Mine to Mistake

POV of Victoria

The glittering ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was alive with champagne flutes and silk gowns, the annual Children's Hospital Charity Gala in full swing. I'd spent the entire evening avoiding Nathan, making polite conversation with board members and donors while Adrian remained a steady presence at my side. But as I excused myself to use the restroom, I felt a hand grab my wrist, pulling me into a secluded hallway.

"What are you doing, Victoria?" Nathan's voice was low, dangerous. Gone was the composed surgeon who'd been circulating among guests all evening. In his place stood a man I barely recognized—his eyes wild, his usually perfect hair disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly.

"Let go of me," I hissed, trying to pull away.

Instead, his grip tightened, and he backed me against the wall. The cold marble pressed against my spine as Nathan leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear.

"Is it him?" he demanded, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "Are you sleeping with Adrian?"

The accusation hung in the air between us. Part of me wanted to deny it immediately, to preserve what little dignity our marriage had left. But another part—the part that had been wounded and ignored for years—wanted to hurt him as badly as he'd hurt me.

"What if I am?" I replied, my voice deliberately soft, almost teasing. "At least he makes me feel seen, Nathan. At least he looks at me like I matter."

Something snapped in Nathan's eyes. His hands moved from my wrists to my shoulders, pressing me harder against the wall. For a moment, we were frozen in that position—his body inches from mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"You don't know what you're doing," he whispered, his voice breaking. "This isn't you."

"And who is me, Nathan?" I challenged, my heart racing despite my resolve to remain unmoved. "The woman you married? Or the woman you've been comparing to your precious fantasy for years?"

His eyes darkened, and suddenly his lips were on mine, desperate and demanding. The kiss was nothing like the clinical, perfunctory ones we'd shared in recent months. This was raw, primal—a man fighting for something he knew was slipping away.

For one treacherous moment, I responded, my body betraying me with its remembered desire for him. Then reality crashed back—the messages on his phone, Emily's smug smile, years of emotional neglect.

I shoved him away with all my strength, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Don't touch me," I spat, disgust evident in my voice—disgust directed as much at myself as at him.

"Victoria—" he began, reaching for me again.

"Vicky?" Adrian's voice echoed down the hallway. "There you are. Everyone's looking for you."

Nathan's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as Adrian approached. My oldest friend stood tall, his tuxedo impeccable, concern etched across his features as he took in the scene—Nathan crowding me against the wall, my lipstick smeared, my hair slightly mussed.

"What's going on here?" Adrian asked quietly.

"Family business," Nathan replied coldly. "You should leave."

Instead, Adrian stepped forward, positioning himself between us with quiet authority. "I think you should back off, Nathan," he said, his voice level but firm.

Something in Nathan snapped. With a growl of rage, he swung at Adrian, catching him squarely in the jaw. Adrian staggered back but recovered quickly, launching himself at Nathan. Within seconds, they were grappling on the marble floor, fists flying.

"Stop it!" I screamed, but they were beyond hearing.

The commotion drew attention—first a few curious onlookers, then a crowd of shocked gala attendees. Security guards pushed through, pulling the men apart as camera flashes captured every moment of the spectacle.

By morning, it was everywhere: "Prominent Surgeon Brawls Over Wife at Charity Event."

I waited until Nathan left for his shift at the hospital before returning to our penthouse. The apartment felt hollow, empty of warmth despite its expensive furnishings. Methodically, I packed only what mattered—clothes, jewelry, photographs from before our marriage.

On the kitchen counter, I left my wedding ring beside a note: "Keep it for your white moonlight."

Hours later, I was settled in a suite at the Four Seasons, scrolling through news coverage of last night's scandal on my tablet when my phone rang. Adrian.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," I replied, surprised to find it wasn't entirely a lie.

"Dinner tonight?" he suggested. "Just to talk."

I hesitated only briefly before agreeing.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of public appearances with Adrian—premieres, galas, romantic dinners at exclusive restaurants. We were photographed laughing at Central Park, shopping on Fifth Avenue, sharing intimate moments that made headlines in all the right publications.

Adrian was everything Nathan wasn't—attentive, present, emotionally available. He complimented me constantly, held my hand in public, looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

Yet as we sat in his penthouse overlooking the city lights after a charity auction, his lips brushing my neck in a gesture that should have made me melt, I felt oddly hollow.

"Why did you agree to all this?" I asked quietly.

Adrian pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Because I've wanted to be with you since we were teenagers," he admitted. "And because you deserve someone who sees you."

I nodded, trying to ignore the nagging voice in my head—the one that whispered that despite everything Nathan had done, despite the pain and betrayal, a part of me still ached for him.

What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just let him go?