn't share that belief.
The lock had been changed, and in a way, so had my heart.
What he would never realize was that the thrill I once felt for him had long since burned out, extinguished like those scattered drops of liquor on the barroom floor that night.
If he had ever truly paid attention, he would have noticed that the men's house slippers by the door weren't even his size.
"Dylan," I said flatly, "I want a divorce."
He waved it off. "All this over something so small? Just give me the slippers. "Dylan," I said flatly, "I want a divorce."
I stepped back until there was a good meter between us, then gave him a courteous smile. "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too."
His brow furrowed deeply. Clearly, he thought I was still putting on a show, and his expression flickered with unmistakable annoyance. "Take one minute to pull yourself together. I'm going to take a shower, and when I come out, I expect you to be reasonable."
In the past, those words would have sent me pounding my fists against his chest or blocking the bathroom door in tears, sobbing that I didn't want to calm down. But not this time.
"Got it," I said simply.
He froze for just a moment as I coldly tucked the slippers away.
A knock at the door shattered the uncomfortable silence between us.
Rebecca's voice drifted through. "Dylan, there are still two hours left of Valentine's Day, and nobody wants to waste them. We were thinking of coming over to your place. Would you have us?"
His friends immediately jumped in with their usual mockery. "Two hours left of Valentine's Day? More like the last two hours of Dylan's house arrest. Am I right?"
"Honestly, you people have no manners. Shouldn't you at least ask the hostess if she minds? What if she gets upset and we all have to leave on another sour note?"
Amid the laughter, a small child's innocent voice cut through. "Mommy taught me the secret to winning games. If you can't beat them, join them. So, Mrs. Grant, you have to join us!"
I yanked the door open, and before I knew it, a bottle of champagne was popped right in the doorway, spraying all over my hair.
Dylan instinctively moved to shield the little boy with his body. "Just try to be patient," he muttered. "He's just a kid. He doesn't know any better. No point blaming him."
I didn't grab a bottle and smash it over anyone's head. I simply let out a cold, hollow laugh.