4: Sweetest Birthday Gift Ever!

Delilah’s POV

One Week Later – Caleb’s Birthday Party

The chandeliers sparkled too much.

Everything sparkled too much.

The Weston estate looked like something out of a luxury magazine—crystal flutes brimming with Veuve Clicquot, violins humming some pretentious rendition of Clair de Lune, women in silk gowns and pearls pretending to like each other. And Caleb?

The birthday king, gliding through the crowd in a bespoke navy suit, flashing that Weston smile like he hadn’t buried a piece of me six feet under just last week. He is handsome, I'll give him that.

Ladies were already gaping. As usual.

I stood at the edge of the ballroom, perfectly still except for the occasional sway of my glass, as I forced myself to drink it. I kept my picture perfect good wife smile. That's all I've ever been,but what did it get me?

I spotted Cheryse beside him. She was wearing red, of all colors. That's a really vulgar shade. I laughed out slowly — I caught them kissing right before he made his entrance. I pretended not to see, acting stupid as usual.

I sipped slowly, swallowed the bile and smiled faintly.

Let them have their show.

“Darling!”

I turned just as Estelle swept in, her perfume wrapping around me before her arms did. She kissed my cheek, lingering, her smile wide. “Oh, look at you,” she said, brushing an invisible strand of hair from my face. “My beautiful girl. Doesn’t she look lovely tonight?”

The women around her murmured their agreement.

I lowered my eyes, smiling faintly. “You’re too kind, mother.”

“Nonsense.” She tucked her hand through my arm like we were the closest of companions. “You’ve been such a blessing lately. Helping with dinners, keeping things running, always so calm. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

I shook my head gently. “I only do what’s expected.”

Estelle’s eyes softened . “Expected? My dear, it’s far more than that. After everything you’ve been through… the way you still show up for us—it’s remarkable.” She squeezed my arm. “You’ve shown more strength than most women ever could.”

The words were warm, motherly, almost protective, and they were meant for the audience as much as they were for me.

I smiled quietly, keeping my voice soft. “I’m just trying to do my best.”

Estelle laughed delicately. “I told Caleb just yesterday—‘That girl, she’s got real grace. Quiet strength. Doesn’t cause drama, doesn’t raise her voice… anymore.” She smiled knowingly.

Sure. Maybe losing my pregnancy humbled me.. who knows?

My eyes drifted over her shoulder, catching Cheryse again—now twirling her wine and twirling her hips as Caleb whispered in her ear.

Then my eyes met with his, the man hidden in the shadows, across the room. It was brief, electric, and wordless. But I knew. He knew what was going to happen soon.

“You’ve always been such a good wife to my son,” Estelle continued, laying a hand on my shoulder. “So patient. So composed. The help told me you made tea for the gardener last night. Tea. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Someone had to,” I said smoothly. “His hands were trembling. Unlike most of the people here, he works for a living.”

Estelle laughed again, breathy and amused, like I’d made a joke instead of a jab.

“Oh, Delilah,” she said, her smile twitching. “You’ve got such a tongue on you.”

I smiled too. “And yet, I’ve barely spoken.”

She tilted her head, assessing me. The act was faltering. Her cracks were beginning to show.

“You know,” she said, voice dipping into something less performative, “a woman like you could become very powerful—if she learns to play the long game. You’ve got the look. The sympathy. The elegance. All eyes are on you tonight.”

I met her gaze. “Is that advice?”

“It’s a warning,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “You’re rebuilding something here, Delilah. Don't ruin it.”

The threat was wrapped in silk, but it was a threat all the same.

“And you,” I said, lifting my glass again, “you’re standing in a house built on rot, Estelle. Just make sure it doesn’t collapse while you’re still inside.”

Her eyes flashed in utter hatred.

Whatever. It was time for Caleb to give a speech. He stood in the center of the grand ballroom, bathed in golden light and admiration.

Caleb gave a grateful smile, eyes shining as he adjusted his cufflinks and raised his flute.

His confident voice echoed across the room. The Weston charm turned up to full volume. “Thank you, everyone—for the love, the support, and the loyalty you’ve all shown me over the years. But most of all, thank you to my beautiful wife, Delilah. She’s been my light in darkness. My strength. After everything… She's still standing beside me. Graceful. Unshaken. And most importantly, mine.”

