“I’m not feeling well today. I think I’ll stay home.”
His expression turned stormy in an instant.
“You still refuse to go? Calla suffered so much abroad because you forced her to leave. Now she’s back, and you won’t even attend her welcome party?”
“She doesn’t hold grudges, but you insist on spoiling her night?”
Without waiting for an answer, Alaric grabbed my wrist and dragged me out the door, ignoring the fact that I was heavily pregnant.
When we arrived at the Royal Club and the doors swung open, every eye in the room turned to me.
I could feel it—mockery, lewd curiosity, and cruel anticipation.
“Well, well… the guest of honor is finally here.”
Calla gave me a mocking smile before grabbing my arm and pulling me to the center of the dance floor.
I stopped and looked at her, my face paling as my patience thinned.
"Aren’t you the protagonist tonight?" I asked, my voice cold.
She covered her mouth and let out a soft, smug laugh.
"I’m not like you, sister-in-law. You’re the real star of the show now. So many people lining up just to be near you!"
My fists clenched tightly as the image of that schedule on Alaric’s phone flashed through my mind again. A lump of nausea rose in my throat.
"I’m not feeling well. I’m going home," I muttered, already turning to leave.
I felt stripped bare in this crowd, exposed to their leering eyes and veiled laughter. Humiliation tightened around me like a noose—I just wanted to disappear.
But before I could step away, Calla blocked my path with a look of faux innocence.
"Oh dear, did I upset you? If it’s my fault, then I apologize..."
She pouted slightly, clutching a glass of champagne, her voice full of affected grievance.
Alaric stepped in immediately, snatching the glass from her hand.
"You're on your period, you shouldn’t drink," he said gently.
Then, without hesitation, he turned and held the glass out to me.
"Seraphine, I’ve let go of the past—you forcing Calla to leave for abroad—but this is her celebration party. Who are you trying to humiliate with that face?"
"Drink this. Apologize. Move on."
I stared at the glass, my heart pounding in my chest.
"I’m pregnant," I said slowly, my voice thick with disbelief. "And you’re telling me to drink alcohol?"
He dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand.
"It’s just a glass of champagne. I already asked the doctor. You’re eight months along, the baby’s stable. One drink won’t hurt."
I pushed his hand away.