Chapter 4 - The Fallout

- Adelaine’s POV -

Coming home always felt like stepping back into a cage. Every wall held a memory I’d rather forget: my mother’s whispered apologies, bruises buried under designer sleeves, dinners where silence was the only safe reply.

But walking through those doors with Dante at my side steadied me, though I hated needing it. My chest was tight as we crossed the marble foyer.

That’s when I heard it. Elaine’s voice. Sweet, syrupy, and very unmistakable.

I slowed down, my heels clicking against the tile, and Dante glanced at me with the faintest arch of an eyebrow. I didn’t answer. I was too busy listening.

“…she’s probably just overwhelmed,” Elaine was saying from the living room. “This whole Dante thing came out of nowhere.”

Of course. Of course, she’d be here. Playing the doting friend, dripping sympathy in front of my mother.

I pushed forward, Dante beside me, and the sight made my stomach twist. Elaine was perched on a pastel velvet chair, looking as sorrowful as she could, her perfume choking the air. My mother, God bless her, actually believed this act.

“Adelaine’s always been private,” she offered gently.

Elaine leaned in, voice dropping low and poisonous. “Private, yes. But wasn’t she supposed to introduce someone else last night?”

“She said she was bringing someone,” my mother says carefully. “But she never mentioned names.”

“Well, I just thought—” Elaine gives a fake little laugh. “Forget it. I’m probably remembering wrong.”

Boom.

The first rule of PR crisis management: Get ahead of the narrative. The second rule: Don’t let snakes share your spotlight.

I stepped into the room before she could twist another word. “Morning,” I said lightly, forcing a smile. “Hope I’m not interrupting the live talk show about my personal life.”

Both their heads snapped up. My mother blinked. Dante didn’t say a word, just lingered by the fireplace surveying the scene with that detached calm of his.

My mom gave me a tight smile. “Sweetheart. Sit. We need to talk.”

Elaine’s eyes glittered. “We were just… wondering what changed. I thought Zai—” She cut herself off with a coy smile.

I sat, smoothed my dress, and stared straight at her. “Oh, Elaine. Still trying to be relevant, I see.”

Her smirk faltered. My mom blinks. “Adelaine—”

“It’s fine. Elaine’s just confused. You see, she thought I was going to unveil someone else last night.” I turn fully to her. “And she thought she’d win.”

Elaine stiffens.

“But here’s what really happened,” I continue. “She slept with the wrong man.”

My mother’s teacup clinks softly. Elaine’s face turns white.

“You were aiming for the heir, weren’t you?” I lean in, voice soft. “A last-minute scramble before the announcement. But he wasn’t the one I planned to marry.”

“That’s a lie,” Elaine snaps.

“Is it?” I tilt my head.

Elaine stands, chest heaving. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe.” I smile. “But I’m also engaged to Dante Moreau, and you’re sitting right now in a pile of disgrace.”

My mother clears her throat. “Girls—”

“She’s not a girl,” I say, eyes still on Elaine. “She’s a woman who confused desperation for power.”

Elaine’s voice trembles. “You think this is over?”

“Oh no,” I murmur. “I think it’s just beginning.”

We stare each other down in silence. It doesn’t take a while for her to grab her purse with a dramatic sniff and get up, her heels clicking toward the door. Classic Elaine fashion.

“Oh, and Elaine?” I call after her. She turns halfway, eyes glossy with crocodile tears. “Tell your friend Zain next time he wants to screw someone’s life, maybe he should make sure he’s not the one being used.”

She blinks. The door slams.

My mother sets the teapot down with a sigh. “That was… harsh.”

I nod, picking up a cup of tea on the breakfast tray and swirling the tea with my spoon. “So is betrayal.”

My mother exhales and shakes her head. “Zain,” she repeats softly. “Is that someone I should know?”

I lift the teacup to my lips, feigning casual. “An old friend. Nothing worth remembering.”

“About this…engagement, what happened, Adelaine? You could have told me,” she said, adjusting a vase that didn’t need adjusting. “I mean, Adelaine, him?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

She gave me a look that could frost champagne. “You kept it from your own mother.”

“I didn’t want it to become tabloid fodder.”

Her eyes flicked to Dante. “It already is.”

Dante said nothing. Of course, he didn’t. He was still too busy surveying the room.

The door slammed.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, ADELAINE?”

My father’s voice thundered through the drawing room before I’d even crossed the carpet. I froze mid-step. Dante didn’t. He strolled in like the room belonged to him.