He turned, locking eyes with me; I never stopped smiling.

The room broke into applause again.

My hands clutched the small velvet box beside me, nails biting into the ribbon. My chest tightened. My eyes burned. I can do this.

I stepped forward with my champagne flute in one hand and the package in the other.

“Thank you, Caleb,” I said, my voice soft, echoing gently across the ballroom. “Your words… they almost made me cry.”

A laugh rippled through the guests.

I forced a sweet smile. “But actually, I have a little gift too. One I’ve been preparing for quite some time.”

Caleb looked at me, surprised. “A gift? You didn’t have to—”

“Oh, but I did,” I interrupted. “You see, I wanted to give you something honest for once.”

I handed him the box.

It was beautifully wrapped with a silver ribbon and black velvet.

He opened it slowly, the whole room watching with intrigue.

And his face darkened, his smile vanishing from his stupid face.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, voice too low, too dangerous.

Gasps rippled, accompanied by murmurs.

I stepped beside him. Close enough to whisper in his ear. “It’s your freedom, darling. You’ve already been screwing around like a single man. Now it’s official.”

He stared at the papers like they might bite him.

I turned to the crowd, lifting my glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention just a little longer…”

A hush swept the room. The violins fell silent..

“I was going to keep this private. I really was. But then I realized—Caleb deserves to be celebrated for all of his accomplishments.”

I snapped my fingers toward the projector at the back. My heart was hammering now with excitement.

The first slide appeared.

It was a photo of Caleb shirtless, sucking Cheryse breasts as she straddled him in bed. His wedding ring glinted on his hand.

Gasps turned into choking sounds. Some people turned away.

I tilted my head, smiling. “As you can see… My dear husband has been hard at work.”

Slide two were them kissing. She was in a lingerie that I recognized—the one I bought, thinking it was for me.

Slide three, he was asleep and she was smirking, flashing a peace sign over his head.

“Turns out, loyalty meant nothing to Caleb Weston,” I said. “While I was carrying our child, bleeding for our future… he was fucking his secretary.”

I could feel Thorne's silent approval as his eyes borrowed into my skin.

A few women in the crowd gasped out loud. Someone’s champagne glass shattered on the floor. Cheryse looked like a ghost.

“But wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “That’s not all. No, Caleb isn’t just a terrible husband and a deadbeat father. He’s also a fraud.”

A Click. Then,

Slide four: An offshore account statement.

Then five: Wire transfers.

Six: Company funds rerouted to private charities.

Seven: Fake NGOs. Tax fraud. Shell companies. Caleb’s name, Caleb’s signature.

“Millions hidden. Donations laundered. Names stolen. And yes—he used mine without consent.”

I stepped closer to him. He hadn't moved. His face was frozen in disbelief, rage slowly blooming behind his eyes.

“You ruined my name, Caleb,” I whispered. “You used me, broke me, watched me lose our child and dared to show your face to the world like a saint.”

He exploded.“You bitch!” he growled, lunging at me. “How dare you—!”

The room screamed as he reached for me.

But I didn’t flinch as he grabbed my arm. And before he could raise it, Thorne stepped forward from the shadows.

No suit. No tie. Just black on black, jaw clenched and ready to kill.

He gripped Caleb’s wrist and slammed it down to his side.

“Touch her again,” Thorne growled, “and I’ll end you.”

The crowd gasped. Phones were out now. Cameras flashing. Panic mixed with thrill.

Estelle rushed in like a queen arriving late to her own trial.

“Stop this madness!” she cried. “She’s sick—she’s traumatized from losing the baby!”

She looked at me, wild-eyed. “Delilah, sweetheart, this isn’t real. These photos are fake. The documents are fake. You’re not well, darling. You’re paranoid. That’s what grief does.”

I looked right at her. “Grief didn’t do this, Estelle. Your son did.”

She paled.

I turned back to Caleb, who looked like a man freshly buried alive.

“Oh, and happy birthday, darling,” I said, tossing the rest of my champagne in his face. “Enjoy your gift. You earned it.”