5. Whiskey

Chapter Five

The Russell estate was alive with light. Chandeliers spilled gold across marble floors, crystal glasses chimed, and the murmur of wealth hummed in every corner. It was the kind of gathering where every smile was rehearsed, every laugh calculated, and every person carried daggers in their pockets, hidden behind designer gowns and tailored suits.

Xavier walked beside me, tall and sharp in a black tuxedo that looked as though it had been stitched to his frame. He wore no bow tie, only the open confidence of a man who didn’t need one. His presence was magnetic, the crowd parting for him like waves before the shore.

And then there was me.

Julia had worked her magic. My body was draped in a dark navy satin gown, the off-shoulder cut exposing the curve of my collarbone, the backless design brushing whispers against my skin. The fabric clung to me like water, catching the light each time I moved. My reflection in the mirrored walls barely looked like me—too polished, too flawless, too… untouchable.

But as we entered, I felt every eye on me. Some with curiosity. Some with malice. And one pair, in particular, burned with something sharper.

“Xavier!”

Her voice was high, delighted, grating. A woman swept toward us, tall and draped in glittering silver. Her blonde hair gleamed under the chandeliers, her lips painted the perfect shade of cruelty. She looked like she belonged here. She looked like she had belonged to him once.

“Celeste,” Xavier greeted, his tone flat, unimpressed.

“Oh my god, baby,” she cooed, ignoring his indifference as she leaned in too close, her perfume invading the air. “Where have you been hiding? Months and not a word—do you know how lonely you’ve left me?”

Her eyes slid to me then, and her smirk widened.

“And who’s this?” she asked sweetly, before her tone sharpened like a knife. “Wait—don’t tell me. This can’t be your fiancée. She looks… nothing like the one in the photos. Did your fiancè finally go through with plastic surgery? Because I swear, I don’t see the resemblance.”

Laughter curled in her throat, light and cruel.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, my stomach knotting. The room tilted slightly, though no one else seemed to notice. They were too busy watching—waiting to see what Xavier would do.

His expression didn’t shift. His gaze was steel as he looked at her. “That’s enough, Celeste. You’re talking to my wife.”

The word cut through the air—wife. Heavy. Final.

Celeste blinked, then let out a tinkling laugh that sounded anything but genuine. “Oh, darling, I was just kidding. Surely your wife doesn’t mind a little joke, do you?”

All eyes turned to me.

I swallowed hard, my tongue heavy, my heart pounding. My lips parted, but no words came. What was I supposed to say? Defend myself? Lash out? Pretend I was unaffected?

Instead, I gave her a polite, brittle smile—the kind that cracked at the edges—and whispered, “Excuse me.”

Without waiting for permission, I turned and slipped away, weaving through the glittering crowd until I found the bar. The weight of the stares clung to my skin like smoke.

“Whiskey,” I muttered to the bartender, my voice trembling. “Neat.”

As the glass slid toward me, I curled my fingers around it, desperate for the burn.

Desperate for anything that didn’t feel like shame.

The whiskey was sharp, burning its way down my throat, and I welcomed the fire. One glass became two, the bartender sliding them across wordlessly, as though he’d seen a hundred women like me before—polished, painted, but unraveling in the shadows.

“First time?”

The voice startled me. Deep, smooth, touched with curiosity.

I turned my head to find a man settling into the stool beside mine. Dark hair, eyes a shade too amused for a stranger, his tie loosened as though he’d grown bored of pretending to be perfect tonight. He wasn’t Xavier’s kind of immaculate. He was something rougher, less rehearsed.

“You don’t look like someone who usually drinks in corners,” he added, resting his elbows on the bar. “Pretty dress, though. Stands out.”

I arched a brow, my lips curving into something sharper than a smile. “Is that your best line? Because if it is, you’re going to need a refill before you try again.”

He laughed softly, as if he’d expected me to bite. “Fair enough don't worry I am not into women. I just meant—it’s a shame. A dress like that deserves to be noticed.”

“I’m noticed,” I said coolly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “By all the wrong people.”

