6. “Charlotte is in good hands.”

“You’re interrupting my conversation with Charlotte. My wife.” Christopher crosses his arms, his eyes darkening. “Mother would be mortified to see you behaving so rudely.”

“I think we’re past worrying about Mother’s lectures… after all, she no longer can give them,” Sebastian retorts, shrugging as his hand lightly slides over my waist.

This subtle movement catches Christopher’s eye, his gaze lingering on the fingers that don’t touch my skin, and certainly aren’t hotter than his scolding watch.

“See? It’s not because you’re two years younger that you’re not involved in business and politics, Seb… It’s because you haven’t learned the basics of etiquette. Look at that suit. Do you really think white is a good choice to wear to your older brother’s wedding? You know our family’s tradition…” Despite Christopher’s tone staying calm and polished, the disdain is palpable. “White is the groom’s color.”

Sebastian smirks maliciously, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Impressive, Christopher. You’re right... White is the color for the groom… at least, it should be. But many things are switched tonight, don’t you think?”

Christopher doesn’t appear very bothered by his younger brother’s words, just flickering a cynical smile, as he says, “Certainly, it’s not a concern of yours, Sebastian.”

I rub the top of my nose.

That’s a dynamic I haven’t witnessed in a very long time.

Sebastian has always seen his older brother as a rival, but Christopher, perhaps out of arrogance or just because he knew he would never be overtaken, never cared about his sibling’s remarks.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t concern myself with your affairs... But I am concerned, big brother… You have an appointment now, shouldn’t you?” Sebastian pulls me slightly against him, staking a claim Christopher clearly cares little about.

Or at least, shouldn’t care.

“...Enjoy yourself, and don’t worry — Charlotte is in good hands.”

Christopher’s eyes sharpen, and for the first time, something sparks in his usually impassive expression. His jaw tightens just a little, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he's holding back a response, and his eyes, dark and calculating, stay fixed on Sebastian’s hand, still resting possessively at my back.

“Good hands?” Christopher sneers, his voice as smooth and sharp as a knife. He steps forward, eyes fixed on Sebastian’s hand at my back, his smile bitter. “You always did have a talent for overstepping.”

Sebastian doesn’t flinch... he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous calm settling over his features, “Better than your talent with promises, apparently.”

Christopher’s smile falters, just slightly, but it’s enough — he straightens, eyes narrowing, as the cool mask starts to break.

“You do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” he says dismissively, tone casual but just tight enough to betray the irritation he’s trying to hide. “Even when you’re talking nonsense.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, still unimpressed, and snaps back, “Nonsense or not, someone has to fill the silences you leave behind.”

Christopher lets out a dry, humorless breath, running his tongue over his lips before replying.

“Still hovering, I see.” He hums, the sound pretending to be casual, but landing more like a warning. He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, slow and deliberate. “You do love playing the part of the better man, huh? Some things never change.”

“And some people never learn,” Sebastian replies smoothly.

Tired of being caught between the Houghton brothers, a role I’ve played too many times, I pull away from Sebastian’s grip, making him look at me with a mix of surprise and hurt.

Even though I don’t want to hurt someone who has only ever loved me, I need to stay away. I know for sure that nothing good comes from getting involved with the Houghton brothers.

Fortunately, all of this will be over in six months.

“I’ll meet with Grandpa Marshall to make sure he knows I’m alright, then I’ll leave,” I say with a polished smile and glance at Christopher, who looks... oddly intrigued.

Without saying another word, I lift the heavy skirt of my dress and walk away, ignoring Sebastian calling after me.

I return to the ballroom, each step echoing on the cold marble floor, with all eyes on me as if they’re pricking me with needles, as I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me.

It feels like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders, a burden built from everyone’s expectations and judgments. I’m sure rumors of my sudden return from the garden are already circulating, especially when the brothers walk into the ballroom together, pretending the brief argument never happened.

Christopher’s eyes briefly meet mine, and a million unspoken words pass between us in a heavy silence. He looks away first, shifting his focus back to the men around him, keeping his usual expression.

Bitterness lingers in my mouth as Sebastian offers me an apologetic smile I can’t return. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and drink it quickly, feeling the bubbly liquid slide down my throat.

But I still feel thirsty.

Before the waiter walks away with the tray full of glasses, I stop him— “Do you have anything stronger?”

“Yes, Mrs. Houghton. We have whiskey, vodka, tequila, and rum. Which do you prefer?” he asks with his best professional smile.

“Bring me whiskey. And vodka,” I say without blinking, maintaining a steady tone.

He gives me a curious look, his eyes lingering on my face just a moment longer than necessary, but he doesn’t say a word and keeps his professional demeanor as he walks away quickly.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before he returns with the tray, now holding the two drinks I asked for.

“Thank you,” I don’t wait for him to offer them... I just grab them eagerly and down the whiskey, which burns as it goes down, spreading a warm sensation through my chest.

The vodka quickly follows, soothing my throat and contrasting with the heat already spreading through my body.

I take a deep breath, feeling the alcohol start to affect me, as I watch my guests wearing masks around me, and those fake smiles and shallow conversations seem even more irritating now.

The waiter keeps circulating through the party, offering more champagne and giving me curious looks as I pour myself more than one glass, maybe wondering why the bride is in such a rush to get drunk.

—— ꭗ ——

Finally, after a few more hours of sore feet and pinched toes, the party comes to an end.

Now, alone in my room, still wearing my heavy dress, I remember how I waited all night for Christopher in his room. Years have gone by, but the taste in my mouth remains bitter.

“Hah, screw him!”

The big bed with soft sheets seems to call to me, inviting me to let go of this fatigue. I guess I’ll just look for Elodie.

As I’m turning around, the door suddenly cracks open, startling me.

To my surprise... my truly, genuine surprise — one that’s stronger than a punch in the stomach, and contrary to my memories from my first life, my husband is here.

“Christopher?” My voice slips out in a surprised whisper as I lean on the vanity, watching him freeze in the middle of the room with his broad shoulders and arrogant posture.

He’s no longer in the flawless black suit. Actually, he looks ready for bed, with his hair still wet from the shower... yet his presence can still be very... commanding.

Even though he’s at a safe distance in this spacious room, having him here causes a discomfort that tightens my throat... After all, Christopher shouldn’t be here.

Not now, not in this house, tonight...

And definitely not in my room.

“What are you doing here?”