Under her triumphant stare, my composure fractured. I felt my carefully constructed walls crumble, and a bitter, restless energy surged within me. I could no longer bear her presence. With a tight swallow, I turned sharply and fled.
Back in the private dining room, the warmth of my colleagues slowly melted the icy tension in my veins. Their laughter, their casual chatter, their genuine smiles—they almost managed to distract me from the sting of Marina’s words. I let myself breathe, allowing the moment to soothe me, however briefly.
Then, without warning, the door slammed open with a force that rattled the room.
Caleb stood there, eyes scanning every corner until they locked onto mine. For a heartbeat, he froze—his expression a storm contained by sheer willpower. Then, without a word, he clenched his fists and barked my name, commanding me to follow him into the corridor.
Confused and hesitant, I obeyed. The dimly lit hallway felt colder, tighter, and before I could even process what was happening, a sharp sting landed across my cheek.
It was the first time he had ever hit me.
Disbelief and hurt coursed through me as I stared at him, searching for a flicker of regret. There was none. Only raw, unfiltered anger.
“Why did you confront Marina?” he growled, his voice low but tense. “You knew she had hurt her ankle! I told you I’d explain everything when we got back, but you couldn’t wait, could you?”
His words cut nearly as deeply as the slap itself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marina limping toward us, deliberately slow, her blouse rumpled and stained as if to heighten her own drama. My mouth opened to defend myself, but before I could speak, she suddenly stumbled, letting out a gasp that sounded far too practiced.
Caleb didn’t hesitate. He surged past me, lifting her into his arms with practiced care. His touch, so tender when directed at her, made my chest ache. His voice softened as he addressed her.
“I told you I’d bring you over to apologize. Why did you leave the room?”
Marina shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, though her tone carried a calculated softness. “It’s nothing. She didn’t mean to hurt me. Don’t be too harsh,” she murmured, feigning vulnerability.
Her gaze flicked toward me, then softened further. “If your fiancé sees this, it could complicate things. It might even jeopardize your relationship.”