Chapter 5 Red machine

The foyer was filled with pearls and predatory grins. The family buzzed like a swarm, and Lucien’s presence beside me only added to the electricity in the air.

He was a scandal in a suit, and they thrived on watching him.

Before I could catch my breath, a hand clamped onto my arm with an iron grip. It was my mother-in-law, Autumn Belmont. Her perfume was a suffocating cloud of lilies. She pulled me into a quiet hallway. Her eyes was brimming of anger and suspicion.

“Stirring the pot, are we?” she whispered, eyes glistening with warning. “Showing up with him?”

“I’m just keeping my end of the bargain, Autumn.”

Her smile turned frosty. “The deal where you pretend to be the dutiful wife for thirty days while we keep Dave in the dark. Don’t get bold, Violet. Walk the line, or you won’t see a dime.”

“I know what’s at stake,” I replied, meeting her gaze firmly. “Just don’t expect me to be a puppet forever.”

“The Belmonts aren’t kind to traitors,” she hissed before slipping back into the crowd like a cat. “Stay away from Lucien. You are not ready from what’s coming next if you don’t. The only thing keeping you here is the thirty day deal. If anything goes wrong, I swear you won't like it.”

I stood there, her words chilling my bones. Looking back at the crowd, I saw Lucien already surrounded by socialites, making them laugh. He was in his element, the charming, useless, womanizing Belmont.

I needed some air. I turned toward the quiet wing of the house, wanting just a moment of peace before the program started.

Then, a roar shattered the atmosphere.

A flashy red engine thundered through the estate, its loud, new-money growl made the old-money guests wince.

The car screeched to a halt at the front steps. The driver’s door swung open.

My husband stepped out, adjusting his sunglasses and grinning as if he’d come to a celebration rather than his father’s memorial.

But he wasn’t alone.

The passenger door opened. Out stepped a pair of shiny black heels, followed by cascading caramel hair. It was her. The woman from the office. The one who wore my husband’s gifts while I wore his lies.

She climbed out in a skin-tight black dress and red lips, looking like a siren in a house of mourning.

The silence that followed was deafening. Gasps rippled through the foyer. “Is that who I think it is?” someone whispered.

He’d brought his mistress to his father’s grave. To the home where I was still legally his wife.

My fingers curled into fists, the silk of my dress feeling like a straitjacket. Every eye in the room shifted from the car, to the mistress, then… to me.

“Well,” a low voice murmured behind me, “isn’t this rich.”

Lucien was standing close enough for me to feel his warmth, his gaze fixed on the scene outside.

“Showtime, tiger,” he whispered. “Let’s see if you finally bite.”