He studied me, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. “And your husband? Shouldn’t he be the right one?”

The word hit heavier than I wanted it to. My eyes betrayed me, drifting toward the crowd.

Xavier stood near the center of the room, tall, magnetic, untouchable. His hand gripped a crystal glass as he spoke to a cluster of investors, nodding at their words with the kind of confidence that commanded entire rooms.

And clinging to his arm—like ivy, stubborn and glittering—was Celeste. She laughed too loudly at his every word, leaned too close, her hand resting on his sleeve like she belonged there. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t even notice me.

My chest tightened.

“I think,” I whispered, my throat dry, “the girl next to him would make a better wife to him than I ever could.”

The man beside me tilted his head, watching me with a quiet intensity that made me uneasy. “Funny. From where I’m sitting, she looks desperate, and you look like you’re drowning.”

I forced a laugh, hollow and thin. “Sharp observation.”

He nodded at my glass. “And you’re proving me right. Maybe slow down before you sink.”

I clutched the rim of the glass tighter, staring at the golden liquid as if it could answer for me. The room blurred at the edges, laughter echoing too loudly, music swelling too high giving me all the right reasons to drink more.

The whiskey was louder than the music now, humming in my blood, making the chandelier lights above the ballroom blur into one endless swirl of gold. I tipped my glass again, but a hand intercepted, sliding it out of my reach.

“You should stop,” the man next to me murmured.

I turned, my laugh slurred, brittle. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. You didn’t even tell me your name.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but before the sound escaped, the floor tilted beneath me. The world spun, and suddenly I was falling—weightless, graceless, reckless.

My lips parted, heavy with whiskey and breathless laughter. I tried to pull away from him, but my body betrayed me—softening, surrendering to the warmth of his chest. My cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of him, the fabric of his shirt hot through the thin silk of my gown.

“Easy,” he murmured, one hand firm at my waist, the other keeping me upright. His grip was steady, protective—too steady. Too close.

I inhaled him without meaning to, cedar and smoke, sharp and intoxicating. For a moment, I forgot where I was. I forgot who I was. My fingers curled weakly into his lapel, clutching the jacket he had wrapped around me like a secret.

“You’re trembling,” Adrian said softly, his mouth close enough that his breath brushed my temple. “Or maybe… that’s the whiskey talking.”

A low laugh escaped me, unguarded, dangerous. “Maybe it’s you.”

The words slipped out before I could call them back.

His jaw tightened. For a flicker of a second, the air between us wasn’t protection anymore—it was something heavier, something charged. His hand shifted at my waist, not lower, not improper, but enough to make my body lean closer, enough to make my pulse betray me.

And that’s when it happened.

“What do you think you’re doing, Adrian?”

The voice cut through the music, colder than the ice in my abandoned glass.

Xavier.

I blinked, my head too heavy to lift, but I felt it—the sharp shift in the air, the sudden darkness pressed against us like a storm.

Adrian didn’t move away. He didn’t release me. His hand remained firm at my waist, his jacket still cocooning me like I was something fragile. His eyes locked with Xavier’s, calm, unbothered, even as the room seemed to pause around them.

“Protecting your wife,” Adrian replied, his voice steady, almost lazy in its defiance. “Since you were too busy—” his gaze flicked toward the crowd where Celeste still hovered “—entertaining.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched, his stare dropping to where Adrian’s hand held me, his jacket swallowing my shoulders, my lips parted as though I’d just whispered something forbidden into another man’s ear.

Heat rolled off him. Possessive. Lethal.

“She’s mine,” Xavier said, each word edged with steel.

Adrian’s lips curved—mocking, almost. “Then act like it.”

The silence after was thick enough to choke me. My pulse thudded loud in my ears, drowning out the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses.

And still—I didn’t move. My body was traitorous, too weak, too dazed, too lost. My head stayed against Adrian’s chest, the smell of him wrapping around me. My lips trembled with words I couldn’t speak.

But my eyes—my eyes found Xavier’s.

And what I saw there made my heart stop.