Chapter 7- A Toast To Trouble

BROOKLYN

I made sure Elliot had everything he needed for school before the sun even finished rising. His little backpack was packed, his inhaler was triple-checked, and I reminded him again,not to run too much during recess. Mr. Alcott handed him his lunch, the driver waited outside, and off he went in that sleek black car Dominic arranged on day one. It had become a smooth routine already.

When he got back, he ran through the door with a wide grin, breathless but glowing.

“School was fun! I have a new friend—his name is Jamie and he has a pet snake!”

I laughed, ruffling his hair. “Please don’t bring any snakes home.”

Later, I told him I’d be going out for a family dinner and to be good for Mr. Alcott while I was away. He gave me a thumbs up, already distracted by a game on his tablet. That was the brief part of my day,the easy part.

Now I was in front of the floor-length mirror in my room, struggling.

The dress Dominic’s stylist picked out was a royal blue backless satin gown that shimmered under the warm vanity lights. My hair was up in a sleek high bun, with soft tendrils down to frame my face just like the stylist had instructed. My makeup was subtle but expensive-looking, the kind that made you look flawless without trying. I looked like a different person.

A richer one.

But the zipper at the back of the dress? It hated me. I tugged it up for the fifth time, twisting awkwardly, but it stopped halfway like it had a personal vendetta.

“Need help?”

I froze.

Dominic’s voice was low and lazy behind me, like he’d been standing at the door long enough to enjoy the show. I met his gaze through the mirror, and gosh he looked lethal tonight.

Matching me in a midnight-blue tux, crisp white shirt, no tie. The top two buttons undone like it was all effortless. His hair, dark and tousled just enough, and those steel-gray eyes dragged down my back, lingering too long.

My heart flipped.

“You just going to stand there or—”

He crossed the room before I finished. His fingers brushed my spine as he zipped the dress slowly, the motion somehow…intimate. Too intimate for people who weren’t in love. He keeps making me feel…things

“Much better,” he murmured, voice near my ear.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

He didn’t either.

For a second, the air was too hot, too still. My stomach twisted in that annoying way it did since I started being around him. And then, just like that, he stepped back and reached for a navy velvet box on my vanity. He opened it and held up a delicate silver necklace with a teardrop sapphire.

“Your final accessory,” he said coolly.

I swallowed. “You really thought of everything.”

“I always do.”

The restaurant was nestled in New York’s most expensive district, all high glass walls, chandeliers, and staff dressed like they belonged in a Vogue spread. A long, candlelit table waited near the back.

Dominic’s family was already seated.

“Everyone,” Dominic said, his hand casually but firmly on my lower back, “this is Brooklyn. My wife.”

Wife. Still not used to that.

His mother was striking—tall, silver hair slicked into a bun, and eyes that scanned me like a laser. His father had a powerful presence, with salt-and-pepper hair and the sharpest suit in the room. Beside them were his siblings.

“This is my father, Nathaniel. My mother, Genevieve. My younger brother Marcus and his wife, Felicity. My youngest brother, Julian. And my two sisters, Vivienne and Camilla—and their husbands, Dylan and Ray.”

Each name was heavier than the last.

I smiled, trying not to wilt under the pressure.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, reaching out to shake Genevieve’s hand first.

To my surprise, she gave a cool nod but returned it. “Let’s hope you’re more than just a pretty face,” she said.

Wow. Okay.

“Mom,” Vivienne said, half-laughing, “be nice.”

The night rolled forward like a delicate dance. The food was beautiful. The wine kept pouring. Dominic sat beside me, answering questions with grace while occasionally guiding me through the fabricated timeline of our relationship.

“How did you two meet again?” his father asked, swirling his glass.

“At an art gallery. In Tribeca,” I said smoothly, following the script. “He was looking at something abstract and expensive and I made a snide comment.”

“I loved her honesty.,” Dominic added. “We got coffee. We kept running into each other after that.”

Vivienne and Camilla laughed. “You’re kidding. Dom has game?”

“It’s all in the follow-up,” I said with a smirk, and for once, it felt almost real.

His sisters were surprisingly warm, gossiping about fashion and teasing Dominic about his past relationships.

But then the front entrance chimed.

And every molecule of air shifted.

She walked in like she owned the place. Like she belonged.

Tall, sculpted, wearing a skintight black dress that screamed danger. Her red lipstick matched her heels, and her eyes? Laser-focused on me.

“Who is that?” I whispered.

Dominic’s jaw tensed. “Ignore her.”

I didn’t. Neither did the rest of the table.

“Oh no,” Vivienne muttered. “Not this again.”

She glided over, smirking like a villain from a movie. “Didn’t realize this was a costume party.”

Everyone went quiet.

Dominic stood up, calm but dangerous. “You weren’t invited.”

Her eyes flicked to me, then back to him. “Just came to congratulate the happy couple. I heard”

She raised a glass of champagne.

Then, without warning—she flung it.

The cold liquid hit my chest and dripped down my dress. A gasp echoed across the table. My breath caught. I blinked, frozen.

“Oops,” She said sweetly. “Guess I’m clumsy.”

“Are you insane?!” Vivienne stood up.

I didn’t react. Couldn’t.

Dominic stepped between us, jaw clenched. “You’ve made your point. Leave.”

But she smirked again. “Don’t worry, Dom. I’m sure your charity case wife can afford dry cleaning now.”

Something inside me snapped.

I stood up, drenched, trembling, but proud. “I don’t know who hurt you. But if you’re going to make a scene, at least make it memorable.”

And then yep, tossed the rest of my water at her face. A direct hit.

Gasps. Silence. Then chaos.

“You little—!” she lunged, but security was already there.

Dominic grabbed his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t resist.

We left to the sound of his mother saying, “Well, she’s got more spine than your last one.”

The car was too quiet. The kind of silence that buzzed beneath the skin, tense and electric. 

Dominic sat beside me, jacketless because it was draped around my shoulders, still carrying his warmth and the faint scent of his cologne.

 I stared out the window, the city lights blurring past like we were trying to outrun what just happened. I hadn’t said a word to him since the drink hit my chest, cold and humiliating.

 My voice was low when I finally spoke. “Who was she?” I didn’t look at him. 

I didn’t have to.

 His jaw tensed just enough to answer before he did. “Isabelle,” he said, almost like a curse. “We used to be… involved.”

 My fingers curled around the lapel of his jacket. 

“Involved?” I echoed, turning to him now. “So she shows up at your family dinner and throws a drink on your wife because… what? She’s unhinged or still in love with you?”

 His eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. “Both.”

I turned back to the window. The silence returned. The tension was so uncomfortable 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said at last. I was happy he broke the silence 

“I wasn’t going to let her humiliate me.”

“I meant the water. But I’m not mad.”

He glanced at me then, a flicker of something in his eyes. Pride? Amusement? Something deeper?

“She always hated when I ignored her. That’s all this was.”

“I figured.”

We pulled up to the mansion.

“Thanks for the save,” I said.

“Anytime, Mrs. Blackwell.”

That name shouldn’t make my stomach flutter.

But it did.