The Secret Parrish Heiress Strikes Back

The conversation at the table was light, but the air around it was thick with unspoken history. Killian Wise had a way of making the rest of the club disappear. His focus was absolute, his questions thoughtful, as if Elinor's answers were the only things that mattered in the world. "So, you're back in New York," Elinor said, taking a sip of her water. "For good?" "For the foreseeable future," Killian replied, his dark eyes tracking her every movement. "London was getting dull. I missed the chaos." "Well, you've come to the right place," Jaylynn chimed in, grinning. "New York's finest chaos is sitting right here." Before Killian could respond, a figure bounced up to their table. Julian Croft. He was a fixture in the society pages, known more for his loose lips and loud suits than any actual accomplishments. Tonight, he was wearing a velvet blazer the color of a bruise. Julian plopped down next to Killian, his eyes immediately zeroing in on Elinor. He leaned in, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the music but not enough to be drowned out. "Killian, my man. Is this the legendary Mrs. Everett? The one who has Dempsey Everett tearing his hair out?" Elinor's spine stiffened. The casual use of her married name felt like sandpaper against a raw wound. Killian's expression hardened. He shot Julian a warning glare. "Julian. Shut up." Julian raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin only widened. He turned his attention fully to Elinor, his eyes gleaming with gossip-hungry delight. "Mrs. Everett, don't mind me. I'm just a fan. I was at the wedding, you know. The society event of the decade. You looked terrified. But tonight? Tonight, you look like a woman who just escaped prison." "Julian," Jaylynn snapped, her voice like a whip. "Walk away." Elinor took a breath, forcing the tension out of her shoulders. She looked Julian dead in the eye. "I'm not Mrs. Everett anymore," she said, her voice calm and clear. "Not for much longer, anyway." Julian's eyebrows shot up. He looked like a kid who had just found the last golden ticket. "So the rumors are true? The ice queen is melting the Everett empire? This is huge." He turned to Killian. "Did you know about this?" Killian ignored him, his gaze never leaving Elinor's face. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, the question meant only for her. Elinor nodded. "I will be." Across the room, Dempsey was seeing red. He couldn't hear the words, but he could read the body language. Julian Croft was a gossip, a living, breathing tabloid. And Elinor was feeding him information. He watched Julian's animated expressions, watched Killian's protective posture, watched Elinor's calm, collected demeanor. She was networking. She was using his name, his scandal, to ingratiate herself with a new crowd. She was making a fool out of him. The prenup. The decency clause. It was standard in their world: neither party could publicly embarrass the other or damage the Everett brand while still legally married. By being here, by talking to Julian Croft, by flaunting her association with Killian Wise, she was violating that clause. Dempsey pulled out his phone. His thumbs flew across the screen, his anger making him reckless. To: Legal Counsel Draft a warning letter to Elinor regarding breach of the decency clause in the prenup. Immediate action required. Brody, who had been watching Dempsey's face grow darker by the second, reached out. "Dempsey, stop. They're just talking. You're overreacting." Dempsey yanked his arm away. "She's making a mockery of my family," he snarled. "She thinks she can just walk out and drag my name through the mud? I'll make sure she leaves with nothing." Before Brody could argue, a ripple of movement caught their attention. The crowd near the entrance seemed to part, and a woman walked in. She was petite, with soft blonde curls and a white dress that made her look like a porcelain doll. Darcy Lynn. Dempsey's stomach dropped. He had told her to stay home. He had told her this wasn't the time. But Darcy had never been good at staying put. He remembered her seeing a post from one of Brody's friends, geotagged to The Crimson Quill. Of course she'd come. She always had to mark her territory. She saw him, and her face crumpled into a mask of hurt and vulnerability. She walked quickly toward his booth, her lower lip trembling. "Dempsey," she said, her voice carrying a whine that usually made him feel needed. "You didn't answer my calls. I saw you were here and I was so worried." Dempsey's anger shifted, turning into a messy knot of frustration and guilt. He couldn't deal with Darcy and Elinor at the same time. "Not now, Darcy," he muttered, trying to block her view of the club. "Go home." But Darcy wasn't looking at him. She was looking past him, toward the corner booth. Her eyes found Elinor, and the hurt on her face morphed into something harder, something calculating. She stepped around Dempsey and slid into the booth next to him, pressing her body against his side. She rested her head on his shoulder, a clear, deliberate gesture. Elinor saw the movement. She saw the blonde head resting on Dempsey's shoulder, the possessive tilt of Darcy's chin. The woman who had been the shadow over her marriage was now sitting in the light, staking her claim. A cold, heavy weight settled in Elinor's stomach. Three years of wondering, of doubting, of ignoring the late-night phone calls and the unfamiliar perfumes-it all crystallized into a single, painful truth. She picked up her glass. The water was gone, so she reached for the martini Jaylynn had abandoned. She brought it to her lips and drank it down in one long, burning swallow. The alcohol hit her empty stomach like a firebomb, but the heat was welcome. It burned away the last of her hesitation. She set the empty glass down with a sharp clink. "I need some air," she said, her voice tight. "I'll come with you," Jaylynn offered, starting to rise. "No," Elinor said, her eyes still fixed on the distant silhouette of her husband and his lover. "I need a minute. Just a minute." She stood up and walked toward the terrace doors, her back straight, her head high. She didn't look at Dempsey. She didn't give him the satisfaction. Dempsey watched her go, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. She was walking away. Again. And this time, she wasn't coming back.