But then, almost as if he remembered himself, my father’s tone shifted. His shoulders loosened, his mouth curved into something that could almost pass as a smile. He was still the politician, the Montclair patriarch who never raised his voice unless it suited him.

“Mr. Moreau,” he said smoothly, the words clipped at the edges. “What an… unexpected visit.”

Unexpected. Right. That was one way of saying unwanted.

Dante’s reply was cool, casual. “Richard.” No title, no courtesy. Just the name like they were equals. My father’s jaw twitched, but his smile didn’t falter.

Silence stretched. My mother fussed with the tea set, her hands trembling just enough for me to notice.

My father finally looked at me. For a moment, the mask slipped. His eyes locked onto mine with a weight that made my stomach twist. Anger, disbelief, calculation, all of it was crammed into that look. But then the charm was back, fast as if a switch was being flipped.

“So,” he said, voice louder now, projecting, “it’s true then? Engaged. You and him.”

I swallowed. “Yes.” My voice sounded thinner than I wanted it to. “We didn’t want to make a spectacle.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “A spectacle? Adelaine, the papers nearly caught fire this morning. Moreau doesn’t just appear in society pages. And now suddenly he’s your fiancé?”

“It’s not sudden,” I said quickly, though my cheeks burned. “We’ve been… private.”

“Private.” He repeated the word like it was filth. His gaze flicked to Dante, then back to me. “Tell me, daughter, when exactly were you planning to inform your family? Before or after the wedding?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Dante, of course, stepped in with unnerving ease. “Adelaine values her privacy,” he said, voice smooth as glass. “You of all people should appreciate the importance of appearances.”

The vein in my father’s temple pulsed, but he forced a laugh. “Appearances, yes. But this?” He shook his head, the smile still plastered on. “This is more than appearances. This is legacy. The Montclair name. And forgive me if I hesitate to believe my daughter has been secretly engaged to the most elusive man in New York without so much as a whisper reaching me.”

“You’ve heard it now,” Dante replied simply.

My father’s smile froze, and for a beat, no one spoke. Then he turned, pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back like he was delivering a sermon.

“Well,” he said finally, “rumours spread like wildfire. And there are already too many. The only way to stop them is simple.” He pivoted back, eyes sharp, his voice ringing with false warmth. “We set a date. Immediately.”

My throat tightened. “A date—?”

“Yes.” His smile widened, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable. “The Montclairs don’t trade in gossip. We bury it. If this engagement is real, then we give them proof. A wedding date. Soon.”

The room fell heavy. My mother pressed a trembling hand to her pearls, but said nothing.

My father’s gaze cut to Dante, his smile curdling into a dare. “I trust you won’t keep us waiting.”

Dante’s expression didn’t shift an inch. His reply was cool. “Of course not.”

“Then it’s settled,” my father clapped his hands once. “Make it soon. You are dismissed.”

The words landed heavy in my chest, but Dante didn’t so much as blink. He only inclined his head, polite to the point of mockery, and slipped his hand to the small of my back, guiding me away.

I moved because what else could I do? My legs obeyed, even as my stomach clenched. My mother gave me a fleeting, helpless glance, but she stayed silent. She always did.

The double doors closed behind us with a soft click.

“That,” Dante murmured, voice low and unreadable, “was interesting.”

“Interesting?” My whisper came out sharper than I intended. “He just ordered us to set a date and make this real.”

“And?” His gaze slid over me, cool, assessing. “You expected anything less?”

I shook my head, wrapping my arms tight around myself as if I could hold the pieces together. “You don’t understand. He’ll—” I stopped myself. The walls in this house had ears. They always had.

Dante leaned closer, his breath ghosting the shell of my ear. “Sweetheart, I don’t scare easily. And your father just made a mistake.”

I turned, startled. “What mistake?”

His mouth curved into the faintest smirk, a shadow of something I couldn’t quite name. “He thinks he’s still in control.”

And then he walked ahead, perfectly composed, leaving me trailing behind.

“Dante! Wait!” I hissed, hurrying to catch up. My heels clicked against the marble, too loud in the suffocating silence of the Montclair estate. He didn’t slow down.

I caught up at the foyer, breath tight. “You can’t just—”

The rest of the sentence died in my throat as a car eased up the drive. My pulse stuttered. No one just showed up at the Montclair estate.

The engine went quiet and the front door opened.

And then he stepped out.

Miles.