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Glasses clinked, laughter rang out, and the sound of polite conversation filled the ballroom of the Imperial Hotel. Men were in tailored suits and women that wore gowns that probably cost more than the cars parked outside moved easily between tables, maintaining their smiles as they looked around calculatively.
And I was standing in the middle of it all, nodding at jokes I barely heard, swirling the whiskey in my glass as if it could disguise the thoughts whiling inside me.
I’d done this dance a thousand times before. Networking dinners, charity galas, corporate events, it was all part of being Edmund Montgomery. The polished billionaire. The heir turned CEO. The man who had it all.
Except I didn’t.
Because no matter how wide I smiled, no matter how firm my handshake, my mind wasn’t here. It was with Amelia. And with a little girl who carried my eyes and my family’s mark on her skin.
My daughter.
The word still rattled around in my head like a secret I couldn’t get used to. A part of me ached for everything I had missed. The years that had slipped by without me knowing her laugh, her first steps, her scraped knees, the sound of her calling someone else “Daddy” when it should have been me.
God, what had I done?
“Edmund?” A manicured hand slid onto my arm. I didn’t need to look to know it was Vikki.
She leaned in close, her perfume heavy, her smile bright for the cameras. “Darling, Mr. Carter from the board wants to speak with you about the hospital project.”
I forced a polite nod. “Of course.”
As we walked toward the table where Carter sat, I caught our reflection in the mirrored wall, me in a sharp tuxedo, Vikki in her emerald gown, the perfect power couple. To everyone else, we looked untouchable. But inside, I was crumbling.
Carter launched into a discussion about numbers and deadlines, but his words blurred into background noise. I heard myself answering, negotiating terms, promising updates, but it was mechanical. My mind kept drifting back to the image of Amelia’s face as she broke down, confessing everything. To the way her voice cracked when she said she’d been afraid of me breaking our daughter the way I’d broken her.
Her words had cut deeper than any boardroom betrayal ever could.
After Carter finally excused himself, I stepped away to the edge of the room, pretending to take a call just so I could breathe. I loosened my tie and pressed a hand to the back of my neck.
Vikki followed, of course. “You’re distracted,” she said, her voice low but sharp.
I turned to her, keeping my expression neutral. “Just a lot on my plate.”
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Chapter 43
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“You’ve had a lot on your plate for months.” Her eyes narrowed, glossy and hard. “Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
I stayed silent.
“Edmund, if something’s wrong, you can tell me.” She smiled sweetly for the benefit of a passing couple, then dropped it the second they were out of earshot. “Or maybe you can’t. Maybe it’s something you don’t want me to know.”
The implication was clear, and for a moment, guilt flared hot in my chest. Not because she was right, not entirely, but because I no longer cared to reassure her.
“I’m fine,” I said flatly.
Her jaw tightened, but she let it go, plastering on another social smile as she excused herself to greet a senator’s wife.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and set the glass aside. Fine. That was the mask I wore. To everyone here, to Vikki, to the world. But inside, I was anything but.
Later that night, when the event finally ended, I didn’t go home right away. Instead, I drove aimlessly through the city, the neon lights blurring against the dark windshield.
Home. That word didn’t feel right anymore. The mansion with its marble floors and perfectly curated furniture wasn’t a home. It was a stage set.
My mind drifted, unbidden, to Amelia’s modest house. To the way the living room smelled faintly of lavender and crayons, the faint clutter of a life actually lived. To the sound of Scarlet’s giggle as she played with her doll.
Our daughter.
The ache in my chest deepened. I imagined being there, not as a guest, not as someone on the outside, but as what I should have been all along. A father. A partner. A man who belonged.
I pictured mornings at her kitchen table, sipping coffee while Amelia teased me about my workaholic habits. I imagined walking Scarlet to school, her tiny hand wrapped in mine. I saw myself reading to her at night, her eyelids drooping as she drifted off against my shoulder.
It was a fantasy, maybe, but for the first time in years, it felt like the only life I wanted.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of the mansion, it was nearly midnight. The house was dark except for the light in the upstairs window. Vikki was waiting.
I climbed the stairs slowly, every step heavy with the dread I carried. When I pushed the bedroom door open, she was sitting at the vanity, removing her earrings.
“You’re late,” she said without turning.
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Chapter 43
“The event ran long.”
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“I know. I was there with you, remember?” She snapped.Then caught my reflection in the mirror, her sharp as they met mine. “You look miserable.”
I didn’t answer.
eyes
“Do you even want to be here anymore, Edmund?” she asked, her tone a mixture of suspicion and challenge.
The truth hung on the tip of my tongue. No. I don’t. I haven’t wanted to be here for a long time.
But instead, I said nothing.
She huffed, turning back to her reflection. “Fine. Don’t answer.”
I went to the closet, changed into sweats, and slipped into bed beside her. The silence stretched thick between us, broken only by the sound of her even breathing once she drifted to sleep.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling, my hands clenched into fists.
I couldn’t keep doing this. Smiling at galas. Pretending at home. Living a lie while the truth clawed at me from the inside out.
I rolled onto my side, staring at the faint outline of Vikki’s form under the sheets. Once, maybe, I had thought this was the life I wanted. Stability. Appearances. Control. But none of it mattered anymore.
Not when my heart was somewhere else. Not when I had a daughter who needed me, a woman I couldn’t let go of even if I tried.
The thought came sharp and certain, slicing through the haze of guilt and confusion.
I couldn’t keep living like this.
I couldn’t keep being married to Vikki when my heart belonged to someone else.
“I can’t keep living a lie,” I whispered into the
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
